Bicycle Art

Sometimes art is found in surprising places. I recently watched the documentary, "The Sea of Rock," that followed the mountain-bikers Harald Philipp and Thomas Ohler, as they attempted to bike the Sea of Rock in Austria. Watching these athletes, as they finessed their unwieldy looking bikes into navigating an impossible terrain, all I could think of was that this was its own form of art.

"The Sea of Rock" can be found on Youtube - it's about 15 minutes long and well worth the watch.

Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind

        There is a homeless man living at my local library.  I began piecing the clues together about a year ago: the rickety white sedan with a backseat stuffed with clothing that was always in the same parking spot, and the quiet man, dressed in clean but threadbare clothing, with swollen sandal-clad feet, who was at the library day after day.  One day, as the library closed, I saw this man walking slowly to the old white car and get in.  The pieces clicked together.

         I suppose, if you weren’t a regular at the library, you might never realize.  The neighborhood that my library is located in is extraordinarily wealthy.  I used to go for runs here, watching as vans full of gardeners and maids parked on the streets, entering the huge homes to work long hours so that the owners can return at the end of the day to a fairy-tale home.  And here, in the library, a homeless man is found, hidden from sight.  

Even now, I hesitate to write about this man, out of fear as to what might happen to him should people put together the pieces.  The way we treat the homeless in this country - criminalizing and stigmatizing people who are already down on their luck - says a lot about who we are as a nation.  There was also a homeless man that rode my morning bus, always getting on at the same spot and exiting at another.  In this case, I could identify him as homeless both by the sign he carried as well as the odor.  The others who rode the bus with me - most of whom had been riding the same bus for years - treated him with a certain wary distance.  No one said anything against him.  No one said anything to him. What I usually thought about was just how distressing it would be to go through life with no warm bed and no access to a proper bathroom. 

A few months ago, I read the book "Another Bullshit Night in Suck City  This memoir, which was later turned into the movie "Being Flynn," deals with the author's relationship with his father, who turned up at the homeless shelter he was working at.  Nick Flynn writes of the instability that pushed his father into homelessness, as well as the instability that he himself inherited from his father.  He also writes of simply working in a homeless shelter, as he sees all of the people that fall through the cracks of our society, whether by hard luck or illness.  

Empathy Pizza

         On Saturday, I attended a mandatory training session for my teacher certification program. The program was supposed to provide a pizza lunch. When lunchtime came, the pizzas had not arrived, so the directors shuttled us into our next training session. An hour went by. Still no pizza. One of the directors, a blonde woman in her late 20’s, came in to tell us that the pizzas still weren’t here.
         “We appreciate your understanding,” she said. She looked frazzled. I felt sympathetic – I have spent most of the last six months as a teacher feeling overwhelmed.
         Most of us shrugged. We could wait for lunch. Then someone stood up, a big burly Teach For America fellow with a deep authoritative voice.
        “Life happens,” he said. “You get a flat tire, your kid gets sick, you get stuck in traffic. But if we are even a minute late to these sessions, you lock us out. So why are you coming in here asking us to be understanding when you don’t extend the same courtesy to us? So no, this is not acceptable - get your act together.”
         All of the teachers started talking about all of the times they had been penalized for being 5 or 10 minutes late. A few teachers cheered. I gave the TFA fellow a high-five. I could feel all of my anger and frustration bubbling under the surface. That was all it took for me to switch from feeling sympathetic towards another frazzled human being to being angry about all of the times these same frazzled people had failed to extend a similar empathy towards me.
       The woman looked like she wanted to either shout or cry. “OK, I’ll do whatever it takes – next time I’ll have them deliver pizzas an hour early.”
       I wanted to tell her that the issue wasn't about the pizza - it was about us wanting to be respected as responsible and conscientious adults. But I am not sure the message would have been heard.
        I work in a district that boasts about its mentoring program for first-year teachers but fails to mention that the funds for this mentoring program are taken from the first-year teacher’s paycheck. Every paycheck about $20 is deducted to pay my mentor, a fellow teacher who continually tells me what I am doing wrong but doesn’t offer any solutions. I also work in a district that keeps adding more and more requirements – tutoring, a heavier teaching load, extra students, extra training responsibilities – while at the same time eliminating the tenure system. Tenure, as imperfect a system as that may be, still offered teachers enough job security to say no to extra responsibilities. Now that security is gone and teachers are getting pressured into taking on extra responsibilities. I myself was given an extra subject to teach in my first week of school as a teacher.
       I look around at other teachers in my certification program. I see them working and stressing and getting burnt out. I see how much they work and how much they care. I know how much I care. I also see myself turning into an angry person, all because I am stuck in a program that doesn’t respect me as a responsible adult, that is constantly adding more and more burdens onto my workload, and that is currently punishing me for not doing enough. I remember why I became a teacher in the first place and a very big part of me feels a keen sense of loss at the way my dream has turned out.

       Sometimes I just wish that we could all just sit down for a pizza lunch and empathize.

Mormon Open Letter

I have spent a lot of time writing about some of the disillusionment and estrangement I felt during my exit process from Mormonism, a lot of which stemmed from the misconceptions surrounding Mormons who leave. Currently, there is an open letter to the LDS Leaders, which was released with the following statement.

"As current and former Mormons, many of us have been through emotional turmoil as we’ve struggled with our beliefs. Some of us even made the difficult decision to leave. Our most cherished relationships have been strained or lost. We’ve experienced pain and distress, sometimes having to keep silent out of fear—all because of a lack of understanding between active members and those who question their faith."

There are a lot of different people who read this blog.  Our common connection is Mormonism, whether it is curiosity about Mormonism, a past connection with Mormonism, or just a need for practicing Mormons to understand those who chose to leave.  Our common denominator is that we want to understand each other. The actions of the current leaders - and the lack of historical transparency - has only served to cause divisions among family and friends.  So, if you have the time, I would recommend checking out the Open Letter.  

The Mormon Open Letter can be found here:

http://www.mormonopenletter.com/

The Girl With The Mormon Background

         “When people talk to you, the first thing they want to talk about is Mormonism.”

          Last summer I attended a writer’s workshop, where one of the participants made this comment over lunch. Of all the many things that I am – scientist, writer, ex-Mormon, victim of a freak auto-pedestrian accident – the primary information that my classmates wanted to know about was the Mormonism. It is, after all, the topic of a hilarious Broadway musical and also a source of confusion, sometime hilarious, sometimes heartbreaking, to a lot of people. Who are these crazy Mormons and why won’t they be honest with us? I suppose, as an ex-Mormon, they saw me as someone that could give a more nuanced answer than an active Mormon who just wants to convert others to Mormonism.
          One of the workshop attendants was a black Puerto Rican woman, whose brother joined Mormonism shortly before the priesthood ban on blacks was lifted. She spent a lot of time talking to me about the effect her brother’s Mormonism had on her extended family as well as the personal toll Mormonism had had on her brother. I could sense her confusion, as well as some of her heartbreak. The Mormon Church has caused a lot of hurt over the years, from the racist teachings of past leaders to the current antipathy of the current leaders towards gays. I often feel torn between needing to come to peace with my legacy as a former Mormon and wanting to erase that part of my life like a stain.
         I waver sometimes when bringing up my Mormon background and my post-Mormon status. Mormonism was a big part of my up-bringing. Leaving Mormonism was a big part of my growth towards adulthood. And yet, the minute I mention the subject, I feel as though I have been marked. The Girl With The Mormon Background. (Which isn’t nearly as cool as being, say, the Girl With The Dragon Tattoo) Maybe I should tattoo an M on my forehead and be done with the matter. But I still haven’t figured out the right approach and I’m not sure that I ever will.

         So I suppose I shall just have to remain as The Girl With The Mormon Background.

               

Mormon Bullying

        I have been having long-running issues with a co-worker, one that I have been trying to ameliorate for a full six months, ever since starting a new position as a teacher. I don’t want to go into details, other than to say that the relationship has been rocky from the very beginning. I have tried my hardest to keep the peace but doing so is exerting a pretty high emotional toll.
       Today, when I finally broke down and told some of my co-workers the specifics of my issues with this co-worker, their response was unanimous.
       “This is bullying,” they said. Five teachers, ranging in age from early career to veteran teachers, all saying the same thing.
       I always thought bullying was for high schoolers. But bullying doesn’t end with high school. And being raised Mormon is an especially potent combination for bullies and victims.
      Growing up in a Mormon community meant an erosion of personal boundaries. Being Mormon means being subjected to yearly interviews by bishops, none of whom have been trained as professional clergy and who aren’t bound to confidence. I had my first interview as a twelve-year old, where I was interviewed by the bishop, whose day-job was as a hospital human resource manager, about my worthiness and personal life. Had I stayed, these interviews would have continued throughout my adult life, had I wanted to remain a Mormon in good standing. Requiring an individual to answer personal questions about their private and intimate life – and to ultimately allow another person make a decision regarding their worthiness, a decision that can have social ramifications within the close-knit Mormon community – is to force individuals to hand their identity and self-worth over to someone else, someone who has the power to refuse you.
      People talk. The bishop we had while I was in high school had an especially gossipy extended family. But to refuse an interview with the bishop was unthinkable. You just did it. You did it because you were supposed to and if you didn’t, you were a bad Mormon. And nothing was worse than being a bad Mormon.
       Add in to this the teaching that the Mormon authorities, from the local leaders all the way up to the leader Thomas Monson, are given their authority from God, and you have a situation that fosters abuse.
       The truth is, I’ve never learned how to stand up to bullies. My strategy is to either grin and bear it or to tell the individual in question to f*ck off. Or to simply walk away. But I’ve never learned how to navigate a working relationship with a bully. I’ve never learned how to face bullies down or discover their weaknesses. I’ve never learned the more diplomatic ways of telling
       I’m not sure what my strategy will be with this particular co-worker. Perhaps file a complaint and ask to have her removed from her duties. Or simply point out her behavior, although I think the situation may be a little too far gone for that.

       Either way, I need to figure out a way to deprogram the Mormon in me, the one that is too timid to speak out against an authority figure and who is too timid to make trouble.

January Tune-Up

         I’m not a fan of New Year’s resolutions. I get irritated by the hordes of people crowding the gym, most of who will stop coming by February. Over the years, I’ve learned that grandiose resolutions – lose weight!, run a marathon!, cut out sugar! – rarely last a week. As I listen to my co-workers discussing food scales and diet plans, I can only think about the fact that good intentions are eventually replaced by reality.
         But what I find works is to fine-tune my life. Instead of turning life upside-down in search of becoming a different person, I’m trying to take a look at what is going on and to make a few tweaks.
        2013 was a pretty rough year. I got caught up in an ugly family drama, which ended up throwing me straight back into the rage-filled morass that I’ve spent a lifetime trying to overcome. Then I started a new teaching job that took over my life. I’ve spent the last four months working long, hard, exhausting hours, to the point that I’ve lost track of my old life.
        And so, finding myself back in school after the winter holidays, I find myself looking to tweak my life a little, finding ways to cut down on the workload and carve out a little more time for the things that I enjoy. The truth is that I don’t know if I am in the right career. I don’t know if my current job is going to be a long-term gig or if I am going to be searching for new job in May. My hunch is that I may be looking for a different teaching gig, if not a new profession. I am hoping to start up grad school again in the fall. That may be possible – or it may not be, I’m not sure. But for the moment, I’m simply looking to find a little extra time to do the things that I enjoy and the things that will benefit me in the long term.