mother nature is a bitch

Mother Nature enjoys this sick game, I think.

She allows her tantalizing rays to reach our cold, grey Canton, and I exclaim how beautiful they are! The sun! It hasn’t gone away forever! We’ve managed to appease Mother Nature, somehow, someway, and now—now there is light!

Oh, but Mother Nature scoffs at my childlike understanding. She is not so easy to appease.

One day, she will give us warmth and sun. But the next? She will give us the sun, but as I step outside, t-shirted and sandaled, she blasts me across the face with chilly, bitter winds. I mutter my hate as I pull my winter jacket back on, cursing the tossed aside capri pants. Into the car I go, deciding to drive to the gym rather than walk the short half-mile, as I had planned to do when I believed in the warmth. As I sit in the car, I become increasingly annoyed. The heat! I can feel the heat coming through the windshield, and now I am sweating! I roll down the window to let some of that cold air inside, feeling my face dry as the wind hits it.

Later, in the wellness center, as I move my legs on the elliptical, I watch the poor, misunderstanding students walking along the pathways, some heading to or from the library, some going to the cafeteria or to their dorms. Some are dressed well, with hats and coats, but some are wearing flip-flops—one boy is even daring to wear shorts! Perhaps he has decided to throw his angst back at Mother Nature, choosing only to believe in the sunshine. His legs will pay for his folly later, though, when he finds them dry and painful. Foolish boy.

In the afterglow of my workout, I decide to make the short trek to my car without my jacket on, and that actually feels quite nice; though by the time I make it back to my apartment, the walk from my car to my door is painful as the air hits my perspiring body, chilling the sweat and making me colder than I had been when I first left home. I mutter curse words under my breath as I climb my stairs, wishing for Mother Nature to make things just a bit more predictable. But that’s not the nature of Mother Nature. No, she likes to pull her little tricks, likes to keep us guessing, us poor little creatures, subject to her whims and fancies.

A vicious dictator, she is.

something that was beautiful

My boyfriend and I recently went to Cleveland and saw the stage version of My Name is Asher Lev. I don’t know how many of you have read or heard of this novel or its author, Chaim Potok, but if you haven’t yet picked up this book, I recommend you do so (or, hey, head up to Cleveland and watch the play—it’s phenomenal. Also, The Chosen is a wonderful read, too.)

I appreciated a lot of different things about this experience—from the beauty and pain within the story that was told, to the development of the characters, to the scene changes, to the ideas raised about art and life and truth. The play was superbly done, and I was impressed by how much this stage version accurately represented the novel. I was thankful for this moving representation of the text.

There were only three actors in this play, but there were 6 or 7 different characters. The actors had to quickly change both clothes and personas, and at the same time they were continually moving things around on the stage to create the different places in which the story took place. There were no blackouts; there was no intermission. The man who played the main character, Asher Lev, had to show the audience his growth from a young child into a young man. There was no young boy playing the ten year old Asher. For him to able to effectively communicate the nature of a young, precocious child was imperative to the story being told well. The older man who played Asher’s father also played Asher’s mentor and instructor. The two characters were starkly different, but he did a fantastic job of creating two completely different men. There was no overlap between the actions, voices, or nuances of the two characters. The woman who played the mother successfully portrayed a tormented woman, stricken with depression, with love for her son and husband and brother, with an allegiance to her faith and to her family, though her loves and allegiances threatened to tear her apart, though they did break her spirit.

The story that was told and the questions that were raised are ones that are relevant still. Themes of art and religion and the interplay between the two were prevalent. The idea of something coming from good or from evil sources was raised. The place of community, of constraint, of compulsion and of truth were questioned and enacted on the stage. They are beautiful thoughts, sorrowful thoughts, wrought with pain and joy and fear.

Also, for those of us who are not Jewish, it shows us a portrait of life within a different culture and religion. It shows the interior of the social interactions that we often only see from the outside—it gives the historical aspect of Judaism a place in the present and removes the abstraction from the knowledge we may have about Hassidism. At least that is what it did for me. And though Asher’s situation and experience was different than what many of us will have, there were still many fundamental ways in which the story had connections with all humanity.

The play was a beautiful representation of this story.

I don’t want to tell too much about the actual story part because I believe it is much more powerful and relevant when experienced first-hand, but I will say that it is beautiful. Perhaps what I appreciate the most about this novel and this play is that they help to remind me that what is beautiful is not void of sorrow and struggling. What is good and what is beautiful—these are the things which show truth, and that is not often a pleasant experience or a pretty picture.

how to teach an old dog new tricks.

I was in a writing class once where we focused on changing our perceptions of ourselves and the world in which we live. We would try to pay attention to things we normally overlooked, like how our feet felt at any given moment. Or we would brush our teeth with the opposite hand and then write about that experience. In class, we would stand in the middle of the room, everyone facing whichever direction they wanted, and that is how we would have class. We searched for different ways to word things and became much more intentional with our actions—this enabled us to write about those things in a clearer, more comprehensive way.

It’s really easy, and sometimes quite comforting, to be in a place where things are normal. And I do believe there is value in stability. But I also think there is much value in learning new ways of seeing and being. I think doing so can add to my ability to relate to all of humanity. I think doing so can give me a greater appreciation for this life. I find it’s good to not let myself become too comfortable, for there is always more to discover; comfort can encourage me to remain stagnant. And I believe one of the most important parts of life is the process—changing perceptions can keep that process in motion.

In my life, there are tons of little and big patterns that dictate my time and my choices. The little patterns—I go to the bathroom as soon as I wake up; I always put sugar and cream into my mug before adding the coffee; I fix my bed every day, even if that fixing takes place ten minutes before I get into it for my night’s rest. And then there are bigger patterns, such as the ways in which I interact with others and maintain relationships and make decisions. And there isn’t much inherently wrong with any of these patterns—but if I were to tweak one of them, even slightly, it would awaken my mind to a new way of being.

There are certain things, certain patterns, like buying my food from a grocery store, that if I were to commit to change would illuminate one of these other ways of being. If I were to decide to only eat food I could produce on my own, or if I were to commit to following my trash to the trash dump, or if I were to decide to drive through down-town on my way to work instead of taking the interstate, well, then I would be teaching myself something new. I would be entering into an act that would allow me to understand what life is like for many other people.

These changes are hard to maintain over long periods of time, but as I go throughout my days, I try to remind myself to be open to different perceptions and different ways of being. If given the opportunity, I try to make a decision that will show my mind and soul something different than what it is used to. Even if it’s through reading books and articles about these different ways of being, those words allow me a new context through which I can examine my own life. It’s only through this examination, I believe, that I can remain in motion.

Thankfully, it’s never too late to change and try something new, even if just for a few moments.