Age old advice. Don’t worry about what people think. Just be yourself.

I’m sure you’ve had this said to you. It seems like something reasonable to say to someone worried about fitting in or being liked. You may have said it to yourself even though you probably recognize that it’s harder than it sounds.

That’s because it is bullshit.

I always took it to mean that I shouldn’t change who I am to fit someone else’s expectations (or what I think those might be). Not to try and pretend to be something I’m not. It’s about avoidance of a personal dishonesty.

And that is part of it. But what about “yourself?” Who are you?

I can’t answer that now. I certainly couldn’t answer as a kid. I am not the same person a year ago. I won’t be the same person a year from now. Emotions hour to hour may even change who I appear to be to others.

It’s not just misleading, but confusing. If “myself” means who I am now, then I’m being asked not to change at all – which is insanity. If “myself” means who I want to be, then, well, I want to be liked so I should change myself to try and be liked. If “myself” means something else, then how can I find out?

Self is a morass of thoughts and influences. Even the blatant ones aren’t always easy to resist, like peer pressure and advertising. We embrace many of the more subtle ones, such as ideas and thoughts from friends or TV shows or articles like this one. Others we have little or no choice in, such as who raised us and how, the culture and economics we were born into, the language first spoke and others we may have learned, and of course the biological and chemical reactions of our human bodies.

All of these are a part of what we think of as “myself,” and they are rarely in harmony. We want to be peaceful, and still get angry. We want to be compassionate, and still feel envy. We want to be calm, and still get sad.

Just be yourself?

Which self? The main thing we rely on is the body communicating all of this. Talk abut a conflict of interests. Though it may not be objective, it’s the best we got. So we may be all those things or we may be none of them. We may be something bigger than our bodies have evolved to comprehend.

What that advice is really trying to ask of you is “Just Be.” That’s a lot to ask. The struggle to be yourself is really the struggle to break free from all of those influences and maintain a conscious and fully aware self control. It is the work of a lifetime.

It’s the struggle to break free from what you believe to be you. Some people only try this when it gets really bad, they’ll seek religion, therapy, self-help books, and they stop when the crisis is over. But most never try at all. Many revel in the influences, for good or ill – because survival doesn’t care about morality.

I am no longer trying to be myself.

The real challenge is to keep re-examining who I am, who I think I am, who other people think I am, and who I want to be. Not just when it’s causing a problem in my life (that’s when it’s easy) but all the time.

I’m no longer trying to be myself. I’m trying to be better.

With cries of liberty and freedom!

Let’s build a government that serves the interest of property owners. We’ll fight on their behalf against their oppressors, for promises of trinkets, fine speeches, and honest work. One that keeps all women, all non-whites, and poor whites outside the power structure as much as possible. We’ll create laws that allow the elite to form corporations so they’re even better protected from the laws that rule the individual citizen, then we’ll wage wars (where our children die) and support dictatorships (where even more foreign children die) to open foreign markets and sell goods when the ability to manufacture goods outstrips demand for those goods, and the profits of those corporations begin to slow. And we will help for promises of trinkets, fine speeches, and honest work.

When that falters (I’d give it a century or so), with revolts and strikes threatening to put the power back into local communities and individual workers, we’ll find new tactics. We’ll build military threats to nurture nationalistic fervor, increasing taxes on the working class (excise taxes and multiple kinds of income taxes) to pay for wars and subsidies to the largest business interests to ensure profit in hard times. Keep just enough money to the lower classes to create a middle class that will fight the poor over the scraps.

Once the civil rights and demands of liberation finally gives non-whites and women a chance at the advantages of rich white men, we’ll pull funding from higher education ensuring that only the wealthy and those invested in the system are assured of a critical thinking education. The middle class and poor will have to find their own ways to pay skyrocketing tuition, whether through their family’s life savings, huge loans (to the very same banks that helped create this situation), or by taking one or more jobs that they often find demeaning and humiliating, if not physically taxing, offering no personal or spiritual rewards.

When all that’s done, we can be proud we survived the gauntlet and never miss a chance to reiterate how hard it was (good job, us!), so we’ll be incentivized to make sure those who come after us goes through that hardship too. It builds character because we have character. And if those trapped by the loans and terrible jobs start to complain, we’ll blame them for making the choice to get educated, pretending they had any other option, and be contented that all is right. And they are all right because we have our trinkets, find speeches, and honest jobs.

Except on occasion, when witnessing another person’s rudeness or selfishness or ignorance, we’ll narrow our eyes at them. Where is their morality, their self respect? We’ll wonder why they needed to cut us off and get in that lane so badly. We’ll wonder why they leave their shopping cart in the aisle, blocking the way. We’ll wonder how they let their children get so out of control in public. Or how vandals can have no respect for the place people live. We’ll wonder how someone could lower themselves to steal a car or a bike. Risk freedom for drug money and murder. How can people be so self centered and oblivious?

We’ll wonder: where did it all go wrong?

Photo by Tiny Water

And as the months passed, the high faded, and reality sunk in. There were times of doubt. Could I be the person I thought I could on that day?

Perhaps it was just the elation of a wonderful wedding, and the love of our families celebrating with us.

It hasn’t been until recent months that the feeling has returned, not as a hope but a reality. We’ve grown into fantastic people, and continue to grow.

Change and self improvement is hard. We’ve had many struggles and fights. There have been times of despair. Times where it seemed like our promises to be better for each other may be impossible dreams.

But with each obstacle, and especially with each fight, we grow. Part of that growth comes from compassion for each other above all else. A determination not to intentionally hurt the other one. But also a careful, thoughtful, navigation of the other’s feelings and needs.

When friction occurs it is often through a selfish action, accidental or intentional. It could be a habit learned long ago, or a desire that’s come up in the moment. It is not easy to navigate these. We are all blind to parts of us we don’t know, and parts of other people. Why do certain words or actions that seem natural, perhaps harmless, cause pain to another?

We never told each other to toughen up. We try not to feel resentful of the other’s pain. And we always, not always immediately, but always explore what caused the pain. We always strive to increase understanding of one another.

Many missteps. Many small victories. Many stumbles. Many attempts. Small steps, little by little, walking down a new path. A path that can only be new because there is no one exactly like us, and we’ve never done this before.

The path has no end. We’ll continue to struggle and grow and change. So far, each change and new discovery about each other has only increased my love for my wife. There could be a day where that ceases to be true, but so far, I don’t see a hint of it on the horizon.

I look forward to many more years, growing together as more than lovers and friends, but allies and protectors and champions. She is my superhero. That’s why I call her Mrs. Fantastic.

Oh, Great Green Kite!

Lift me off this ground.
This dirt
This sand
Clinging to everything.

Lift me to the sky
The light
The warmth.
Let me be done with wet and cold.

Please, lift me up!
Your life is carefree.
Mine is filled with worry.
Teach me your saintly ways.

How can I better myself
Down here?
I’m too tempted to lie
In the mud.

You’re majesty
Let me be sublime.
Dress me in resplendency, though
I am simply a man.

Oh please, take me up!
Let your strength lift me!
And we will fly
Anywhere, anywhere, anywhere,

Anywhere…

Copyright Matthew Stevenson.

There is something to learn from the Mayans, but it has nothing to do with the date and it has everything to do with the end of our world. The calendar may be silent, but the clock is still ticking.

If you’re reading this, you probably don’t believe the world is going to end on December 21, 2012. And you are absolutely right. The idea that the Mayans predicted the end of the world is ridiculous. Because of this, some are saying that the Mayans were wrong.

The Mayans did not write “This is the day the world ends” any more than we do on a calendar when we write “December 31.” There is nothing wrong about arbitrary methods of marking the days. They were right because all they claimed was this is the day our calendar ends.

People who think they can predict the future are wrong. As is always the case. Human assumptions and ignorance, thinking we know something that is not provable or testable.

But the Mayans do have a warning for us about the world ending.

For the Mayans, the world ended around 700 years ago. We aren’t 100% sure what happened. There may have been a religious upheaval or transformations, climate disruptions, civil wars or diseases that aren’t clearly shown in what we’ve found of theirs so far. The main thing we know is their way of life stopped working and collapsed.

There is some evidence that supports over-cultivation of the land. They didn’t respect the limitations of what the world could produce and over farmed the land. Crops failed at increasing rates until it no longer made sense to live in those centralized cities

There is more evidence that supports a peasant revolt. The ruling elite gained and maintained power on the backs of the majority of the populace, enslaved into labor they hated, creating greatness for the powerful few. There was a massive uprising that destroyed what we recognize as the “Mayan” civilization. Once the priests and royalty were deposed, the people likely rejected those cultural trappings and pursued a different way of life, more communal. A cultural shift on par with Rome’s conversion to Christianity in the 4th century or America’s popular revolts of the late 60′s and early 70′s, combined with a political shift on the level of Japan’s Meiji restoration or Sweden’s socialist revolution.

The end of the world was very real for the Mayans. And the ruling class didn’t see it coming: not in their calendars, not in their writings. It came from exploitation of the land and their fellow humans. They did not die like so many other civilizations, from invasion resulting in pillaging and conquering. They could not find the balance between prosperity and compassion for every person.

It will eventually happen to us, unless we do the same.

I heard my alpha owner say the other day, “Man, that dog doesn’t know how good he has it.” And I just have to ask, “Are you kidding me?”

My owners say stuff like this all the time. If I know anything, it’s how good I have it. I don’t think they know how good they have it.

They envy the fact that all I can do is lay around all day with no clue how utterly bored I am. Do they take me out hunting and exploring? No! My alpha goes out to get the food by herself. If I’m lucky, sometimes I get to go with her in the car, but she leaves me in there while she goes into the building where the hunting happens.

I can barely stand the boredom. When I get a hint that we’re going to do something interesting, I get so excited I can’t contain myself. We generally just cover the same territory, but it’s changed so much since the last time, I can’t believe she’s content with just one or two surveys a day.

It’s not always patrols. After countless days of patrols, we’ll head out to this fantastic field of wide open space that’s usually crowded with members from other packs. I spend so much time sniffing out potential threats, I barely get to enjoy the fetching drills and chasing exercises. Needless to say, I’ve never found any prey there (my pack mates don’t seem to care, they either run or walk around in circles or sit and read a book).

That’s what they envy about me. But the truth is, I envy them far more.

Most of the day I spend trapped and separated from my pack. If it’s at all damp or chilly, I spend it indoors. When I was a pup, I even spent time in a cage. I can’t figure out what I do wrong, but I usually end up spending most of the day trying to figure it out.

Oh ho, and if I do something they don’t like! My pack mates have magic powers or something. This is some crazy stuff. If you wonder why I don’t just take over pack controla, here’s why.

Just the other day, I could smell a food source in the garbage can. It was really strong and smelled good. I knew if I could find a new food source, it would get me some more respect, so of course I go digging. Well, it turns out there was nothing but garbage in there! There were scraps of food, but it wasn’t even enough for me, let alone the entire pack. Seriously, who keeps rotting garbage inside their den? Well, digging for it made a huge mess in the living room and I wasn’t able to clean it up.

Now here’s where it gets weird. Let me be clear, I hadn’t done anything for a long time when they got home. In fact I’d been sleeping and almost forgot about it. I remembered when they came home and knew they wouldn’t like it. I felt so guilty and ashamed. I tried to keep a low profile and stay out of sight. They took one look at me and somehow KNEW that I did it! I don’t mean they suspected. They didn’t need to gather any evidence. It was like they could see into my mind or read my emotions as if they were written on my face. And there is no ritual for this magic, they can do this just with a glance!

That’s just a small piece. They know what time of day I need to go to the bathroom (luckily we’re usually on patrol) even when the sun is hidden. They can predict things, like the weather, as if they can see the future. They have marvels, like walls they touch and create light. They go out alone and bring back food, with never a scratch – it doesn’t even tired them out! And we NEVER run out of food. When it storms, and it sounds like this time the world is definitely tearing itself apart, they just look out the window and shrug — sometimes, one of them smiles and says, “Listen to that wonderful thunder!”

Speaking of which, they talk all the time. And it’s more than just warnings or letting each other know if there’s food, or if someone is hurt. They somehow trade information about things they’ve seen or heard in such a way that everyone listening knows what happened, and even know it to be true!

Don’t get me wrong, I am a very lucky dog. I don’t think it’s exaggeration to say my pack mates are Gods. Despite having these powers completely beyond me, they love me so much! I know they’ll use their powers to protect me. When they come home, whatever reason they had to imprison me is completely forgiven. If I disappear or get too far from them, they get really upset and seem so grateful just to have me return. They usually fight amongst each other more than they ever get angry at me. I don’t understand it – none of them spills the garbage or poops next to the laundry room door – but I guess I’m not meant to understand the quarrels of Gods.

So, believe me, this dog knows how good he has it. I’m so very lucky. I don’t know why they consider me worthy for their pack. I can’t keep up.

So it’s weird that they envy my life, when they want to trade places. Because I would give anything – ANYthing – to have a life of a human over the life of a dog.

God’s word has never been written down in our words. It’s never been written in English, Greek, or Latin. It has never been written in Sanskrit, Egyptian, or Sumerian. It has never been written in Russian or Chinese. No word of God has been written in Arabic or Japanese. Maori, Navajo, and Zulu have all tried to express it, but like attempts in every other language, humans words were never truly the word of God.

God’s words are too big for human words. We make up words and phrases to try and capture the ideas of eternity, infinity and perfection. But we can never express them. We do not have perfect words. No language is perfect. If it were otherwise, then we would all speak the same perfect language and have no need for any other except as curiousities.

Except in one way, we do have something that appears universal. The language of science: mathematics.

We do not know everything about math, but the constants are such that we can trust it with rigorous skepticism and experimentation. And when there’s a flaw, it is likely our fault in failing to understand it. And we encounter unknowns and confusing data, sometimes that lasts for centuries until someone comes along and looks at the problem in a new way, and sometimes they reveal a new form of math to explain it. When this happens, its a breakthrough. So many things that almost made sense become crystal clear. New sciences blossom with new mathematical tools. And then we find a new limit on understanding. New questions that are difficult to answer.

In this way, God’s word is written down. It is written in the stars. It is written in the gravity that hurls the Earth around the Sun. It is written in the mountains, the magma, the lava. It is written in the seas, the waves, and the clouds. God’s words are written in the trees, and flowers, and bees. It is written in the sap and blood and mucus and goo of life. God’s word is written in us.

By observing the world, by understanding everything about the universe, by understanding ourselves, we grow closer to understanding the eternity and perfection and whole of creation that we call God.

Science is not anti-religion. Science is one way we ask God questions and get an answer we can understand.

My wife got a letter from her newly assigned OB/GYN. And it’s a special thing. But to really expose what it’s doing, I’ve re-written it so that it sounds like it’s written for men. Keep in mind that the doctor is a man

Welcome to my practice! I’m looking forward to partnering with you to establish a relationship that will address your special needs as a man, now and for years to come. Working together is very important to us both because it helps ensure that you will be as healthy as you can be. To get us started, here’s some information about me as well as other resources that will get you acquainted with out Obstetrics and Gynecology department at [REDACTED Hospital Name].

[REDACTED Doctor's Personal educational background and listing of degrees and schools.]

At [Hospital] we know that men have many unique needs and questions. To give you the best partner to met those needs, we ask all our male patients to select an additional personal physician who specializes in men’s health. As your partner in men’s health, I can make sure that you have the full benefit of the many [Hospital] resources available to you as a man.

Finally, I want to let you know about my home page and encourage you to visit [REDACTED homepage link]. From there you can e-mail me your routine health questions, schedule routine appointments, view most lab results and recent immunizations, or order prescription refills. To get started, just go to my homepage and register for a secure password.

I’m very excited to begin our journey together. [Emphasis added]

Sincerely….

If women need specialized doctors because medicine is sexist and male dominated, if not in the gender of physicians, then still in its practice and operations, is this method approach doing anything to correct the chauvinism? I don’t think so.

If you aren’t an idealist, you are playing a losing game.

Being an idealist has taken on a negative meaning, even dictionary definitions usually include “impractical” in it. But the primary meaning is someone who strives for noble ideals over practicality.

Therein lies the rub.

No one wants to be impractical, so being realistic is seen as a better way to go. Being realistic will ensure you don’t overreach. It will keep you on the path of the possible.

But that’s not the whole truth. Being realistic keeps you fenced in. We will often convince ourselves what is possible solely based on experience and assumption. You may probe the edge of that fence, but if you put your mind inside the borders of what is assumed to be practical, often you’ll end up far from those borders of possibility.

Idealism, on the other hand, is about striving for ideals. Ideals are almost always impossible. Eradicating poverty and ending war and suffering. These are, practically speaking, impossible to overcome.

But why wouldn’t someone want to strive for the end of war or poverty? A realistic answer would be because it’s a waste of effort. So you might turn to something more realistic, like volunteering at a soup kitchen or becoming a social worker. But that can lead to more fences, you can’t feed everyone or change the inherent problems that lead to people falling under the train of society.

Being realistic can also stop you from pursuing your dreams. The chances of a successful business or becoming a working actor aren’t great. So, do something realistic.

Ultimately, this is why being realistic isn’t helpful as a mental state. It’s a slippery slope of limitations. It can be difficult to determine what limitations are practical, and which are not.

Instead, be an idealist. Because being an idealist doesn’t mean you have to be impractical. Impracticality is often pretty obvious, because you’ll have many other people and systems working to limit you. Let those pressures shape your idealism into a pragmatic reality.

You won’t luck into being a billionaire, but with the right amount of hard work and research, you could start your own business that does very well for you. You can’t end all war, but you might be able to help end a specific war, or help the soldiers or civilians harmed by it. And maybe, you’ll exceed those rational limits after all.

There is compromise woven into reality. So, aim for those ideals and don’t compromise before you must. Compromise will come fast with physical limitations. Set yourself up to push against it. Ask for the moon, and then plot the course.

By being idealists, we can all grow and improve. And that’s very practical.

Over on my Tumblr I’ve started posting some historic quotes for Black History Month.

It can be a divisive topic, especially with the question “Why isn’t every month black history month?” or the issue that we somehow can’t learn our entire history inclusively.

But, honestly, we can’t. We are still fighting to have science taught in science class. The idea that history is biased isn’t even on most people’s radar. Anytime you take a period of time filled with a myriad of human experiences and stories, condense them into a few salient facts with enough clarity to create identifiable causes and effects, and put into words that grade school children can understand, you are going to leave stuff out. That creates misinformation.

Even though we know there are missing pieces, we tend to think of history as basically right. Those details left out are not important, right? The history we are taught through high school focuses on a single voice, that of the state. The wars we won were just. The wars we lost were complex. Well remembered leaders helped achieve these goals, and were usually celebrated in their time by others in power, and looked upon favorably by at least a slim majority of the populace.

Blacks do not appear in our history because no black person had a voice in the state, and the state did not speak for black people. Just like women don’t appear, nor do Native Americans, nor immigrants, except mostly as faceless masses. The only times non-rich white men are mentioned are when they must be. Slavery, suffrage, immigration, the Great Depression, and civil rights are all momentous events that would be ridiculous to discuss completely from those in power. They also happen to be events that the popular majority agrees that mistakes were made.

So, it’s remarkable to me that Black History Month exists. Started in 1976, it speaks to the embarrassment at the gross mistreatment America has committed to some of its own citizens because of the color of their skin.

It also is a recognition of the myopia of our history. Although the stated goals are generally about a celebration of the accomplishments and contributions of Black Americans, it’s a start.

It’s still a failing on our part that we don’t extend the view to other marginalized peoples. Not just Native Americans, women, Chinese, Irish, and many other immigrants, but also the poor and working class across color lines, the protestors and pacifists, the socialists and anti-capitalists. They’ve all worked to create the most powerful nation in history.

But it’s a start. And in that vein, I’m pulling some choice quotes from the history books (a lot of them from A People’s History of the United States). My focus is not uplifting sound bites of freedom and perseverance, or highlighting the accomplishments of renowned Black Americans. I’m focusing on the horrors and struggles. A glimpse of how intense the struggle was for basic humanization.

It’s a start.

Head on down this way.

This nail means you’ve died.
That blood disease took you
From this Earth
From your family
From me.

The scars on these stones will never heal.
But some day
With enough wind,
And sun,
And rain,
It will become a foothold for life.

A new life.
Not yours.
You, my beautiful boy, are never coming home again.

I don’t drive this nail into rock with anguish
My sadness doesn’t plant it here.
The memory of you isn’t strong enough.
I drive it with a fury
And passion
At the thought of how many days
Lay before us.
I would erase those days and join you
Now.

But I know what you’d say. I know what you’d want.
To live my days and find happiness again.
And I couldn’t bear to face you not having done that.
So you’ll forgive me if
Right now
I hate you.
And use that hate to drive this nail into stone
And hopefully, the remove the nails
In my heart as well.

When Occupy Wall Street hit Oakland, one of the first alternate phrasing presented was Decolonize Oakland. I thought this odd, at first.

I thought it was just about Native American rights. Occupy Oakland was building around Columbus Day, so that made sense. But it’s really about more than that.

But the movement continues, in cities around the country – despite coordinated government crackdowns, despite television media putting more effort into ignoring the events and written media focusing on those who are claiming injury from the unrest – and in Oakland itself, Angela Davis came to the general assembly to present a proposal (and she, unlike self-important Mayor Jean Quan, played by the rules and waited in line).

I started thinking about Decolonize and what that really meant. I’ve decided I like it better than Occupy.

The original idea of Occupy was to show up in force on Wall Street – not Washington – as a statement, “We know who holds the reigns.” But if you take the “occupation” statement, symbolically, what does it mean? Do we move into their offices? By occupying Wall Street, we perpetuate it.

I prefer decolonization. When Columbus arrived, the Arawaks were (by all Spanish accounts) leading peaceful and idyllic lives. Columbus, however, needed to fulfill the promises of wealth he made to his investors, and began the first of many campaigns of genocide and enslavement in the name of progress, prosperity, and the great white civilization of Europe.

The Dutch settlements in New York/Amsterdam were nothing short of feudal land baronies, with a handful of families lording over poor tenant farmers who had no rights (and, like many early colonists, more than a few fled to “savage Indians” seeking their only chance at freedom). This system lasted two centuries, well past the Revolution, until the Anti-Rent riots of the 1840′s. It starts to sound a little familiar.

New York in the late 19th century was a hell hole for the average person. Only the rich (1% you might say) had running water. The majority of the city relied on sewage filled rivers, with garbage piled high in the streets and alleys, constant victims of disease, illness, and vermin. They had no voice, no representation, no power. Riots and strikes rocked the nation for decades, with the most common response: police, national guard, martial law. It sounds a little familiar.

So, what’s the symbolic conclusion of a decolonization? It’s unrealistic to expect many of us to go “home” to the Old World.

Decolonizing is about the culture we’ve allowed to calcify around us. A culture that holds private property as sacrosanct above public welfare. Where an individual’s greatness is put above the community, no matter how much wealth that individual amasses, no matter how much the community suffers. It’s the culture that Christopher Columbus brought with him, and every great man who came after him supported, built up, and used to increase their personal gain at the expense of the meek, the poor, the brown, black, and every female regardless of color or creed.

The only thing that still bothers me about “decolonize” is the implication that it’s about winding back the clock. But this is not about going back to old ways. It’s about moving forward and finding something new. We won’t get everything we dream. The powers we’re up against have been writing laws for the better part of 300 years, and they hold all the resources. We’ll only get a small piece.

So, dream as big as you can.

Let me run across that jagged horizon.
Let me chase the dying sun.
I want to swallow cold air.
I want to slip on ice.
Scrape my knees on the granite.
Let my teeth taste the snow.
I will use the ropes of my guts to climb her.

All your talk of liberty is a prison.
This is freedom, and it will be mine.