Good morning from the cube,
I am cleaning, organizing, and working on some other sundry things. I am a bit ridiculous about organization and cleaning, particularly kitchens and bathrooms, but I am well aware of that idiosyncrasy. Cleaning as a daily chore when I grew up. Each of the three children had required things even before school in the morning (beyond making our beds), and Saturdays were basically what I would later in the Marines call “field day.” While I found comfort in this structure and propensity for order, my sister was the opposite. I often described her sense of order as “there is a place for everything, but it is all on the floor.” This did not please our mother, to be sure, and that sort of chaotic practice stressed me out. A couple, who both formerly cleaned my house for me, and remain dear friends, laugh at me for my need for order when I sit down at any establishment to eat. Some of the need for structure serves me well, and then at other moments, not so much, but to say it is engrained in me by this time is an understatement.
When I first arrived in Bloomsburg, the fall of 2009, I was excited to begin my new position, but I struggled that back in Wisconsin, I had left someone I had promised to care for. It was 11 years ago today I returned to stand watch and care for her in what would be the last two weeks of her life. Lydia was exceptional. When I first met her, she had been a widow for a decade, was a retired economics professor, and was under 5 feet tall, weighing less than three digits. More to come on that, but I was worried that I would not be good enough, capable enough to take over a nascent minor and develop it into a program. During that first year, I had a stroke, while more than a TIA, not so extreme to cause permanent consequences. When I met with the head of neurology at our local medical center, and explained my premature beginning to life, he looked back at the MRI and stared at me. He paused and then said, “The fact you do not have Cerebral Palsy or you’re not grossly retarded (he actually used that word) is a miracle. And you have a PhD.” I sort of merely stared back and nodded, mumbling, “Yes.” He then said, “You’re exceptional.” To this day, I have never felt exceptional about much of anything. I merely work hard, trying to do the best I can, and falling short more often than I wish. What does it mean to be exceptional? And what does it mean to be arrogant? Certainly exceptional means to be well outside the average, to manage tasks or processes with incredible skill. There is a combination, it seems, of both innate skill and a significant degree of resilience combined with a desire to excel and push to continually improve. It is a consistent push to always do one’s best, and that requires profound discipline. However, if one’s exceptional ability is to be beneficial, if it is to be transformational, it requires humility. Forbes magazine noted additional attributes they refer to as enablers. Two of those things are self belief and the ability to learn for another. I am a consummate learner, which requires me to continually question both my adherence and my opposition to something to become more sure of my self belief, as well as to surround myself with those who force me to learn things beyond what I know, to push the limits of my knowledge and understanding.
Understanding both my world and my piety and their connection is something that occupies a lot of my deliberation or rumination at this time. I’m not sure if that is a consequence of retirement (simply having more time) or in response to our current world situation. My gut tells me it is a combination of the two. I read a news story earlier where a Catholic parish in Boston put Mary, Joseph, and the Baby Jesus inside the parish, arguing they were placed inside to protect them from deportation. Of course, the response, much like our current national atmosphere, has been incredibly mixed. The typical misstated arguments about the Establishment Clause, the co-opting of our understanding of Jesus or Christmas, and certainly the struggles of how faith, piety, and daily life fit are at the center of the response. Often those responses are due to our individual and societal arrogance. Another element of our exceptionalism as a country is our indivisible and societal freedom, something enshrined in the genius of the constitution, something essential to what has been significant for the two and a half centuries of American democracy.
The incredible experiment called democracy is still something we are trying understand, or at least it seems so. The attempt to balance States Rights versus Federalism is alive and well. Currently, the evolution of balance pf powers, checks and balances is being debated from Washington DC (or the world) to the rural highways and hamlets of the country. Just this morning a podcast in The Atlantic, which is left leaning, was titled “I Run the Country and the World.” I’ve not listened to it yet, but I have often lamented that both the genius and the foil of President Trump is his power to persuade. I will never argue his strengths, but as is common, our strongest attributes are often our most profound weakness when carried too far. I know this reality in my own life. Too often, what seems to be my innate kindness and generosity has led to my being used, or more accurately, my allowing myself to be used. And subsequently, my desire to avoid any confrontation has resulted in saying nothing, merely walking away hurt and dejected. As of late, trying to learn how to step up, to stand up, has caused a different dilemma, and one I am learning to navigate. I am struggling to learn balance – much like the world it seems. The desire to be exceptional is always worth our consideration. It is what has made the American dream possible. Learning how to live it individually or collectively is a worthy goal, but never at the expense of the other. When we do something at the expense of the other, I will assert we are selfish, and for me selfishness is a form of arrogance. As I move into the new year, there are a number of things to consider, to figure out, to manage. My wish is to do it as well as possible, and as graciously as possible too. While I have used this video before, it seems apropos here.
Thank you for reading, and I wish you a calm end to the year.
Michael
thewritingprofessor55 