News Bulletin!

This just in: Jeanine is slightly eccentric! Some might even call her "odd" or "weird." Just one more demonstration of her peculiarities:

I like Mondays. I realize that there is probably a (very small) support group that could help me overcome this abnormality, but I don't think I want to. (Besides, I haven't the time.) I like leaping out of bed to greet the day with an annoying amount of energy. Perhaps it's because I tend to catch up on things over the weekend. My house is clean, I have groceries, and I've slept an unusual amount. So I feel good, physically (it's the sleep!), emotionally (a clean house), and spiritually (my churches here are really great). Monday, the start of a new section of my life, brings a clean slate, a chance to start over. It's sort of like New Year's Day, only better -- I get one every week! Why do Mondays get such bad press? I don't get it.

About Power

When I was an undergrad, many and many a year ago, I was required to take a sociology course. Sociology was not created for me -- I'm far too hung up on the individuality of each person to enjoy examining them as groups and categories. Anthropology was actually better, because we focused on lifestyles rather than tendencies. Anyway, my sociology prof (who's name I have blessedly forgotten...oops, I remember now, but I won't use it) told us that all relationships are based on power. Marriage, politics, friendship, mentorings; every interaction is based on the desire to have power over one another. My thought then and my thought now: Baloney.

However, over the past week I have developed a new appreciation for power. When I haven't got it, I feel the lack. The saga: Last week, our temperature plummetted from 80-something to 30-something. And I concurrently lost power. The electrical kind. Repeatedly. And then, it would spontaneously re-appear. Repeatedly. When, arriving home in the frost late on Thursday night, I heard that silence which means your chicken is thawing in the freezer and your toes are freezing in your shoes, I called the power folk. Blue Grass Electrical Co-Op, in addition to putting out a fine magazine that features articles on things like pet therapy and custom-made coffins, is staffed by a fine bunch. A nice fellow came out and replaced my meter, which was a good deal more complicated and time-consuming than it sounds. I went to sleep around 11:30, happily listening to the hum of freezer and heater. I awoke at 4:30 to dread silence once again. Called the power folk. The same nice fellow came out and fiddled with something. "I think it's your main breaker," says he. "You'll have to call your manager." I did so that very afternoon. I arrived home, late Friday evening, to that familiar silence. Losing no time, I called the after-hours maintenance man, J.J. J.J. is a great guy, willing to do anything to help, but slow as molasses in January. He thinks it's my main breaker, too. He and the electrician finally left sometime after eleven, freezing, but with a very pretty over-time paycheck on the way. If my apartment manager didn't want to pay overtime, she should have taken care of it before I got home. I have a new main breaker, now, and my power has stayed on. Mostly.

So, maybe Dr. S. was right. Maybe I do desire power. Sometimes, I think I'm down-right hungry for it. Or maybe just hungry, since I can't make my oatmeal without it.

Ho pauno di ______

It's an exciting week in Italian class -- we're finally learning verbs! Well, we've known "to be" and "to have," but now we're getting into real conjugation and whatnot. We practiced in partners with the phrase "avere paunare di ________" ("I'm afraid of _____"), according to the scripts in the book. Strangely, of the thousands of things that I fear, not one of them was on the list. I sounded amazingly fearless as I replied again and again, "No, non ho pauno di ____." Wouldn't it be nice if I was really as fearless as I seem?

Gerry, meet Larry. Larry, shake hands with Gerry.

Perspective. It really changes the way you look at things, doesn't it? :)

Trite profundities aside, I spent some time this morning reading "Seven Steps to Personal Freedom" (Gerry Spence, attorney) because I am required to do so; I also spent some time reading "Finding God" (Dr. Larry Crabb, professor of counseling) because I wish to do so. The fundamental differences between the two are, I believe, all born of a root difference in perspective. It's clearly visible in the titles of the books: Is the author looking to free himself or to find God? I haven't finished either book yet, but it seems to me that Gerry spends his time convincing the reader to love himself, while Larry is focused on moving through trials and tribulations to love God more dearly. Let us compare how the two deal with the issue of poor self-image:

"The second step to personal freedom is therefore acknowledging as an irrefutable fact our uniqueness, and therefore our perfection. We are as perfect as the Hope diamond is perfect. There is no one to whom we may be compared -- no one in the universe -- no one now, no one in the past, no one to the end of time. Our absolute acceptance of that truth -- and it is a truth -- is our most powerful step to freedom. Yet our view of ourselves as perfect, accurate as it is, is not one of conceit but one of inclusion because we realize that all others in this world contain their own uniqueness and therefore their own perfection as well." ~Gerry Spence, pp. 32-33

"Many Christians have rightly recognized how a bad self-image generates the terrible pressure to perform. But they wrongly assume that its root is self-hatred. They teach that if we can overcome our hatred for ourselves and learn to rest in God's unconditional love, the pressure to measure up will vanish and we will lead happy, productive, meaningful lives. This reasoning has a serious flaw: the root problem behind the pressure to perform is not self-hatred, but rather the determination to handle disappointment without ever turning to God, without ever acknowledging personal evil, and without ever gratefully accepting mercy. We prefer to see ourselves as wounded in our relationships, not sinful before a holy God." ~Dr. Larry Crabb, p.129

I'm not saying that Larry has all the answers (and neither is he, by the way), but I think he comes a lot closer to asking the right questions than Gerry does. He has the sort of perspective, the direction of focus that I need -- he has his eyes on God, rather than on peeling the layers of his onion-like soul. Last night's post, though full of valid concerns and sorrows and emotional outburst, was awfully self-centered. If I spend too much time lost in that sort of introspection, I'll lose sight of my mission in life. My goal is not just to live, but to accomplish the mission God sets before me.

"Get your nose out of your shirt, and take a look outside." ~David Simpson, "Good-Bye Me, Hello Jesus"

The Mensan Meets the Artist

Dr. V. would be thrilled to know how many deeply philosophical posts are inspired by our lessons together. But I don't think I necessarily want her to read these things. It's sort of like those teachers who have you keep a personal journal -- and then turn it in. Even if you believe that they honestly think that they want to hear your thoughts, you still end up writing what you think they want to hear.

Okay, that's a string of awkward sentences. If this continues like this, I might never publish it.

Anyway, I was very honest in my lesson today. Dr. V., as noted before, is big on the sensation of playing. How does it feel? And sometimes, whether or not she says I made the right motion and sound and everything, it honestly doesn't feel any different. It's like at the optometrist's -- he gives you choice one or two, and you know you should be able to choose which is better, but you can't tell the difference. So I told her that I really couldn't feel whether or not I was releasing tension in my thumb. Then, for the second time in the past couple weeks, the question of whether or not I suppress my emotions arose. Do I overanalyze? Do I hid behind a facade?

In a way, I suppose I do suppress my feelings to some extent. In reality, I'm awfully sensitive. I used to end every day exhausted by my emotions and the emotions of those around me, and then I'd be so caught up in them that I couldn't sleep at night. I can't live that way. I can't survive or even function if I'm ruled by my overly sensitive heart. I can't cope with that sort of turmoil. Instead, I allow my brain to take charge. If I can think through every action, every reaction, every situation, than I have a certain amount of control over myself. I don't want freedom from that control -- I've tried that. I go nuts. Just ask my mother about my childhood sometime.

Then, too, my brain doesn't really turn off. I can divert myself, a skill I developed after a tendency toward morbid introspection became evident. I can think light thoughts, heavy thoughts, simple thoughts, complex thoughts, but I can't imagine thinking nothing. Besides, it doesn't make sense to me. Dr. V. likes the bath analogy -- imagine that you are stepping into the tub, relaxing into the warm water. In that totally honest moment, I admitted that I think quite logically when stepping into the tub. If I didn't, I would probably break my tailbone. I analyze the motion of the ripples. I day-dream. I plan my next course of action. It's a pleasant time, certainly, but my brain doesn't stop. Should it?

Must I choose between my brain and my senstivity? Does one path lead only to the physics teacher and the other to the musician? Dr. V. would have been surprised to know how close to tears I've been since our conversation. This re-ascendence of my over-sensitivity is more than a little bit alarming to me. I don't know what to do with it. And when I can't figure out the proper action, I really do begin to suppress. What a mess I am.

Just a brief note to say...

Remind me never to be a secretary. Or a receptionist. Or anything else that requires me to sit around for hours on end waiting for the phone to ring. I'm simply not good at cooling my jets. Hmm, three blog entries in one morning. Can you tell I'm desperate for action?

Happiness

I drove from Michigan to Kentucky on Sunday afternoon, after a weekend away. The sky was that brilliant blue featured by the best days of autumn, the sun was shining, and the trees were just beginning to turn in places. I-74 and I-75 go through some of the friendliest territory in the country, I think. I rolled my windows down, cranked John Williams up, and I was happy.

I thought briefly of the long list of things that are not ideal in my life; I should be annoyed, unhappy, heartsick, insecure, stressed out, concerned, or at least discontent. How is it that we humans can distance ourselves from our tribulations to find joy despite ourselves? I think that may be one of the kindest gifts God ever granted.

Me as Myself

For those of you who haven't seen me in a while, this is me!

My, what a lot of hair I have. Somebody took this at the gallery hop a few weeks ago, unbeknownst to me. A fairly standard pose, I must admit, though I don't always glare at the music that way. I was beginning to feel the strain of the long evening, I suppose. Or this may have been before people began to arrive, when I was practicing rather than performing. I'm sure there was some sort of legitimate excuse!