Never Done: I helped carry a double stroller up the subway stairs
Come on people. The woman was just standing there at the foot of the stairs, with two kids in her double stroller, waiting for some help. And you all just climbed up without even noticing? Or maybe you noticed and decided you didn't want to A) take the time, B) hurt your back, or C) care.
I asked her if she needed help, and she nodded. I asked her where I should lift the stroller from, and when she just smiled I realized she was not an English speaker. So I tried again to ask where to lift from, but this time using my hands, and she showed me where. (I had never lifted a double before, and I didn't want it to tip over.) Her kids were biggish -- toddlers, not babies, and the thing was heavy. I got up to the first platform, and realized this was not a job for me (I did not want to drop her children) and so when a strapping young guy came by, I asked him if he would carry the stroller the rest of the way, and he immediately stopped to help.
This gets me thinking about the mussar mide (middah) of Righteousness: What is hateful to you do not do to others. The truth is, I really don't know what was going on for all the people who walked past her. Maybe they all had hidden injuries or pressing meetings that would prevent them from carrying a stroller. It is possible. On the other hand, I would think that if they had something very heavy to carry up the stairs, or if they got a flat tire, or if they couldn't get the lid off the pickle jar, they would want someone to stop and help them. Also, as I demonstrated, if you start to help and can't continue to help, you can still help by asking someone else to help.
Showing posts with label Righteousness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Righteousness. Show all posts
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
Of wetsuits and toe clips
Never Done: I tried on a wetsuit
Never Done: I rode (a bike) in toe clips
One thing I like about training for the triathlon is that it pushes me up against physical challenges that are just a little bit of a stretch for me. Within reach, but a little bit of a stretch -- usually physically, and also usually mentally. Today's stretch was trying out toe clips for the first time. People say that everyone falls three times when they start riding with toe clips. (Toe clips are not the little cages you put your feet into, but the mechanisms that require special shoes that you actually clip onto the pedal, making it so if you need to stop riding, you have to make sure to get your foot unclipped first, or else ... fall over.)
I've always slightly feared riding with toe clips. I think it's just your garden-variety fear of being trapped, but it's kept me from it all these years. When I started training for the triathlon though, I was advised pretty quickly that I would want to use them, so I've been mentally preparing myself for a couple months. But mentally preparing and actually doing are two different things, and what is interesting for me is that (at least in this case) the fear actually drained away as soon as I stepped over the threshold and actually tried. It charted out like this:
Scared thinking about it
Scared thinking about it
Scared thinking about how I'd be doing it soon
Scared thinking about how I'd be doing it soon
I'm about to do it -- time to just figure it out and stop worrying
Doing it -- not actually scared at all
As is so often the case, doing something is easier than perseverating about doing something. Or, as we say in Mussar, Patience: don't aggravate a situation with wasted grief.
So let's see if I can internalize that lesson. I tried on a wetsuit today because a week from tomorrow I am going to swim in the Great Hudson River Swim. Here's what I've been perseverating about: I should have gotten one with sleeves, the water is going to be really cold, I am going to swallow too much water, I should get better goggles, how do I use Glide (this anti-chafing stuff that comes in a container that looks like deodorant,) what if the tide is going the wrong direction? Do you think maybe it's all going to be fine? Or if it isn't, that it's still going to be fine? I mean, I'm in really good shape. If something goes wrong, I can just stop. And the whole reason I am doing it is to get used to swimming in the Hudson before the triathlon. Also, because I thought it would be fun to swim in all the waters around NYC this summer. Hear that, psyche? Fun!
So in that spirit, I am going to try to spend the week anticipating the physical and mental challenge of the swim next weekend, and working up a head of giddy excitement that I am going to swim in the Hudson on Memorial Day weekend.
Never Done: I rode (a bike) in toe clips
One thing I like about training for the triathlon is that it pushes me up against physical challenges that are just a little bit of a stretch for me. Within reach, but a little bit of a stretch -- usually physically, and also usually mentally. Today's stretch was trying out toe clips for the first time. People say that everyone falls three times when they start riding with toe clips. (Toe clips are not the little cages you put your feet into, but the mechanisms that require special shoes that you actually clip onto the pedal, making it so if you need to stop riding, you have to make sure to get your foot unclipped first, or else ... fall over.)
I've always slightly feared riding with toe clips. I think it's just your garden-variety fear of being trapped, but it's kept me from it all these years. When I started training for the triathlon though, I was advised pretty quickly that I would want to use them, so I've been mentally preparing myself for a couple months. But mentally preparing and actually doing are two different things, and what is interesting for me is that (at least in this case) the fear actually drained away as soon as I stepped over the threshold and actually tried. It charted out like this:
Scared thinking about it
Scared thinking about it
Scared thinking about how I'd be doing it soon
Scared thinking about how I'd be doing it soon
I'm about to do it -- time to just figure it out and stop worrying
Doing it -- not actually scared at all
As is so often the case, doing something is easier than perseverating about doing something. Or, as we say in Mussar, Patience: don't aggravate a situation with wasted grief.
So let's see if I can internalize that lesson. I tried on a wetsuit today because a week from tomorrow I am going to swim in the Great Hudson River Swim. Here's what I've been perseverating about: I should have gotten one with sleeves, the water is going to be really cold, I am going to swallow too much water, I should get better goggles, how do I use Glide (this anti-chafing stuff that comes in a container that looks like deodorant,) what if the tide is going the wrong direction? Do you think maybe it's all going to be fine? Or if it isn't, that it's still going to be fine? I mean, I'm in really good shape. If something goes wrong, I can just stop. And the whole reason I am doing it is to get used to swimming in the Hudson before the triathlon. Also, because I thought it would be fun to swim in all the waters around NYC this summer. Hear that, psyche? Fun!
So in that spirit, I am going to try to spend the week anticipating the physical and mental challenge of the swim next weekend, and working up a head of giddy excitement that I am going to swim in the Hudson on Memorial Day weekend.
Friday, May 20, 2011
I had a mentorship date with Susan Miller
Never Done: I had a mentorship date with Susan Miller
Two months ago, I wrote a blog post called I asked someone to mentor me, in which I wrote that I'd seen a Facebook status update by my favorite web series writer with a link to an article called Why We Must Mentor Other Women, and that after some consideration, I wrote to her to ask her if she would consider mentoring me on both the business and writing end as I write a web series I've been working on for a couple of months. I didn't want to name her without her permission, but now that we had a wonderful coffee date, I can tell you that it was Susan Miller -- multi-award-winning playwright, television writer, screenwriter and web series writer.
Susan's most prominent current project is Anyone But Me -- a web series about New York teens coming of age in a post 9/11 world. The main character is Vivian, an out lesbian NYC teenager who along with her firefighter father moves to Westchester, after his lungs got messed up on 9/11. When she moves out of the city, she is driven back into the closet, and the show follows her, her girlfriend, and her new community as she navigates the uncharted waters of being a gay city teen in the suburbs. It's good. Really good. (You can watch it if you follow the link I posted.)
So Susan wrote back to me and said yes, she'd be happy to meet with me. In the time before we had our date, I watched interviews she'd given, and in one of them (or maybe it was an acceptance speech?) she talked about how she and her current writing/producer partner, Tina Cesa Ward, met, which was simply that Tina cold-called Susan, and Susan answered her phone. In the anecdote, Susan advises the audience not to screen calls -- to be a person who actually picks up the phone, and I remember thinking, What good advice. I remember the days I eagerly awaited phone calls. Now I screen them relentlessly, afraid of what might push in on my overly-scheduled day. This calls up the mide (middah) of Righteousness: What is hateful to you, do not to do others, as well as the hokey metaphysical Law of Attraction, and makes me think that if I want people to answer my calls, I better start answering theirs.
And so it seems that before I even met her, Susan had become my mentor. And then we met, and it just got better (as Dan Savage said it would.) She was incredibly generous with her wide range of knowledge, and answered my questions about the business end of producing a web series (ads, sponsorship, budget, how does the writer get paid?) as well as the writing end (structure, structure, structure.) She made it incredibly easy to practice humility: seek wisdom from everyone, by being relaxed and open, but also genuinely interested in me and what I'm up to. Plus, she is a warm, smart, funny, kind person -- and so web series writing aside, I just plain enjoyed her company.
I came away from the meeting encouraged and invigorated to get on with my project -- as well as empowered with good, clear information and a growing network of support. I also came away more committed to offering my own knowledge, skills, and expertise to others when asked. What about you -- are you in a position to offer the same?
Two months ago, I wrote a blog post called I asked someone to mentor me, in which I wrote that I'd seen a Facebook status update by my favorite web series writer with a link to an article called Why We Must Mentor Other Women, and that after some consideration, I wrote to her to ask her if she would consider mentoring me on both the business and writing end as I write a web series I've been working on for a couple of months. I didn't want to name her without her permission, but now that we had a wonderful coffee date, I can tell you that it was Susan Miller -- multi-award-winning playwright, television writer, screenwriter and web series writer.
Susan's most prominent current project is Anyone But Me -- a web series about New York teens coming of age in a post 9/11 world. The main character is Vivian, an out lesbian NYC teenager who along with her firefighter father moves to Westchester, after his lungs got messed up on 9/11. When she moves out of the city, she is driven back into the closet, and the show follows her, her girlfriend, and her new community as she navigates the uncharted waters of being a gay city teen in the suburbs. It's good. Really good. (You can watch it if you follow the link I posted.)
So Susan wrote back to me and said yes, she'd be happy to meet with me. In the time before we had our date, I watched interviews she'd given, and in one of them (or maybe it was an acceptance speech?) she talked about how she and her current writing/producer partner, Tina Cesa Ward, met, which was simply that Tina cold-called Susan, and Susan answered her phone. In the anecdote, Susan advises the audience not to screen calls -- to be a person who actually picks up the phone, and I remember thinking, What good advice. I remember the days I eagerly awaited phone calls. Now I screen them relentlessly, afraid of what might push in on my overly-scheduled day. This calls up the mide (middah) of Righteousness: What is hateful to you, do not to do others, as well as the hokey metaphysical Law of Attraction, and makes me think that if I want people to answer my calls, I better start answering theirs.
And so it seems that before I even met her, Susan had become my mentor. And then we met, and it just got better (as Dan Savage said it would.) She was incredibly generous with her wide range of knowledge, and answered my questions about the business end of producing a web series (ads, sponsorship, budget, how does the writer get paid?) as well as the writing end (structure, structure, structure.) She made it incredibly easy to practice humility: seek wisdom from everyone, by being relaxed and open, but also genuinely interested in me and what I'm up to. Plus, she is a warm, smart, funny, kind person -- and so web series writing aside, I just plain enjoyed her company.
I came away from the meeting encouraged and invigorated to get on with my project -- as well as empowered with good, clear information and a growing network of support. I also came away more committed to offering my own knowledge, skills, and expertise to others when asked. What about you -- are you in a position to offer the same?
Thursday, May 19, 2011
I went to the Guggenheim Museum
Never Done: I went to the Guggenheim Museum
And it turns out that somehow I've never even seen it from the outside! How is that possible? I've been coming to New York on a regular basis since 1993, and I've been living here since 2002. I've been to the Met. I've been to the Jewish Museum. Presumably I've walked right past the Guggenheim, and what? Didn't notice it? Again, how is that possible??
Well anyhow, thanks to Groupon, I finally went. And I think it's my favorite museum I've ever been in, with the possible exception of the smallest film museum in the world, which is in the south of Sweden, which now that I think about it, I just peered at from the outside so that doesn't count, and even if it did, it really doesn't compare to the Guggenheim anyhow.
I went in without knowing anything really, so the fact that you get to walk up a gently ascending interior spiral while viewing all of the art was a delightful surprise to me. I expected the interior of the Guggenheim to be huge -- with a bunch of rooms and separate galleries. (Only one gallery was open when I was there -- the others seemed to have work being installed in them.) I didn't expect it to be so compact (and yet spacious) and I didn't expect it to be so centralized (and yet decentralized.) I guess I just didn't expect to like it so much.
I can't actually think of a time I've enjoyed being in a museum -- any museum -- as much as I enjoyed being in the Guggenheim. Usually I get tired, or overwhelmed, or lost, or my feet get tired, or I feel like I should want to see more. But at the Guggenheim, you just keep walking. And if you want to stop and spend a lot of time with a painting, you do -- and if you want to keep walking, you just keep walking. There aren't irretrievable choices -- doors you go in that might lead you out to completely other parts of the museum. You just go up ... or down. And occasionally you go in, but then you come back out the same way you went in, and you get to go up or down again. It's brilliant. My feet didn't even get tired.
The show that's up right now is called The Great Upheaval: Modern Art from the Guggenheim Collection, 1910-1918. It's full of paintings by Chagall, Kandinsky, Marc, Picasso, Delauney. I'm not even much of an art historian, and I felt like I was in the company of old friends. I particularly love Chagall, and I saw two of his paintings I'd only ever seen before in reproductions: The Soldier Drinks, and The Flying Carriage. I walked right up to them and looked at the brushstrokes. There was so much sense of space in the museum that I could do that without being in someone else's way, and I did it again when I came upon something by Van Gogh, whose up-close brush strokes are incredibly moving to me.
So what's this all about? I think it's about Diligence: Always find something to do. Here I live in this vibrant cultural center, and after almost 20 years of spending time here, I have never been to the Guggenheim Museum. Now, it's not like I sit around all day watching Survivor (actually, I have never watched Survivor. Shit, does that mean that now I have to?) but I think I could be more diligent about discovering New York. I should ask all the New Yorkers I know to make me a list of their favorite things to do here, and I should check to see if I've ever done them. I know some things I've never done: I've never gone to the Bronx Zoo, or to City Island, or to Roosevelt Island. I've never eaten street meat, or gone into FAO Schwarz, or swum in the Hudson (but I have plans to quite soon!) I'll make you a deal. For every idea that you give me that I've never done, I will 1) do it and publicly thank you for the idea, and 2) the day I do your thing, I will not complain about the things that usually make me complain about New York. Deal?
And it turns out that somehow I've never even seen it from the outside! How is that possible? I've been coming to New York on a regular basis since 1993, and I've been living here since 2002. I've been to the Met. I've been to the Jewish Museum. Presumably I've walked right past the Guggenheim, and what? Didn't notice it? Again, how is that possible??
Well anyhow, thanks to Groupon, I finally went. And I think it's my favorite museum I've ever been in, with the possible exception of the smallest film museum in the world, which is in the south of Sweden, which now that I think about it, I just peered at from the outside so that doesn't count, and even if it did, it really doesn't compare to the Guggenheim anyhow.
I went in without knowing anything really, so the fact that you get to walk up a gently ascending interior spiral while viewing all of the art was a delightful surprise to me. I expected the interior of the Guggenheim to be huge -- with a bunch of rooms and separate galleries. (Only one gallery was open when I was there -- the others seemed to have work being installed in them.) I didn't expect it to be so compact (and yet spacious) and I didn't expect it to be so centralized (and yet decentralized.) I guess I just didn't expect to like it so much.
I can't actually think of a time I've enjoyed being in a museum -- any museum -- as much as I enjoyed being in the Guggenheim. Usually I get tired, or overwhelmed, or lost, or my feet get tired, or I feel like I should want to see more. But at the Guggenheim, you just keep walking. And if you want to stop and spend a lot of time with a painting, you do -- and if you want to keep walking, you just keep walking. There aren't irretrievable choices -- doors you go in that might lead you out to completely other parts of the museum. You just go up ... or down. And occasionally you go in, but then you come back out the same way you went in, and you get to go up or down again. It's brilliant. My feet didn't even get tired.
The show that's up right now is called The Great Upheaval: Modern Art from the Guggenheim Collection, 1910-1918. It's full of paintings by Chagall, Kandinsky, Marc, Picasso, Delauney. I'm not even much of an art historian, and I felt like I was in the company of old friends. I particularly love Chagall, and I saw two of his paintings I'd only ever seen before in reproductions: The Soldier Drinks, and The Flying Carriage. I walked right up to them and looked at the brushstrokes. There was so much sense of space in the museum that I could do that without being in someone else's way, and I did it again when I came upon something by Van Gogh, whose up-close brush strokes are incredibly moving to me.
So what's this all about? I think it's about Diligence: Always find something to do. Here I live in this vibrant cultural center, and after almost 20 years of spending time here, I have never been to the Guggenheim Museum. Now, it's not like I sit around all day watching Survivor (actually, I have never watched Survivor. Shit, does that mean that now I have to?) but I think I could be more diligent about discovering New York. I should ask all the New Yorkers I know to make me a list of their favorite things to do here, and I should check to see if I've ever done them. I know some things I've never done: I've never gone to the Bronx Zoo, or to City Island, or to Roosevelt Island. I've never eaten street meat, or gone into FAO Schwarz, or swum in the Hudson (but I have plans to quite soon!) I'll make you a deal. For every idea that you give me that I've never done, I will 1) do it and publicly thank you for the idea, and 2) the day I do your thing, I will not complain about the things that usually make me complain about New York. Deal?
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
I got a burger at Lot 2
Never Done: I got a burger at Lot 2
It's a little thing, but once a month I get a snobby burger somewhere I've never been before. Snobby = organic, grass fed, free range, antibiotic free, lovingly read Goodnight Moon every night. In other words, it's not snobby; I am.
This month I planned my outing for after a running session, so I would be good and hungry. And I invited both Mich and Josh to join me at Lot 2, a snooty little locavore joint only about 10 blocks from my apartment. The burger is fabled to be one of the best around, served with duck fat fries and house-made pickles.
To cut to the chase, it has now either moved into first place (surpassing Flatbush Farm) or it's in a close second. It's been so long since I had the burger at Flatbush Farm that I'll have to go back soon for comparison's sake....
What I really liked though was that because there were three of us, and we also wanted some gorgeous salads they had to offer, we ended up splitting three burgers two ways. Actually, Josh and I ended up splitting one, and Mich and Josh ended up splitting the other, so I ended up with one half, which turns out to be a perfect amount of burger for me. I'll be splitting from now on.
Which is, if you expand your definition of frugality to include all resources and not just money, interesting from an ethics perspective. Why consume more than I need to, if I have the option to consume the right amount? After all, a hamburger was once part of a cow, so why would I want to waste any part of it? Especially such a lovingly-raised, highly literate cow!
I once read an interview with the Dalai Lama in which he came out as an omnivore -- who eats hamburgers! He said that he would rather eat part of a cow -- one sentient being that can feed many people, rather than eat a plate full of shrimp (that was the example he gave) -- which he saw as a plate full of many sentient beings. I loved the interview, partly because it was so surprising, and also because it led me to understand that everyone gets to choose their own morality -- as long as it's founded in a deep personal ethics, and doesn't impinge upon someone else's freedoms.
Me? I was a vegetarian for 12 years, and while it made perfect sense for me politically, it wasn't right for me physically. Me cholesterol was high because I ate too much cheese and ice cream, I was super anemic, and I was generally not in balance. Now mostly I eat lots of veggies and rice and fish and turkey and tofu, and once a month I eat a burger. And if you want to join me next month, I'll split it with you.
It's a little thing, but once a month I get a snobby burger somewhere I've never been before. Snobby = organic, grass fed, free range, antibiotic free, lovingly read Goodnight Moon every night. In other words, it's not snobby; I am.
This month I planned my outing for after a running session, so I would be good and hungry. And I invited both Mich and Josh to join me at Lot 2, a snooty little locavore joint only about 10 blocks from my apartment. The burger is fabled to be one of the best around, served with duck fat fries and house-made pickles.
To cut to the chase, it has now either moved into first place (surpassing Flatbush Farm) or it's in a close second. It's been so long since I had the burger at Flatbush Farm that I'll have to go back soon for comparison's sake....
What I really liked though was that because there were three of us, and we also wanted some gorgeous salads they had to offer, we ended up splitting three burgers two ways. Actually, Josh and I ended up splitting one, and Mich and Josh ended up splitting the other, so I ended up with one half, which turns out to be a perfect amount of burger for me. I'll be splitting from now on.
Which is, if you expand your definition of frugality to include all resources and not just money, interesting from an ethics perspective. Why consume more than I need to, if I have the option to consume the right amount? After all, a hamburger was once part of a cow, so why would I want to waste any part of it? Especially such a lovingly-raised, highly literate cow!
I once read an interview with the Dalai Lama in which he came out as an omnivore -- who eats hamburgers! He said that he would rather eat part of a cow -- one sentient being that can feed many people, rather than eat a plate full of shrimp (that was the example he gave) -- which he saw as a plate full of many sentient beings. I loved the interview, partly because it was so surprising, and also because it led me to understand that everyone gets to choose their own morality -- as long as it's founded in a deep personal ethics, and doesn't impinge upon someone else's freedoms.
Me? I was a vegetarian for 12 years, and while it made perfect sense for me politically, it wasn't right for me physically. Me cholesterol was high because I ate too much cheese and ice cream, I was super anemic, and I was generally not in balance. Now mostly I eat lots of veggies and rice and fish and turkey and tofu, and once a month I eat a burger. And if you want to join me next month, I'll split it with you.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
I facilitated our Mussar group
Never Done: I facilitated our Mussar group
When we formed, we decided that Alissa would start out leading it, because she's a bona fide rabbi, and she had more Mussar experience than any of us in the group. But we also said from the start that we would eventually move to a model of shared facilitation. Which we finally did, just a few weeks ago.
I noticed that I hesitated to volunteer to facilitate for the first couple of weeks, and was relieved to let other people do it. I wasn't sure why, exactly -- since I have facilitated hundreds (if not thousands) of meetings in my life. Also, we have a fairly set structure to our group, so it's not like I would be pushed to come up with innovative new ways to explore Mussar. I think it's indicative of a way that I've pulled back my public performative persona since coming to NYC. I haven't performed since living here, and I don't do trainings any more, which is also quite performative. It's not that I'm afraid -- I think if I had a show to do tomorrow, I would jump right in with probably greater confidence than I had ten years ago. I think it's more that I've come to prefer to think more and talk less, and that's led me off the stage and into the wings.
Which I think has been a good thing for me. Instead of throwing myself into situations where I have to sink or swim, I've had a lot more time to reflect and choose (which I've had less life practice at than sinking or swimming.) Still, if I'm honest, when I noticed that I had any hesitation to step up and do something as simple as facilitate our Mussar group, I was a little concerned that the pendulum might have swung too far in the other direction.
I don't think there's anything to be concerned about. I thoroughly enjoyed the process of preparing, choosing a text on this coming week's mide (middah): Frugality: Be careful with your money, and leading the group. Again, this is a simple group to lead -- we check in about our practice (did you journal? did you check in with your partner? did you practice your daily ritual?) and then we spend the bulk of our time checking in about anything that came up for us during our week of practice -- anything we'd like the group's help with. (Last week's practice was on Righteousness: What is hateful to you, do not to do others.) Then we do a text study to help prepare us for the coming week, and then we close.
In case you would like to practice frugality with us this week, here are some things to think about. "Be careful with your money" doesn't necessarily mean "spend less." I might suggest changing the word "careful" to "thoughtful" -- and spending some time considering your own relationship to money, and what would be meaningful to you. Were you raised to soothe feelings by buying things? Then maybe you should spend a week facing your feelings in a different way. Were you raised without enough money for the basic necessities? Then maybe your path is to be thoughtful about the ways you could use money for sheer enjoyment of life. Do you have a hard time saving? Try writing down everything you spend money on this week, so you can have an honest accounting of how much you spend and on what. Actually -- that's a good practice for anyone. Do you have a plan for your long-term financial well-being? Do you give money to causes you care about? Do you tip well? If you employ people -- in or out of the home -- do you pay them fairly? Are you paid fairly for your work? Do you harbor any shame or other feelings about your class background that prevents you from speaking honestly about your life? This is such a rich topic, with plenty to reflect upon.
Finally, think about developing a practice around money that you can take with you all day, every day. Maybe you want to give money to people every time you are asked. Maybe you want to write down everything you spend. Maybe you want to stop using credit cards and only use cash. Maybe you want to offer to pay for your friends all week long. Maybe you want to ask for a raise if you need one. Maybe you want to always be honest when asked how much you earn. And then -- as always -- reflect, reflect, reflect. How does this feel? When do you fail to keep up your practice? What's going on for you in those instances?
If you feel comfortable doing this, please write your practice in the comments here -- and we can all support each other to become more thoughtful about money. Mine is dual: I am going to give a gift every day, and I am going to look for new work every day until I get enough to meet my NYC expenses without dipping into savings.
When we formed, we decided that Alissa would start out leading it, because she's a bona fide rabbi, and she had more Mussar experience than any of us in the group. But we also said from the start that we would eventually move to a model of shared facilitation. Which we finally did, just a few weeks ago.
I noticed that I hesitated to volunteer to facilitate for the first couple of weeks, and was relieved to let other people do it. I wasn't sure why, exactly -- since I have facilitated hundreds (if not thousands) of meetings in my life. Also, we have a fairly set structure to our group, so it's not like I would be pushed to come up with innovative new ways to explore Mussar. I think it's indicative of a way that I've pulled back my public performative persona since coming to NYC. I haven't performed since living here, and I don't do trainings any more, which is also quite performative. It's not that I'm afraid -- I think if I had a show to do tomorrow, I would jump right in with probably greater confidence than I had ten years ago. I think it's more that I've come to prefer to think more and talk less, and that's led me off the stage and into the wings.
Which I think has been a good thing for me. Instead of throwing myself into situations where I have to sink or swim, I've had a lot more time to reflect and choose (which I've had less life practice at than sinking or swimming.) Still, if I'm honest, when I noticed that I had any hesitation to step up and do something as simple as facilitate our Mussar group, I was a little concerned that the pendulum might have swung too far in the other direction.
I don't think there's anything to be concerned about. I thoroughly enjoyed the process of preparing, choosing a text on this coming week's mide (middah): Frugality: Be careful with your money, and leading the group. Again, this is a simple group to lead -- we check in about our practice (did you journal? did you check in with your partner? did you practice your daily ritual?) and then we spend the bulk of our time checking in about anything that came up for us during our week of practice -- anything we'd like the group's help with. (Last week's practice was on Righteousness: What is hateful to you, do not to do others.) Then we do a text study to help prepare us for the coming week, and then we close.
In case you would like to practice frugality with us this week, here are some things to think about. "Be careful with your money" doesn't necessarily mean "spend less." I might suggest changing the word "careful" to "thoughtful" -- and spending some time considering your own relationship to money, and what would be meaningful to you. Were you raised to soothe feelings by buying things? Then maybe you should spend a week facing your feelings in a different way. Were you raised without enough money for the basic necessities? Then maybe your path is to be thoughtful about the ways you could use money for sheer enjoyment of life. Do you have a hard time saving? Try writing down everything you spend money on this week, so you can have an honest accounting of how much you spend and on what. Actually -- that's a good practice for anyone. Do you have a plan for your long-term financial well-being? Do you give money to causes you care about? Do you tip well? If you employ people -- in or out of the home -- do you pay them fairly? Are you paid fairly for your work? Do you harbor any shame or other feelings about your class background that prevents you from speaking honestly about your life? This is such a rich topic, with plenty to reflect upon.
Finally, think about developing a practice around money that you can take with you all day, every day. Maybe you want to give money to people every time you are asked. Maybe you want to write down everything you spend. Maybe you want to stop using credit cards and only use cash. Maybe you want to offer to pay for your friends all week long. Maybe you want to ask for a raise if you need one. Maybe you want to always be honest when asked how much you earn. And then -- as always -- reflect, reflect, reflect. How does this feel? When do you fail to keep up your practice? What's going on for you in those instances?
If you feel comfortable doing this, please write your practice in the comments here -- and we can all support each other to become more thoughtful about money. Mine is dual: I am going to give a gift every day, and I am going to look for new work every day until I get enough to meet my NYC expenses without dipping into savings.
Monday, May 16, 2011
I made French macarons
Never Done: I made French macarons
I love macarons -- have loved them since before the macaron craze, but the craze hasn't put me off one bit -- the more places to buy wonderful French macarons, the better. It didn't occur to me that I could just make them until a little over a year ago, at a community passover seder, when Mich brought a beautiful batch. I had noticed her during the ceremony part of the seder, because she said something that felt wise and integrated -- integrated between her self that had clearly had a traditional Jewish education and her thoughtful community self. I made a mental note to go meet her during the potluck portion of the seder. When we got to the potluck, I took a macaron, not knowing who had made it, and was blown away. So delicious, so perfect, so ... French! I asked around to find out who made them, and it turned out to be Mich. I went over to talk with her, and we've pretty much been friends ever since.
The first plan we ever made together was for her to teach me how to make French macarons. It's also the plan we've made together that's taken the longest to execute (over a year.) But when we finally landed on May 15 as a possibility, I thought it was perfect, because it is my mom's (would have been) 81st birthday, and she would have loved to be here and bake with us. Also, it just happened to land on a day that Abigail could also be with us, as well as Mich's good friend V.
My mom would have adored Mich and Abigail (and my friendship with them) -- which is something I thought about a lot while we were baking. My mom had close cross-generational friendships. It wasn't something she necessarily named as such; it just came naturally to her to want to spend time with the people she liked the best, regardless of their age. She was naturally attuned to Righteousness: What is hateful to you, do not do to others -- and she found age discrimination particularly hateful. As we spent hours together making meringue and french butter cream (make a sugar syrup, blend it with beaten eggs until it cools to room temperature, and then add an entire pound of butter, chunk by chunk, until the whole thing breaks down and looks separated and wrong, and then suddenly it all comes together into a thick butter creamy spread, which we then flavored in five batches: chocolate hazelnut, vanilla, caramel, lingonberry, and coconut) and wandering away from each other to read sections of the New York Times, and wandering back again to assemble macarons, I noticed how much I love these two women, and how I hope and expect I'll be close with them forever, how I rarely think about our 15-20 year age differences. I get it, Mom.
So the macarons came out of the oven, and we let them cool, and we filled one with chocolate hazelnut butter cream, and we shared it, and it tasted so ... Jewish. Not like a French macaron at all, but like a chewy, toothy Jewish meringue macaroon. I was disappointed -- I didn't like how it tasted, and I didn't remember Mich's first batch tasting like this. We passed it around for a second bite, and none of us liked it as much as we like the ones from Bouchon or Madeleine (and we were even using the Bouchon recipe.) As we tried to figure out what went wrong (did we make them too big? Was it the humidity in the air?) someone suggested that perhaps the problem was that we were self-hating, to love the French macaron more than the Jewish macaron. To which I say, "Pas vrai. C'est seulement que les macarons francais sont meilleurs!"
But the French macarons shouldn't get too righteous about it.
I love macarons -- have loved them since before the macaron craze, but the craze hasn't put me off one bit -- the more places to buy wonderful French macarons, the better. It didn't occur to me that I could just make them until a little over a year ago, at a community passover seder, when Mich brought a beautiful batch. I had noticed her during the ceremony part of the seder, because she said something that felt wise and integrated -- integrated between her self that had clearly had a traditional Jewish education and her thoughtful community self. I made a mental note to go meet her during the potluck portion of the seder. When we got to the potluck, I took a macaron, not knowing who had made it, and was blown away. So delicious, so perfect, so ... French! I asked around to find out who made them, and it turned out to be Mich. I went over to talk with her, and we've pretty much been friends ever since.
The first plan we ever made together was for her to teach me how to make French macarons. It's also the plan we've made together that's taken the longest to execute (over a year.) But when we finally landed on May 15 as a possibility, I thought it was perfect, because it is my mom's (would have been) 81st birthday, and she would have loved to be here and bake with us. Also, it just happened to land on a day that Abigail could also be with us, as well as Mich's good friend V.
My mom would have adored Mich and Abigail (and my friendship with them) -- which is something I thought about a lot while we were baking. My mom had close cross-generational friendships. It wasn't something she necessarily named as such; it just came naturally to her to want to spend time with the people she liked the best, regardless of their age. She was naturally attuned to Righteousness: What is hateful to you, do not do to others -- and she found age discrimination particularly hateful. As we spent hours together making meringue and french butter cream (make a sugar syrup, blend it with beaten eggs until it cools to room temperature, and then add an entire pound of butter, chunk by chunk, until the whole thing breaks down and looks separated and wrong, and then suddenly it all comes together into a thick butter creamy spread, which we then flavored in five batches: chocolate hazelnut, vanilla, caramel, lingonberry, and coconut) and wandering away from each other to read sections of the New York Times, and wandering back again to assemble macarons, I noticed how much I love these two women, and how I hope and expect I'll be close with them forever, how I rarely think about our 15-20 year age differences. I get it, Mom.
So the macarons came out of the oven, and we let them cool, and we filled one with chocolate hazelnut butter cream, and we shared it, and it tasted so ... Jewish. Not like a French macaron at all, but like a chewy, toothy Jewish meringue macaroon. I was disappointed -- I didn't like how it tasted, and I didn't remember Mich's first batch tasting like this. We passed it around for a second bite, and none of us liked it as much as we like the ones from Bouchon or Madeleine (and we were even using the Bouchon recipe.) As we tried to figure out what went wrong (did we make them too big? Was it the humidity in the air?) someone suggested that perhaps the problem was that we were self-hating, to love the French macaron more than the Jewish macaron. To which I say, "Pas vrai. C'est seulement que les macarons francais sont meilleurs!"
But the French macarons shouldn't get too righteous about it.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
When three bikes aren't enough
Never Done: I (finally) got bike to ride for the triathlon
When I woke up, eight weeks into training for the triathlon, I had two bikes in the hallway, and neither of them was right for the race. Mine is a wonderful little folding bike with only 7 gears -- great for commuting, but definitely not for racing. The other is a loaner from Mich (making her third appearance in as many days in this blog, and keep reading tomorrow, when she will makes it four out of four) that she'll be taking away for the summer.
When I went to sleep, I had three bikes in the hallway, none of which would work for the triathlon, and a yet fourth on loan which looks like it will. It takes a village to complete the biking portion of a triathlon.
About two weeks ago, after much measuring and remeasuring and discussion and rediscussion, Kara shipped her gorgeous Bianchi Eros across the country for me. I had it sent to 718 Cyclery to get it built up, because I like the owner, Joe, and the low-key, personalized philosophy of his shop. I had to wait a couple weeks to get an appointment with him, because he is a full-time architect in the city and owns and runs a bike store on the side, (oh, what people won't do to follow their passion) but the wait was worth it. When I got there, he had already assembled the bike, and was ready to adjust to my size. Only there was a hitch. We couldn't adjust the bike, which has 650 wheels (which are smaller than the wheels you are used to seeing, and thus also the frame is smaller) to the dimensions I need. There's some crucial magic triangle in bike fitting, involving the seat height, the length from the seat to the handlebars, and the relative height of the seat to the handlebars. We could get two of the three measurements right, but we couldn't get all three. Kind of like adjusting the spaghetti and the sauce and the parmesan cheese -- you add some sauce, and then you don't have enough spaghetti, and then you add spaghetti and you need more cheese. Only harder and greasier.
So we got it as good as we could get it, but not as good as we wanted, and then Joe suggested I just go out and ride and see how it works. Because the numbers on the paper aren't as good an indicator as just hopping on and seeing how it feels. So I went out, and within seconds I knew this was not a good fit. But I rode it for a while -- into the park, around the loop, and up a hill -- before going back to the shop and breaking the bad news. Everything hurts. My neck, my mid back, my lower back. Also, the bike was hard to handle, and I had a hard time working the brakes and the gears from the main hand position on the handlebars.
Joe sort of nodded. I think he had already known. He used a great word -- said that 650 wheels are twitchy -- meaning that you feel every bump and every pothole, and that every little turn of the handlebars makes a significant steering adjustment. I'm not sure why my little bike with even smaller wheels isn't twitchy, but he was right about this one. But there was really nothing we could do, so he suggested I take it and ride it, and that I could come back as often as I need to make adjustments to try to make it work. As I was leaving the store, he once again admired the beauty of the bike and its components, and wished me luck.
I came home, feeling defeated, and just wanted to literally crawl into bed. But instead I finished some work on a screenplay treatment that I was massively overdue to work on (sorry partner!) and decided to go back out and ride the little bike. Josh and I decided to combine that with looking at a house for sale near some friends of ours, so we took a ride into the park and down to the other side, and past this house, and then decided to see if our friends were home and wanted a visit. Well, I only knew one half of the couple, so they weren't both our friends yet, but they were home and told us to drop by.
You know when you really, really, really like one half of a couple and you hope you'll like the other half even half as much? I couldn't have told you before we went over, but that was going on for me. I have known D for 10 years -- we occasionally work together, and I love it when we do. He's funny and warm and sees the big picture of even the smallest things and a couple of weeks ago reduced my personality in the most perceptive way anyone has ever tried to reduce my personality. (Something along the lines of, One minute we're working through a task list, then we're taking a mental break to go off on a tangent, and the next thing you know we're back to Type A again.) It turns out that P is quite different from D, and equally (yet uniquely) wonderful. And I'm not just saying that because she offered to lend me her bike for my triathlon. Say what? She is going to lend me her bike for not only my triathlon, but for the training. She's going to give me a key to her house, and let me come and take it on training rides, and then use it for the race. This, after knowing me for 45 minutes.
She let me try it out, with its fancy clippy shoes, and it felt great. After all that fitting and measuring and shipping and building and more fitting and riding and feeling despondent on the couch and getting my ass off the couch, I randomly showed up at someone's house who offered to lend me a bike that seems to fit me perfectly. Both the coincidence and the generosity are a little hard to come to terms with, but I'm just trying to take it in the spirit of this week's mide (middah): Righteousness: What is hateful to you do not do to others, or put another way, treat others the way you wish to be treated. Believe me, I am already thinking of ways to repay her, hopefully in ways that will enrich her life as much as her offering will enrich mine.
When I woke up, eight weeks into training for the triathlon, I had two bikes in the hallway, and neither of them was right for the race. Mine is a wonderful little folding bike with only 7 gears -- great for commuting, but definitely not for racing. The other is a loaner from Mich (making her third appearance in as many days in this blog, and keep reading tomorrow, when she will makes it four out of four) that she'll be taking away for the summer.
When I went to sleep, I had three bikes in the hallway, none of which would work for the triathlon, and a yet fourth on loan which looks like it will. It takes a village to complete the biking portion of a triathlon.
About two weeks ago, after much measuring and remeasuring and discussion and rediscussion, Kara shipped her gorgeous Bianchi Eros across the country for me. I had it sent to 718 Cyclery to get it built up, because I like the owner, Joe, and the low-key, personalized philosophy of his shop. I had to wait a couple weeks to get an appointment with him, because he is a full-time architect in the city and owns and runs a bike store on the side, (oh, what people won't do to follow their passion) but the wait was worth it. When I got there, he had already assembled the bike, and was ready to adjust to my size. Only there was a hitch. We couldn't adjust the bike, which has 650 wheels (which are smaller than the wheels you are used to seeing, and thus also the frame is smaller) to the dimensions I need. There's some crucial magic triangle in bike fitting, involving the seat height, the length from the seat to the handlebars, and the relative height of the seat to the handlebars. We could get two of the three measurements right, but we couldn't get all three. Kind of like adjusting the spaghetti and the sauce and the parmesan cheese -- you add some sauce, and then you don't have enough spaghetti, and then you add spaghetti and you need more cheese. Only harder and greasier.
So we got it as good as we could get it, but not as good as we wanted, and then Joe suggested I just go out and ride and see how it works. Because the numbers on the paper aren't as good an indicator as just hopping on and seeing how it feels. So I went out, and within seconds I knew this was not a good fit. But I rode it for a while -- into the park, around the loop, and up a hill -- before going back to the shop and breaking the bad news. Everything hurts. My neck, my mid back, my lower back. Also, the bike was hard to handle, and I had a hard time working the brakes and the gears from the main hand position on the handlebars.
Joe sort of nodded. I think he had already known. He used a great word -- said that 650 wheels are twitchy -- meaning that you feel every bump and every pothole, and that every little turn of the handlebars makes a significant steering adjustment. I'm not sure why my little bike with even smaller wheels isn't twitchy, but he was right about this one. But there was really nothing we could do, so he suggested I take it and ride it, and that I could come back as often as I need to make adjustments to try to make it work. As I was leaving the store, he once again admired the beauty of the bike and its components, and wished me luck.
I came home, feeling defeated, and just wanted to literally crawl into bed. But instead I finished some work on a screenplay treatment that I was massively overdue to work on (sorry partner!) and decided to go back out and ride the little bike. Josh and I decided to combine that with looking at a house for sale near some friends of ours, so we took a ride into the park and down to the other side, and past this house, and then decided to see if our friends were home and wanted a visit. Well, I only knew one half of the couple, so they weren't both our friends yet, but they were home and told us to drop by.
You know when you really, really, really like one half of a couple and you hope you'll like the other half even half as much? I couldn't have told you before we went over, but that was going on for me. I have known D for 10 years -- we occasionally work together, and I love it when we do. He's funny and warm and sees the big picture of even the smallest things and a couple of weeks ago reduced my personality in the most perceptive way anyone has ever tried to reduce my personality. (Something along the lines of, One minute we're working through a task list, then we're taking a mental break to go off on a tangent, and the next thing you know we're back to Type A again.) It turns out that P is quite different from D, and equally (yet uniquely) wonderful. And I'm not just saying that because she offered to lend me her bike for my triathlon. Say what? She is going to lend me her bike for not only my triathlon, but for the training. She's going to give me a key to her house, and let me come and take it on training rides, and then use it for the race. This, after knowing me for 45 minutes.
She let me try it out, with its fancy clippy shoes, and it felt great. After all that fitting and measuring and shipping and building and more fitting and riding and feeling despondent on the couch and getting my ass off the couch, I randomly showed up at someone's house who offered to lend me a bike that seems to fit me perfectly. Both the coincidence and the generosity are a little hard to come to terms with, but I'm just trying to take it in the spirit of this week's mide (middah): Righteousness: What is hateful to you do not do to others, or put another way, treat others the way you wish to be treated. Believe me, I am already thinking of ways to repay her, hopefully in ways that will enrich her life as much as her offering will enrich mine.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Righteousness is a good place to start
Never Done: Played Xbox (360)
My cousins Geof and Patty are fun and generous people. They show up to parties with home-infused blueberry vodka, magnificent and not inexpensive Alaskan king crab meat (once a year), and (usually music-related) video games. They also make time for people -- for fun and for not so fun, They brought a telescope to Maine this Fall, and showed me Saturn's rings in the clear night sky, and they found the time to be close with my mom when she was sick. To the extent that I am also a fun and generous person, I've definitely learned how to be that way from them. This Christmas they showed up with a game called Dance Central, on the Xbox 360, and we all got to bust out our best moves, and try to dance along with avatars, while a motion detector detected how well we did, and scored us. It's hard to explain, but it's a little like Dance, Dance Revolution meets America's Got Talent. In your living room. With web-cam sensors instead of judges. And family members cheering you on. Or competing against you. Or taking videos of you and posting them to your Facebook page (sorry Kenny.)
This week's mide (middah) is Righteousness: What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. I've been told that this ideal is found in every major religion. The golden rule, do unto others, love your neighbor as your self -- you know what righteousness is. As I hung out with my family -- uncle, aunt, sister, partner, cousins, and first cousins once removed on both sides of my family -- dancing against -- and for each other, I noticed that on the whole, we treat each other pretty well. We're not a kid-glove clan -- we have all developed our share of thick skin in reaction to sharp tongues and especially to a family pattern of needing to be right. But at the same time, we don't want to be treated with kid gloves either, so we do a pretty great job of treating each other the way we want to be treated.
And when we don't, the rest of us try to step in. Some of us had a tough talk after dinner -- we are trying to figure out how to give some much-needed support to someone in the family who isn't being treated the way they should be. It's too delicate to go into on this public forum, but this was also something we had never done -- spoken together, not just two or three people at a time, but many of us, putting our heads together, to try to solve something big. Every time I noticed us slipping into a blame game, I tried to catch myself, and think about righteousness, and what it would feel like if the shoe was on the other foot. And what I could to to shift the way I was thinking. Do unto others.
It's late and I have to go get stuck in the airport, so this won't be as developed as I would normally like, but I would like to do some more thinking about how an ethical structure like one that Mussar provides could help us through this situation. I will start writing about it in my private Mussar journal, but for now, I think righteousness is a good place to start.
My cousins Geof and Patty are fun and generous people. They show up to parties with home-infused blueberry vodka, magnificent and not inexpensive Alaskan king crab meat (once a year), and (usually music-related) video games. They also make time for people -- for fun and for not so fun, They brought a telescope to Maine this Fall, and showed me Saturn's rings in the clear night sky, and they found the time to be close with my mom when she was sick. To the extent that I am also a fun and generous person, I've definitely learned how to be that way from them. This Christmas they showed up with a game called Dance Central, on the Xbox 360, and we all got to bust out our best moves, and try to dance along with avatars, while a motion detector detected how well we did, and scored us. It's hard to explain, but it's a little like Dance, Dance Revolution meets America's Got Talent. In your living room. With web-cam sensors instead of judges. And family members cheering you on. Or competing against you. Or taking videos of you and posting them to your Facebook page (sorry Kenny.)
This week's mide (middah) is Righteousness: What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. I've been told that this ideal is found in every major religion. The golden rule, do unto others, love your neighbor as your self -- you know what righteousness is. As I hung out with my family -- uncle, aunt, sister, partner, cousins, and first cousins once removed on both sides of my family -- dancing against -- and for each other, I noticed that on the whole, we treat each other pretty well. We're not a kid-glove clan -- we have all developed our share of thick skin in reaction to sharp tongues and especially to a family pattern of needing to be right. But at the same time, we don't want to be treated with kid gloves either, so we do a pretty great job of treating each other the way we want to be treated.
And when we don't, the rest of us try to step in. Some of us had a tough talk after dinner -- we are trying to figure out how to give some much-needed support to someone in the family who isn't being treated the way they should be. It's too delicate to go into on this public forum, but this was also something we had never done -- spoken together, not just two or three people at a time, but many of us, putting our heads together, to try to solve something big. Every time I noticed us slipping into a blame game, I tried to catch myself, and think about righteousness, and what it would feel like if the shoe was on the other foot. And what I could to to shift the way I was thinking. Do unto others.
It's late and I have to go get stuck in the airport, so this won't be as developed as I would normally like, but I would like to do some more thinking about how an ethical structure like one that Mussar provides could help us through this situation. I will start writing about it in my private Mussar journal, but for now, I think righteousness is a good place to start.
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