Really Reading: Interpretation & Integration

I used to dislike reading books because I wanted a dialogue. Simply reading what another had written seemed to me to be an empty endeavor. What if I had questions that their work didn't answer? I'd far rather sit down and have a chat with someone where we threw around ideas and made our own theories - as opposed to simply reading someone else's. 

Being a history major, however, is not conducive to maintaining this outlook. Undoubtedly a positive thing for me, I've been "forced" to read dozens of literary works over the last couple years. Works that have forced me to learn how to read. Really read.

Somewhere along the way I'd stopped questioning what I was reading. As I've mused over this trend in the last few weeks, I feel that it started with my Christian upbringing. I mean this in no way as a finger of blame, simply an acknowledgement of the influence - intended or unintended - of my past. 

Somewhere along the way, I learned to feel that my place as a reader of the Bible, was that of a sponge. Listen, absorb, reject nothing. I soon learned two methods of listening - listening with the intend to believe, and listening with the intent to question. I listened to the Bible and my pastors -and really anyone who I thought knew more than I did about any given topic - in order to believe. I listened to everyone and everything else - especially myself - in order to question. 

Further along the road of life I realized that this was a faulty judgement. An ineffectual method of differentiation. 

So what ought to replace this mood of thought? 

It was my sophomore year of college that I realized that I didn't have to believe everything that my teacher was saying. In fact, if I questioned it, I would come to a deeper understanding and thus be able to compare it to my previous opinion and integrate the new information into the old. Interpreting through a lens of my own experiences and thoughts is inescapable. Blind belief shows little respect for an author or professor - as if they had no reasons or support for their ideas. Challenging and engaging new ideas shows that my interest and a willingness to integrate them into an already carefully tended mind. 

I came across this quote today from Ilan Stevans in his book The Inveterate Dreamer, it neatly sums up my revised approach to reading - and why I now enjoy reading so intensely:

• "...as I read, I always react to what the writer is plotting for me. I envision his universe and wonder what it says about him and about me and about life in general. My reaction to the reading depends on my mood, on the events of the previous day, on recent intellectual interests, on ideas bubbling in my mind at random, and what not. In other words, reading is not a monologue. Not for me, at least. The book I read triggers all sorts of responses. a certain page might infuriate me and the next might inspire me." (p. 251)

Looking back at my past, my childhood and adolescence, I wonder how it would have differed had I taken this approach. How would the Bible look when approached as a work with which to interact as opposed to one to absorb, unquestioningly? 

Perhaps some day I will have the courage, the time, and the intellectual prowess to attempt an answer at that question.

Being a Mommy

For many, many years I told myself and many other people that I didn't want to have children.

Why? Simple - a lot of work, I have other things to do, and (MUCH) more importantly, I was scared. Scared that they wouldn't like me. Scared that they would turn out bad. Scared that my flaws would hurt them too much, that they would be indefinitely scarred because of me.

For some reason it dawned on me a few months ago that all children go through phases where they don't like their parents. And even when they get out of that phase, well there will always be things that we admire in our parents, and there will always be things about them that we disagree with.

And over the last few months I've realized something else.

Yes, my parents flaws are very obvious to me. And yes, many of them have hurt me. Their flaws are probably the first things that ever hurt me, and will in that sense be memorialized in my heart. But that is only one half of the story. The other half is a lot better!

My parents' strengths, while not so obvious at first, are also the first that shaped me. Who I am today is a direct result of my parents' dedication, love, convictions, imagination, and wisdom. They even managed to pass on many of their greatest strengths to me and my siblings. My siblings, and their families, are beyond a doubt, the hardest-working, most genuine, intelligent, discerning, caring, honest, creative, and supportive people that I know. And I like to think that I share these traits.

Yes, I make my own decisions.
Yes, I am very different from my parents.
Yes, they have hurt me.
Yes, I have hurt them.
Yes, parenting is probably the hardest and most far-reaching adventure on which anyone can embark.

And YES, I am open to trying it some day.

Pinching. Dreaming. Living.

I've never found pinching myself to be a great test, but I often wonder if my life is real.

Growing up, I had ideas about the things I wanted to do and dreams about the things my life could hold. These ideas and dreams changed over the years, but most often included the following:

1--Finding a man who loved me unconditionally.
2--Travelling to other countries and continents.
3--Being able to speak other languages.
4--Helping other people.
5--Living with Jo.
6--People recognizing my name.
7--Looking in the mirror and seeing a confident, skinny, successful woman.
8--Teaching/training people in the skills I know.
9--Sharing my ideas and knowledge with people who wanted to hear.
10--Eating ice cream for breakfast - ANY TIME I WANTED.

---> It's great to look back over the last year and see the way my relationship with Sam has grown. We've given each other emotional scars, but more than anything, we are learning what it means to love fully, unselfishly, unconditionally.
---> Last year I spent time in 3 different continents.
---> I can communicate in several languages. And in Spanish, well, I'm no where near fluent, but there are few ideas that given enough time and a patient listener, I can't communicate. In Spanish.
---> Somehow, people always seem to find me when they need help - it's wonderful.
---> Jo and I have been living in Cookeville for over 3 years now.
---> And any professor, manager, adviser, rent-collector, coworker, and even most class-mates recognize the name "Pinzur". As "one of the hardest-working, most honorable people I've ever had".
---> Most days when I look in the mirror, I just see me. But every-once-in-a-while, I see what most other people see: a confident, successful, attractive woman.
---> Helping countless people correct essays, dress burgers, and seeing my sister draw, my brothers cook, and my nephews studying second (or third) languages, assures me that my acquired skills are not going wasted.
---> The number of hits from random countries on my blogs, and the looks on my professors faces in class, assure me that there are plenty of people reading and listening to what I have to say, with pleasure.
---> And yes, I eat ice cream for breakfast any time I want.

Looking back over the last several years, I am overwhelmed by the number of dreams I've seen come true.
At the time it just felt like a lot of hard work. Late nights, early morning, long days at work, long lists of vocab, endless confusion and feeling at my wits' end. It felt like a hot apartment when I was paying for tuition instead of AC. It felt like a broken heart when I left a life in Korea behind. It felt like perpetually ill-fitting clothes as I lost 40lbs due to stress, business, and working 50-weeks on my feet. It felt like a splitting headache after all-nighters with 20-page history papers. It felt like a sunburn from where I fell asleep in the quad on the first warm day in March. It felt like sleepless nights, popping ears, motion sickness, and lack of appetite: gotta love jet lag!

Looking back, it feels like success. Confidence. Growth. Love. Dedication. Excitement.
Right now, it feels unreal. I know that what I'm doing is what I've chosen - what I love. But sometimes I still feel like I'm going to wake up and be the girl I used to be - hoping, dreaming, idealizing.

But I won't. I'll continue waking up every day to a life of early mornings, late nights, head aches and dedication. I life of ill-fitting clothes and growth. Broken hearts and love. Sunburns, jet-lag, and excitement. Confusion and confidence.

That's my life. And no amount of pinching will change it!

Phantom Failure

I used to be afraid of failure.

In fact, I used to be so afraid of failure that I wouldn't try to do anything that I wasn't sure I would succeed in doing. To me, failure was an end in itself, and it was one to be avoided at all costs. Failure wastes time. Failure lowers self-esteem. Failure opens you up for ridicule. Failure is the opposite of success.

Success, getting what you set out to get - accomplishing what you set out to accomplish.

Right?

A few years ago I realized that the fear of failure had dictated the majority of the decisions I had made...in my entire life. For 20 years I had tried to avoid this phantom called Failure. Since then I've seen countless ways that fear of Failure has drastically limited the opportunities I pursue. But after 20 years of blind fear, and 3 years of working up the courage to fight it, in the last few months I've watched my fear of Failure melt and then evaporate.

With this fear gone I realize that the entire world is open to me. Everyone, everywhere, everything. There are plenty of things that I can't do - YET - but there is nothing I can't try.

Because Failure is not a end in itself.

Failure is the phantom that haunted me until I realize that each step - "failed" or not - is just another step in the road of life. So-called failures tell me, not what I can't do, but what I need to focus on. If I try something and fail, I have two options: try again, if it is something important to me, or try something else. Either option is good. The only bad option is giving up on trying because the things I happened to try dont go the way I wanted at first. I still feel a twinge of fear every time I walk into my martial arts classes or my language classes. Fear of making mistakes. Fear that I will fail in my objective.

And to be honest, I do! All the time! The amount of mistakes I make when attempting to communicate in another language are probably as numerous as the words in this entry. And the bruises on my arms and ribs are a sure sign that I regularly fail to block elbow strikes correctly.

Fine!

So what!?

What have I lost?

More importantly, what have I gained?

Failure is only failure if I leave it there. Instead of stopping with a "failure", I've realized that it will only haunt me until I take the lesson it's offering and then take my next step.

New level of life unlocked: Fear of Failure defeated. The possibilities are now limitless.