skinned knees and saline

years ago my family went wave jumping. the water was cold and the day warm and we jumped and jumped until we were exhausted and our skin was blue. long after we should have called it a day my daughter tumbled and scraped her knee. badly. not thinking, i encouraged her to wade back into the water to clean the cut. i had momentarily forgotten that salt water and skinned knees do not make comfortable playmates and felt terrible as kaija’s knee stung.

i feel this way today. stung. cold and wet and like there’s salt in a wound. it’s been a difficult year. a hard week. and it’s only april. and tuesday. i have said stupid things. i have been reactive. i have shied away from difficult tasks and have been slow to do some of the things i know would help me immensely. i have disappointed people and myself.

at times i feel as though i have a skinned soul.

i know that you feel this way too. you tell me you do. over coffee. in my office. in the text that simply says “please pray.” as i walk by you at the grocery store at 1 a.m. sensing the weariness with which you move. you tell me in the music you make and the way in which you navigate the freeway. or your life.

and, yet,  due to boredom or habit or some unconscious drive, so often you tell me that your skinned soul ends up surfing social networks at the end of the day. this, i believe, is like pouring salt into an open wound. 

when our days have been fine and we look to social networks for entertainment or connection, the risk is slight. when we feel optimistic, content, and grounded we are often open to input of all types without using it as a comparative ruler. when we are low and self doubting, however, facebook too often becomes a place for observing the  “more attractive,” “better appointed,” and “more frequently liked” others in our friend lists. from these painful places we look especially carefully for evidence that supports our internal experience. feel like a loser? check out how many parties you weren’t invited to. feel angry? watch yourself drawn, like a shark to blood, to vitriolic posts. self loathing? facebook is the perfect place to find all kinds of new ways in which you just don’t measure up.

brene brown, author, researcher, and speaker, says this in her newest book daring greatly,

“scarcity is the ‘never enough’ problem. the word scarce is from the old norman french scars, meaning ‘restricted in quantity’ (c. 1300). scarcity thrives in a culture where everyone is hyperaware of lack. everything from safety and love to money and resources feels restricted or lacking. we spend inordinate amounts of time calculating how much we have, want, and don’t have, and how much everyone else has, needs, and wants.

what makes this constant assessing and comparing so self-defeating is that we are often comparing our lives, our marriages, our families, and our communities to unattainable, media-driven visions of perfection, or we’re holding up our reality against our own fictional account of how great someone else has it.”

it strikes me that every person using social networks would be benefitted by reading this last paragraph several times a day. seriously.

so today, exhausted and self doubting, with an evening before me and a skinned soul day behind me, i am given a choice. do i focus on my lack? do i set my awareness on that which i do not have? do i chose to enter a digital world where i am presented with highly filtered accounts of how great others have it (somehow i never see the posts where my friends are saying, “i feel so vulnerable and alone right now. it hurts.”)? will i allow plentiful airbrushed images and edited stories dictate the ruler by which i measure myself? or can i chose another way? can i let my wounds be for a bit? can i wait open until i find soothing silence, mindfulness, prayer, meditation, real conversation, connection, creativity...basically, water that doesn’t sting?

feeling felt

i am giving you all the heads up. mothers day is coming up and the women in your life know it. it amazes me how many ads and offers are coming my way one month in advance of may 12. today alone i received offers to send my mother on a “girlfriend get away” to las vegas, to order a “beautiful custom made photo book” for a mere $29, or to schedule botox injections for her. i’m not sure how to feel. my mom wouldn’t necessarily love any of these gifts.

days like mothers day are rarely easy for anyone. for women who wish they were mothers (or wish they were partnered) this day is often one that stings. for mothers whose families have decided that mothers day is simply a day manufactured by card and gift companies to make a profit, the day often falls short as their own wishes for recognition are buried under their family’s boycotting. for women whose partners take the stand that “she’s the kids’ mother not mine,” or who don’t have partners in the picture at all, the day often comes and goes with little to no fanfare.

what i am left with as i ponder the offers in my inbox and the complexity of emotions stirred by the upcoming day set aside to recognize a certain group of people, is the awareness that we all want to be celebrated. we all want to be seen. to be known. to be felt.

in the psychological literature on interpersonal neurobiology you will frequently find the term “feeling felt.” it was coined by daniel siegel (who, after mr. rogers, is my hero) in his book parenting from the inside out and refers, i think (please forgive me daniel if you ever stumble across this blog and i’ve misrepresented you), to the ability of one person to empathically and authentically encounter another person deeply. when one has felt felt they experience a profound sense of having been been with. the person who is feeling felt is touched somehow by the effort the other is making to tune into their thoughts, feelings, needs, and experiences. beyond just being “listened” or “attended” to, the “felt” person’s gut/soul/authentic self is met. 

i’m guessing that you can identify a time when you have either felt felt or not. mother’s day, father’s day, valentine’s day, birthdays are all days where people often feel far less than felt. instead they often feel forgotten, unknown (consider the non domestic mom who receives a blender for mothers day), or placated (think generic ecard sent at midnight). why is this?

i believe that one of the unfortunate consequences of our hyper-connected, everything-available-at-the-drop-of-a-hat zeitgeist is a lack of persistence in feeling others. rather than working hard to truly be with the important people in our lives, we substitute knowing alot about what they are doing. we troll facebook and instagram, we follow our friends and family’s tumblr pages, we send “i love you” texts and “i’m thinking about you” snapchats. we log on to send itunes gift certificates on our special days and type birthday messages into each others’ feeds. 

none of these forms of expressions are bad. they aren’t wrong. they have their place and serve the purpose of connectedness at differing levels. they are rarely, however, the kinds of expressions that lead one to feel truly felt. similarly, gifting your mom a girl friend get away would be exceedingly generous, ordering a professionally made book for her could bring her to tears. neither of these gifts, however, necessarily trumps much simpler gifts that might express your ability to “feel” your mom, to truly “be with” her in such a way that you experience her most authentic self. then honor it. or gift it. or celebrate it. and not just your mother’s...

the trouble is, our screen time is taken directly from the time we used to spend talking to each other, interacting with each other, and being engaged in our own imaginative processing (which included thinking about the important people in our lives). this has resulted in a decrease in our tolerance for awkward moments, pregnant pauses, and interpersonal experiences of all kinds. we just aren’t as experienced at being with people as we used to be. we hardly know how to “feel” ourselves let alone each other. we have fewer and fewer opportunities to practice the uncomfortable art of “being with” others through both comfortable and uncomfortable encounters. we have little need to rely on others around us since our technologies serve both as best friend and chief occupier of time and energy. who needs to borrow a cup of sugar (which involves the awkward opportunity to knock on a neighbor’s door, introduce one’s self, ask a favor, then return the favor later) when you can order a 5 pound bag from your iphone and have it in hand within the hour? we don’t have to expect much from others and hope others don’t expect much of us in return.

the way in which we encounter and honor others reflects this seismic change in how we relate. we send more “i love you” texts than we ever sent letters (or maybe said the words face to face) and yet how often do we “love” someone in person? we pound out multiple facebook birthday greetings without taking a moment or two to genuinely consider the person we are wishing well. we spend money at the gift card center online (or in the store) when a handwritten note, a considered knick knack, or a simple phone call might mean more to the recipient who wants to feel felt. who wants to be known. for who they are. as a person.

every day we are given opportunities to be with those we encounter. we can simply meet them, letting our own internal dialogue and comfort levels dictate the tone of the meeting or we can endeavor to “be with” or “feel” them, opening the door to deeper, more awkward, unknown, wonderful, anxious, exciting, and beautiful relatedness. a relatedness that groupon gifts might never touch. and what a relief...we don’t have to give “the perfect” gift when giving ourselves is enough.

the buzzing in our pockets

one of my favorite things to do when i speak to high schoolers is ask them to take their phones out (of their pockets, purses, and backpacks) and turn their ringers on and volume up. without doing this it’s easy to forget that they are being interrupted all the time. texts, facebook updates, instagram posts, and snapchats are coming in by the second, each one creating buzzes and pings in said pockets, purses, and backpacks. this isn’t limited to high school students. plenty of grandparents, middle schoolers, and folks in between live with the same reality.

so many of us have become (ever so subtly that we hardly knew it was happening) available for interruption 24 hours a day. we eat with our phones. we read on our phones. we play on our phones. we wait in line with our phones. we sleep with our phones. they never/rarely leave us.

i loved when phone lines came with busy signals. if you think about it, other than the ring, busy signals were the only indicators of any kind associated with the telephone. it was the sound that indicated that the person you were trying to reach was otherwise occupied. unavailable. busy.

few of us are ever unavailable anymore.

not only are we available to nearly anyone at nearly any time, we also have indicators for everything. when email arrives, when an app is updated, when someone posts to instagram, or tumblr, or facebook, or pinterest. while the busy signal used to indicate, “please wait. try again later.” our ears are now assaulted with calls for our attention. right now. while we’re doing ten other things. never mind that we’re already on the other line, responding to the ten texts that just came in, or trying to catch up on the emails that amassed since we last checked. what troubles me most is how attuned we have become to these digitally based message indicators and how willing we are to drop everything to attend to them.

it seems to me that the human body is designed with message indicators of all kinds. we yawn when we are tired. secrete tears when we feel sad. we have muscles that feel beautifully sore when we exert them and skin that turns red when we’ve been in the sun too long. our stomaches growl when we’re hungry and our hearts race when we’re afraid. or excited. or in love. these message indicators, however, rarely receive the kind of attention that the buzzing devices in our pockets do. we actually check our texts, our facebook accounts, our email. and respond. our bodies send messages, however, and we disregard them altogether. we caffeinate ourselves to chase away the yawn. we push past our exhaustion, stifle our tears, ignore the longings of our hearts. 

what would it cost, now and again, to turn off the message indicators buzzing in your pocket? to send the message, “try again later. i’m currently attending to something i am present with...myself. my friend. God. the beauty of the moment. nature.” to learn to be still and attentive enough to listen to the message indicators within? and to respond.

are we what we watch?

there are few things i enjoy more than engaging in someone’s story. one of the ways this happens for me is through documentary films which i go to see in the theater every chance i get.

last week, with a free evening before me, i checked what was playing in portland’s small, independent theaters. i found a film that was to screen only that evening, with the filmmakers on hand for a q and a afterward. four hours later i settled into my seat with nearly 50 other movie-goers to enjoy “arise,” a film made by women about women who are leading movements, small and large, to better the earth. what i noticed as i looked around the theater was plenty of grey hair, a significant lack of men, and far too many empty seats. when the final credits rolled, i found myself deeply moved by the stories i had just heard and the women i had just met.

following the question and answer session my husband and i ducked into the pizzaria next door for dinner. we sat at a counter which faced a window in which i watched the reflection of the television behind me. the images coming from the t.v. impacted me deeply as actresses and models showed photo after photo of themselves before and after using the skin care product line being advertised. for a full 40 minutes the infomercial flashed phone numbers, websites, and payment options among images of how terrible women look until they used said product. 

the stark contrast between the stories we’d just engaged could not be greater. in the documentary, women were exposed as being resourceful, smart, capable beings who, when they put their mind to something, change the world. in the infomercial, women were portrayed as being canvases, with confidence and happiness resulting from perfectly applied cosmetics.

to be fair, i have nothing against makeup (when it is ethically and fairly made and sold). i have fun with it myself and yet frequently leave the house without it. i have friends who sell it and friends who abhor it. my internal conflict that evening wasn’t related to makeup. it was, instead, related to the issue of how we spend our time.

while i was in the theater watching “arise,” thousands of others were spending the last weekend evening of spring break in other theaters taking in all manner of story. this particular week offered “spring breakers,” a film referred to as a victoria’s secret ad with violence and drugs targeted to the high school demographic. horror and action films were projected onto other screens. in homes, hours were being spent watching youtube and hulu, netflix, and all other manner of online video.

to be fair, i have nothing against mindless entertainment (when it is ethically and fairly made and sold). i need it sometimes. when life is too heavy and i’m too spent it is a gift to sit in a dark theater (or a darkened room with my computer) and be carried away into the land of a story on a screen.

what i wonder about, however, is how mindless our entertainment really is. are we truly unaffected by the images we passively observe? do the movies (or television shows or entire seasons) we watch make no impact on our internal worlds? our thought patterns? our beliefs? our values? or, instead, do the repetitive images (and language and emotion) that we subject ourselves to end up shaping us? is there merit to the phrase, “garbage in, garbage out?” 

one or two horror films are unlikely to create homicidal thoughts and tendencies. “spring breakers,” if viewed as a cautionary tale or a social commentary might even make a person think. youtube doesn’t necessarily make us stupid. the pattern of our viewing, however, and the accumulated amount of time we spend staring at images on screens does impact us. it just does. if it doesn’t, how can we claim that educational films are educational? if a daily dose of sesame street teaches, then so does a diet of “mindless” youtube and film.

it is not simple. in some instances the important messages of justice or redemption can be illuminated most effectively through stories including violence. historical reality exposes all manner of messy, horrific stories that deserve to be told. do we need, however, to take in huge quantities of sensationalist, evocative, sexual, violent, and demeaning images in order to be entertained? can these images ever truly be simply entertaining? or do they also inoculate us to feelings meant to be “message indicators” of sorts, intended to help us know when things are unjust, inhumane, or simply unfair. shouldn’t we want to look away from a rape or a murder or excessive bullying or a message being yelled at us that we can only be beautiful if we have perfect skin?

today i am asking myself how much time i give to that which entertains me. i am challenging myself to take in at least one quality, thought-enhancing screen based story for every one i take in that is either frivolous or indulgent. i am turning an analytic eye toward what i take in and wondering how the repeated habits of my entertainment choices shape who i am and what i think about. i would be honored to have you join me...and to hear your experiences as you do.

to check out the trailer and stories of arise, go to: http://www.arisethemovie.com

for a list of excellent films, documentaries, and television series', keep tabs on my professional facebook page (http://facebook.com/doreendodgenmageepsyd) where i'll be posting a list later this week. 

relational performance art

we all act differently when we’re being watched. it’s hard to find anyone who disputes this claim. social psychologists, marketing experts, your mom. they all agree. who and how you are in private differs from who and how you present yourself in front of an audience. even of one. i notice this about myself all the time. i don’t sing out loud or dance wildly in my car when i know that the driver next to me is turned in my direction. there are clothes i don’t go out to check the mail in. there are photos from entire decades of my life that will never be in frames.

when moving our bodies about in this world, it’s relatively easy to determine when we are being watched. when making our way past a full table to grab a seat in a restaurant. when arriving late to a meeting. when we’ve just done the most embarrassing thing ever. whatever that is.

when we notice an audience in these moments, we compensate quickly. we retreat. we blush. sometimes we even apologize. at times we anticipate being watched. we count on it. we prepare for it. we let it communicate to us. “you’re important.” “you’re ridiculous.” “you’re amazing.” “you aren’t seriously [wearing that] [doing that] [being the person you’re being] are you?” we seem to take in our observer’s responses as litmus tests about who we are.

as our lives become increasingly digitally centered, it seems to me as though we live more and more of them being watched. we think in status updates. we move through our days in tweets and tumblr posts. we strategically include flattering photos of ourselves on our profiles and similarly avoid the less than flattering stories we find ourselves central to. we check to see who is following us, who has liked our status’, or how many hits we’ve had in the week.

in so doing we treat both our lives and our relationships as performance art.

i believe that we do this for so many reasons. we are hungry for connection and at a loss for how to find it so we substitute evaluation (sometimes even assumed evaluation) for encounter. we are starved for self love and self knowing awareness but have developed neither so turn to self promotion to fill in the gaps. we are uncertain of how to feel about ourselves and don’t know how to anchor in God’s, our friend’s, and even our own sense of deep available value so we count up likes and hits and followers, figuring that those who are watching us will give us a clue as to how to behave. how to think. how to feel.

so today i will take a pause and i ask you to join me. when i want to hit “refresh” on the stats page of this blog, when i feel tempted to summarize my last hour or two in a quippy facebook status, when i watch someone else’s beauty/brilliance/success unfold on instagram and feel tempted to judge myself against it, i will stop. i will pause. i will look inside. i will be my own audience. and i will comfort the self that feels so compelled to perform and, instead, just be.