Seeing Human

A few weeks ago, I figured out why I am making a documentary on how we view our own self-worth.    I also figured out why I have, in the past year or so, become obsessed with ideas of vows of silence, primate culture, and our own cultures of hurry and guilt.

I was sitting with a friend who was having a shitty time in her life.  Her new husband had broken his leg less than a month after their wedding, and he hadn’t yet been added to her insurance.  It was a scary time for them, trying to arrange for financial aid, and being treated like lesser species for not having insurance.  The days of frustration led to her sitting in my living room, and railing (rightly) against a system that is very broken, and very dehumanizing to many people.

When she went home that evening, I struggled with helplessness that I couldn’t make her situation better.  I realized that I don’t have the financial power or political clout to make the world a better place.  In all honesty, even if I had money or power,  I don’t have enough education or leadership skills to make effective changes at the federal or global level.

But what I do have is an idea.

What if we all started looking at every person we see in our days as something more precious than a box that must be checked before we can be done with our day?

What if we saw a human being, deserving of as much patience and consideration as we would give to the person we love most in the world, instead of a number?  Instead of an annoyance?

And most importantly, what if we looked in the mirror and saw a human being that deserved as much love and care as we would show that aforementioned person that we love most in this world?

I don’t have a lot of money or influence, but I do have an idea that if we could do that, we would treat everyone with more kindness.  We’d all feel a little less alone.

A few projects are in the works for this.  I’m working on the above-mentioned documentary, and I know other people who are thinking about how not seeing and being unseen affects them to work on collaborative projects.

Today, a friend of mine started her own project.  She created a Facebook event calling for everyone able and willing to create a care package with scarves, gloves, blankets, snacks, etc to carry in your backpack or car to give to the many people without homes and in need this time of year.  It’s called Project:  Warm Hands, Warm Feet if you’d like to check it out.


*Almost a title

* – I spent ten minutes staring at the title field, failing to come up with anything witty, or even informative.  This is why I am currently a shitty blogger.  I stare at the title field for up to half an hour, get discouraged, and close down wordpress for the day.  Today, in an effort to stop being as shitty a blogger (though probably still pretty shitty), I’m moving past the title with an unclever asterisk and just writing what I want to write, which is … okay, so that’ll be the next step in not being a shitty blogger, maybe having a better idea of what’s going into the post field before I stare at wordpress for a thirty minutes.  Nonetheless, here goes. – 

This is my yard pig.  Her name is Sasha and she protects my unkempt lawn.  This year, I thought none of my tomatoes grew until it was time to weed the garden beds and I found about thirty half-eaten tomatoes still on the vine.  The vine had fallen into the grass that kept not getting mowed.  My point is that maybe Sasha protects the lawn a bit too well, but we’ll have a talk about it at her year-end review.

The reason I’m bringing ye olde yard pig into this post that will probably fail to make any sense whatsoever is that a lot of the positive changes that I don’t make in my life have a never-spoken clause of “when pigs fly.”  Because my brain is a straight-up cliché machine.  I have refused to make a number of positive changes in my life, including finishing a college degree, advancing any amazing opportunity that has presented itself to me even when I have wanted to, eating better, losing weight, exercising, quitting smoking, and maybe switching to a less flammable liquor than Bacardi 151 during meetings with The Sisters Provocateur.

That said, last year I did manage to start performing on stage with the amazing group of women referenced above, and lose 65lbs.  A lot of the weight loss was due to rigid rehearsal schedules and the enforced poverty of my husband’s unemployment, so in the nine months he’s been back to work and the six months since The Sisters last performed, I’ve managed to put back on ten of that.  Still, not a bad overall push towards feeling better, but going back up at all isn’t ideal.

Beyond the good news of learning that I won’t spontaneously combust in front of an audience and the overall downward trending number on the scale, I haven’t made a lot of changes in my life that would indicate a deep desire to live happily and healthfully.  I’m actually super happy.  But over the past few weeks, I’ve accidentally run across quite a few signs that the happiness I have been settling for isn’t even on the same playing field as the happiness I could have.

So I woke up this morning with a simple goal in mind:  Get better.  Feel better.

I worked out (for the first time in *cough, cough, ahem*), had a healthy breakfast, then added more solidity to the goal with three dictates:

  1. Everybody has to start somewhere.
  2. Just finish one tiny little thing. If you want to do more, you can.
  3. Failure is better than being stagnant.

And finally, after collapsing in a heap of exhaustion from working out and bothering to eat breakfast, I determined my daily check list.   These are the things I feel I need to do to “Get better.  Feel Better.”

  • Exercise of any sort.
  • Something creative.
  • Something with food.
  • Active humanity
  • Communication (blogging, networking)
  • Intake and acknowledgement of new inspiration
  • Prayer/ritual/thankful conversation with the universe.

I’ll expand on these in the upcoming days.  Because though it takes me forever to get to my point when writing, it takes me no time at all to rush the conclusion.