Christina Green, by all accounts a precocious and lovely 9-year-old girl in Tucson, Arizona, was gunned down yesterday in the attack on Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords.
Little girls should not be killed.
Little girls who have the courage to be the only girl on the Little League baseball team should not be killed.
Little girls who join student government should not be killed.
Little girls who are trying to learn, trying to satisfy their curiosity about a new interest, should not be killed.
Little girls who are born on 9/11, who are a ray of hope on a horrific day, should not be killed.
Little girls who are "A" students, who sing in the church choir, and who dream of being a veterinarian, should not be killed.
And yet, inexplicably, they are. She was.
From what I can tell, Christina Green lived "a more daring life." The question is, was she "safer" for doing so?
Would she be "safer" not playing a game she loved just because she had to put up with a bunch of boys? Would she be "safer" not getting involved in student council? Would she be "safer" not going to hear her Congresswoman; not pursuing her curiosity of public service?
No, of course not. Life is to be lived; fully, confidently, creatively and daringly. And I am confident, with the very little I know of Christina Green, that she would agree with me 100%.
The tragedy is that we will never know.
© 2010 David Berry
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Did You Pack the Chains?
Our biennial trip to celebrate Christmas with my in-laws is a 738 mile, 13.5 hour trek covering almost the entire length of the state of California. Believe it or not, it's a journey we actually look forward to and enjoy. Hitting the road for a trip of this length is always an adventure, holding the promise of unplanned for experiences and at least one good feast at In-n-Out Burger.
The drive itself is pretty straightforward, much of it through the very flat, very straight Central Valley. There is, however, a fair bit of mountain driving - through the Angeles National forest in Southern California and a stunning stretch from Redding to Mt. Shasta in the northernmost part of the state. Given the intense weather that rolled down the west coast in late December I was concerned that our drive through these areas would be challenging at best, especially if temperatures dipped and snow started to fall.
Having grown up and lived nearly my entire life in Southern California the most interesting driving challenge I've faced is getting stuck in the sand at our favorite beach. So, it is always with some trepidation that I consider having to drive on slushy, slippery mountain roads. And, it is always reassuring when I locate the dirty and dusty box of tire chains and make them the first thing I pack in the car.
While I don't like the thought of needing those chains and I don't like the idea of actually having to slog around in the cold and muck to put them on, I sure do like knowing that, if the conditions demand it, I have something to turn to so I can keep the journey going. The chains provide traction when there is none. The chains grip the road when the tires can't do it alone. And, though I would always rather have clear sailing on calm seas the fact is that it just doesn't work out that way. Ever.
We've all got journeys to make in the gift of this new year. Whatever you've resolved to do, wherever you plan to go, what are you packing for when the road gets rough? What or who will you turn to on the days when you just can't keep your grip...when you lose traction...when you need a little help?
© 2010 David Berry
The drive itself is pretty straightforward, much of it through the very flat, very straight Central Valley. There is, however, a fair bit of mountain driving - through the Angeles National forest in Southern California and a stunning stretch from Redding to Mt. Shasta in the northernmost part of the state. Given the intense weather that rolled down the west coast in late December I was concerned that our drive through these areas would be challenging at best, especially if temperatures dipped and snow started to fall.
Having grown up and lived nearly my entire life in Southern California the most interesting driving challenge I've faced is getting stuck in the sand at our favorite beach. So, it is always with some trepidation that I consider having to drive on slushy, slippery mountain roads. And, it is always reassuring when I locate the dirty and dusty box of tire chains and make them the first thing I pack in the car.
While I don't like the thought of needing those chains and I don't like the idea of actually having to slog around in the cold and muck to put them on, I sure do like knowing that, if the conditions demand it, I have something to turn to so I can keep the journey going. The chains provide traction when there is none. The chains grip the road when the tires can't do it alone. And, though I would always rather have clear sailing on calm seas the fact is that it just doesn't work out that way. Ever.
We've all got journeys to make in the gift of this new year. Whatever you've resolved to do, wherever you plan to go, what are you packing for when the road gets rough? What or who will you turn to on the days when you just can't keep your grip...when you lose traction...when you need a little help?
© 2010 David Berry
Friday, December 31, 2010
Chaos, Control, Creativity
Here's a premise for your consideration: as life becomes more complicated and chaotic we apply more controls and disciplines to help us manage the mess. As we do so we necessarily, though unintentionally, constrain our natural creative resources, the resources we most need to employ if we are to successfully navigate additional and increasing complexity.
As "it" gets messier, we hold on tighter to feel more in control and by doing so limit our flexibility, our mobility and our range of options. We narrow our vision down to a very direct line of sight, one that while increasing our focus, diminishes our peripheral capacity. We see more of one thing and less of everything else. As such, we see more of the problem/challenge/difficulty/uncertainty and less of the possibilities for dealing with it as they remain beyond our ability to see.
Additionally, this focusing ability - nature's gift to us in the game of survival - requires so much concentrated energy that we're left with just enough to "get by" - sometimes sufficiently and successfully, sometimes not - in other areas of life. That is to say, we figure out how to fake it.
This is the best way I can think to explain the last five weeks of my life, which also and interestingly, though perhaps only coincidentally, happen to be the last five weeks of the year. I have been so singularly focused on one developing issue, one slowly evolving melodrama, that I lost my ability to focus on - to be present in -the creative outlets in my life that give me joy, inspiration and encouragement.
This is both my acknowledgment and my resolve. My commitment to move past the creative hijacking of circumstance and get back to work on what matters.
© 2010 David Berry
As "it" gets messier, we hold on tighter to feel more in control and by doing so limit our flexibility, our mobility and our range of options. We narrow our vision down to a very direct line of sight, one that while increasing our focus, diminishes our peripheral capacity. We see more of one thing and less of everything else. As such, we see more of the problem/challenge/difficulty/uncertainty and less of the possibilities for dealing with it as they remain beyond our ability to see.
Additionally, this focusing ability - nature's gift to us in the game of survival - requires so much concentrated energy that we're left with just enough to "get by" - sometimes sufficiently and successfully, sometimes not - in other areas of life. That is to say, we figure out how to fake it.
This is the best way I can think to explain the last five weeks of my life, which also and interestingly, though perhaps only coincidentally, happen to be the last five weeks of the year. I have been so singularly focused on one developing issue, one slowly evolving melodrama, that I lost my ability to focus on - to be present in -the creative outlets in my life that give me joy, inspiration and encouragement.
This is both my acknowledgment and my resolve. My commitment to move past the creative hijacking of circumstance and get back to work on what matters.
© 2010 David Berry
Sunday, November 21, 2010
All My Fears and Failures
I choked up during the opening song at church this morning. Two verses into it and I'm standing there, overwhelmed. I don't know why it hit me so hard, but it stayed with me all day long. As only music can do, it burrowed inside me and stole my breath away before I knew what hit me. Here's the line that landed the blow:
"So take me as you find me, all my fears and failures..."
It's a simple, powerful request to be accepted, embraced, loved and respected for exactly what I am and exactly how I am. In my spiritual tradition this acceptance is a promise of faith that I have a responsibility to live into. It's waiting for me whether I am willing or able to see it; whether I am willing or able to allow myself the comfort of that embrace.
And, as overwhelming as that kind of acceptance is, more overwhelming still is the responsibility to offer it to others. Yes, that's the message of the song that's hardest to accept. Those "others" are all around me everyday; looking for and quietly asking for a generosity of acceptance, hopeful that I will see them not for who they are but for the better self they are trying to be.
And, there I am asking them to do the same for me.
© 2010 David Berry
"So take me as you find me, all my fears and failures..."
It's a simple, powerful request to be accepted, embraced, loved and respected for exactly what I am and exactly how I am. In my spiritual tradition this acceptance is a promise of faith that I have a responsibility to live into. It's waiting for me whether I am willing or able to see it; whether I am willing or able to allow myself the comfort of that embrace.
And, as overwhelming as that kind of acceptance is, more overwhelming still is the responsibility to offer it to others. Yes, that's the message of the song that's hardest to accept. Those "others" are all around me everyday; looking for and quietly asking for a generosity of acceptance, hopeful that I will see them not for who they are but for the better self they are trying to be.
And, there I am asking them to do the same for me.
© 2010 David Berry
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