The Great Marshmallow Experiment

The marshmallow experiment is a famous test conducted by Walter Mischel.

A group of 4 year old children had marshmallows placed in front of them. They were told that they would receive another marshmallow if they waited 20 minutes before they ate the first one.
fast forward to their adolescent years... research indicated that those who held out the 20 minutes scored 210 points higher on their SAT in comparison to those who had eaten the marshmallow right away. They also were more calm and competent versus sulky and irritable later in life.

This is an interesting concept to me and I often find myself thinking "don't eat the marshmallow". In fact, I once wrote a note and tacked it above my bed that read:

"Remember the Marshmallow"

I mean, of course, metaphorically.
The concept, in my opinion, is not that it is bad to eat the marshmallow right away. That, in and of itself is fine. The marshmallow is good, why not enjoy it now? So what if I don't get another one, maybe I don't need another one. Two, might make me sick.

The problem though, is when I eat the marshmallow immediately because my mouth is filled with so much saliva I can't function until that gooey mass of processed sugar is in my mouth. That is when you are controlled by the desire.

Another way of looking at it I think is to imagine a beautiful smelling rose. When you smell it you take part in it, in what it is. You enjoy what it offers. You walk away happy that you got to smell it. It's just there- a passing pleasure that was lovely.

But what happens when you are always thinking about how good it smells and your mood is worse when you can't smell it. The aroma of the rose no longer enhances your life, it dominates it. In other words you no longer take pleasure in what it is, you are only interested in what it gives you.

Your admiration and derived pleasure for something beautiful has become a selfish desire no longer bent on appreciation, but on satiation. You only want something because it momentarily satisfies a desire not because that thing is necessarily good or beautiful.

Not that splurging on say some chocolate pudding when I crave it means I am doomed. spontaneity is beautiful too and it doesn't mean domination. I guess what I'm trying to say is I think there is a balance and that's what the marshmallow test reminds me of. It reminds me to enjoy what I have but when enjoyment becomes something that controls or consumes me- I've lost the beauty.

that's all. just...if your going to eat the marshmallow- be careful of what it can do to you. It can be delicious and wonderful and you go on with your day with a little wonderful. Or it can haunt you till you taste it again, and again, and again.

I'd like to think maybe I'm the kid who held out 10 minutes for the marshmallow and decided I was cool with just one and ate it and went on my merry way. sweet.

Disclaimer: I do not recommend trying this experiment on your children with marshmallows. They are bad for you. Try it with your favorite organic fruit...like watermelon or strawberries. It'll be a serving (or two if they hold out) of fruit and an indication of your child's future SAT scores. BONUS!

31% cynic

Good News!
According to this highly scientific test I generally see the glass half full!

Cynicism

31

"According to your responses, you are generally the type of person who believes in the goodness of humankind. You give nearly everyone the benefit of the doubt (at least until proven wrong), and will often accept what people say and do at face value instead of making conjectures about their motives. You will at least try to find the good in even the most difficult of people, and are willing to place your faith in others. Unlike their more positive counterparts, pessimists have a lot of difficulty trusting others, believing that most, if not all people have hidden agendas. Tempered with that necessary dose of skepticism, your fairly trusting and accepting nature is refreshing, and likely provides you with a much more balanced and upbeat perspective overall."

__________________________
Which I think is absolutely true.
I think my in filter is pessimistic which is why I initially take things rather hard and end up in some nice depressing holes. But my out filter is optimistic which means I almost always end up seeing the beauty in things. And most times, things come in and go out so fast I don't have time to even notice the pessimistic outlook because it's already been filtered through the optimistic. Lucky me! That all stems from my "Shoulder Shrug Theory" which is for another time.
The problem is when one thing is coming in and one thing is going out at the same time.
That is when I annoy myself.
Quandary # 4356 about myself solved.
(you didn't even know it WAS a quandary did you?)

eating my own words

There are times we come across a great idea or concept (hip hip).We get excited about that idea and think about it lots and we talk about it with other people.

Maybe, we even blog about it.

Of course,

... There are times when you realize your foot just ended up in your mouth...

When the things you crafted in your head and then so heartily ate make you sick to you stomach.

I just spend the last 2 hours thinking "that's not fair" over and over and over again concerning an event that I had just found out occurred.
I thought it,
kicked a couple walls and...er...lockers,
thought it again.
Took a breath to say it again and found myself cut off -there was something squeaking in my ear...

It was my own voice echoing back my recent penned words of "so what?" and reminding myself of all little beautiful things I had written that come from un-fairness! The nerve of me! It didn't make me feel better, it made me bitter at myself for writing words that came to chase me in my peppy optimistic little voice. It's annoying when I can't argue with myself and it's even more annoying when i want to kick some more lockers.

Sometimes, I just downright annoy myself. It's just not fair. (so there!)

Van Gogh's journal

'To lose a passport was the least
of one's worries. To lose a
notebook was a catastrophe.'
Bruce Chatwin

I certainly feel the same way. I have several notebooks and journals that are in working order and should I find myself somewhere without paper and pen I feel...rather naked.

There's just something about pen and paper. About the contact of a writing utensil as it forms lines and swirls to become something potentially life changing.
The contents become invaluable.

And it's different each time. I search for journals. Certain types need to be simple or ornate, plain or lined, large or small. Sometimes I have to write with pencil, sometimes a certain pen, sometimes even a certain color. I have a journal where I right musings from life that are half thinking on paper and half prayers. I have 3 mead notebooks for general info, historical studies, and writing excerpts from books and publications ; I have a quote journal (my fanciest journal); a blank journal to scribble pictures of fancy words ornately; and last but not least...
my moleskin.

(shameless plug below)

Moleskine is a product I scoffed at for quite awhile. Who would pay that much for paper just because it has "history". Too Fancy. As though a certain journal will really change the way you write or think.
As some of you may know however, I easily buy into things...
One day in college my friend Megan took me to the school library and we stood in front of pictures of alumni in our school library. We stood and stared for a few minutes, contemplating their lives. Their history, their impact.
Since then I feel almost everywhere I go there is a sacred history. People, places, cars, pictures. This tea cup I drink rose tea out of in this coffee shop....holds history. Who picked this tea, dried it? where is it from? Who else has drank out of this cup and this tea pot? what conversations have occurred at this table? Everything.

Then one day my friend Matt bought a moleskin and before I could say some snide comment on the waste of money he transformed the notebook into a sacred text "it was used by Van Gogh"

Bam. I was sold. I bought into it.
...the famed journals used by Vincent Van Gogh, Pablo Picasso, Ernest Hemingway. I buy into the inspirational guise and fork out the 16.95 for the lined journal as though it's link to the past will connect me to the minds who have purchased from the same company.
It makes me smarter- I mean I sound smarter right now don't I? (note the self mockery)

Actually even though it's still just paper, it is my belief in that paper that reminds me of the history of others. My first moleskin is used for a book log. I write down the books that have altered my thinking and include the most thought provoking passages. So in a way- it does connect me. I hold that notebook and feel linked to those words, ideas, and authors.

Call me a sucker....but I know in my future there will be more Moleskins. I have just found out that Moleskine now has a city notebook line (Mari you might like these). Maps and markers, transportation and space to log your city experiences. I'm not usually too fond of those journal's that "help" you with entries. however considering my recent conversion to theses journals I anticipate the release of more cities and shamelessly recommend their products.

(end of shameless plug)

I encourage pen (or pencil) to paper. Sometimes I write my initial thoughts on the computer. Sometimes my hand writes slower than my fingers type and I need to keep up with the spinning thoughts. But often- half the release of writing comes not from the meaning in the words, but in merely forming the symbols across the page and seeing your work.
Writing
"I feel trapped" or "My soul is peaceful"
means a lot more scribbled on a piece of paper than it does typed in a word document.

Writing doesn't have to be long. Even one sentence can mean the world to you or someone else. No matter what type of paper it's on...
try it.

p.s. if you don't like what you wrote you can convert it to Toilet paper....

treading water

sometimes it just feels like the world is out for the good people.
?maybe it's cause I know mostly good people?
maybe cause I don't seem to notice the injustice that occurs with the not so good people. Maybe...(ironically) I think it's only fair that bad things happen to bad people.

But sometimes I look around and it seems that no matter where my head turns it's just shitty in every direction. And it makes me want to scream and shove a couple noses up into a couple brains. There just aren't enough band aids to go around and even if there were enough...applying a band aid on a broken spirit just doesn't seem to do the trick.

philosophy sounds so meaningful and good in the abstract: caves, chairs, shadows and never stepping the same river again...
but in real life. people getting screwed -Philosophy is a bit different.

All those catch phrases, all those quotes. They seem like a slap in the face to those who need it most. They are really best for before you need it as a memory stored up to run like a feed through your head when you need it. Those inspirational messages are seemingly appropriated for a time of crisis. However, when your trying so hard to keep your nose above the water and then to have someone yell down at you:
"It's always darkest before the sun comes out buddy!"
or
"Hey man, What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."

hardly the help you were looking for while your treading water and trying not to breath it in as it rises. A couple more friends yelling down at you and I'd want to submerge myself just to shut their optimism out.

So I guess...maybe when everything seems to be crashing and you can't figure out how to help them I guess all you can do is figure out how to jump in and at least tread water beside them. Maybe you have a rope, it isn't life or death for you...but at least your beside them.
i guess.
(sometimes I'm not even sure how to do that much)

I quit

That is all I have to say.

a different side of fair

"it's not fair"

So? Who cares? "Fair" does not necessarily denote good. We all sit around cross legged on the ground passing around a communal cup and talk about what is and isn't fair deeming ourselves the judges of what is good. We toss around words not comprehending their meaning.

If we advocate for fairness then we ultimately advocate for a universal distribution of good as well as evil. Fair is impartial. Fair is conforming to a set of rules or laws of justice (probably whoever uses the phrase above refers to their own set of rules) irregardless of extenuating circumstances.

However, fairness can create a void of grace, of goodness, and kindness. All things we don't deserve, but receive -fairness withholds. fairness can bring selfishness and righteous vindication by paying attention only to the rules rather than the person. Even when God had to appease the idea of fair for our good it brought the greatest sorrow with the death of his son...that wasn't very fair. But I think it was good- even beautiful. We've all screwed up and gotten excused. We stand there shocked that greater repercussions didn't occur. We realize we didn't get what we deserve...we have just participated in a good unfair act.

So the next time you hear yourself say "but that isn't fair" think about what you really mean. Think about what standard or right you are claiming has been broached. Sometimes, it's a bad thing it has been violated, and sometimes...so much good can come from that violation we'll soon be passing our our own unfair acts to those around us.

A Choice

"I suffered, but things that don't kill you make you stronger. How could I possibly show my children the right path in life if I let life break me down? ~Safeta, Bosnia

I feel so American.
So American in the way so many may view us. wanting. spoiled. young. not understanding the cold.
removed.
Like a private school daddy's girl walking past a homeless girl and hurrying home to catch my favorite show.
There is so much more.
I suppose in some ways we are all products of our environment. Surrounded by the latest technology and style we walk by it and want it. Surrounded by it, it can easily consume us. Or instead...is our environment a product of us? One way makes us a victim and removes responsibility. It's a note excusing what we have been made for the time being. The other places the responsibility on us and gives a choice: succumb to it or change it. (it is both I think, but the importance is in which you allow to come first)

Safeta is a Bosnian who was raped repeatedly while her husband was out digging trenches in a work camp during the Bosnian war. They did not kill her assuming she would kill herself. Before the war Bosnia held pride in different nations living on the same soil. "most people identified themselves as Bosnians first and secondarily as members of ethnic groups." She was raped by her neighbors she lived peacefully by for years- the ethnic ties now had ripped the peace apart. Now she when she hears voices she follows the voices to see if one of them was her attacker.
"I want them to see that I am still alive, that they did not kill me, neither body nor soul, nor will they ever be able to do it" She is a product of her environment, marred by memories and left with scars- a victim. But her defiance and hope take control of that and changes her from victim to ...a human living life...i can't think of a poignant word but her choice has brought her above her circumstances. Shaping her- yes- consuming her- no.

As Victor Frankl, a holocaust survivor wrote "Every day, every hour, offers the opportunity to make a decision - decision which determined whether you would or wouldn't submit to those powers which threatened to rob you of yourself, your inner freedom, which determined whether or not you would become a plaything of circumstance..."

tears fall silently down my cheek reading of women and men and the suffering they endure. Now... not to get all rastifari/hippi on you but...these are our brothers and sisters. Fellow human beings. At first I find myself moved by pity and probably as a typical person removed from a situation i want to throw some money their direction to help them out. But pity elevates one above the other. Pity keeps us from learning and leaning on each other. It keeps us from love and I think from seeing God as he is. A deeper look brings humility (and thus empathy which keeps us as equals). perhaps the real difference is the adversity. I lack their harrowing tales that have embedded in them strength, wide eyes, and deeper convictions. I do not envy their pain, but I envy what their pain has produced.

it makes me shift my focus.
It brings me to humility. Oh God you are so good to give me what i do not deserve. even so good as to speak to me when i am not listening and giving when i do not ask. Here God speaks to me through these people fathoms away. do they know God is speaking through their lives to a girl in the northwest?
Once again...i re-evaluate. i long for simplicity. any moment the comfort of an early morning and starry night, warm tea and showers, summer and winter clothes, music to fill my ears may be snatched from me. Who i am, what i receive and what i give has to come from above all those things. If i live in that simplicity then perhaps when diversity comes I too will not be a victim and let life break me down. But I will stand up and defiantly cling to what is real.

meanwhile, I find I no longer "need" a lot of things I have in my mental list. Certain problems or feelings that were overwhelming seem so small and removed from truth. Now I long to come alongside my brother or sister, those who need help standing and instead of pulling them up on firm footing I can put my arm around theirs and walk to firm footing with them. sharing our humanity...hoping when my foot slips and I need to look defiantly in the face of any kind of death someone too, will hold my arms up. I am removed from their pain...yes. i don't know what they suffered. But the things they have learned- their stories can bring- beauty to us. It can prepare me for what I know life will inevitably bring. For that I feel a kindred-ness, and thankfulness towards those who share their pain. it helps us push through and rise above (or out depending on you preposition of choice)

"Everything can be taken from a man but one thing. The last of human freedoms- to choose ones own way, and there were always choices to be made" Frankl

My Lifeline

Oh God!

Thou art love!
I build my faith on that!

I know thee,
Though hast kept my path
and made light for me in the darkness.

Tempering sorrow, so that it reached me
like a solemn joy;

It were too strange that I
should doubt thy love.

~Robert Browning

water wings

A table tucked away in corner. Flooded with dusty afternoon sunlight.

She sits and stares.

Annoying music muffled by earphones playing empathetic music-feeding and soothing her pain. She sits in the café, in this corner, at a wooden driftwood table for two; sipping Jasmine tea from black mug. To her right a black kettle rests holding a reservoir. In front of her, sits her journal.

She sips, she sits, she stares.

She glances around every so often. She imagines a wise person meeting her eye across the room. This wise person with a knowing eye holds her gaze until they sit in the empty seat. They draw her layers with their words and speak life to her.She turns up her music. No one pays attention. The café's music is not fit for her mood. The weather is though; it is an overcast yellow day. It holds a wistful if only with windblown branches and tousled hair.

She sips her Jasmine tea and pours more from the pot.

Then, she embraces her pain.
It squeezes around her heart, the heart that doctors can't reach- her soul heart.
She tries to let the flavor of the tea, the sounds in her ears, and the wind in the windows melt over her. To consume her. She tries to force a smile with her eyes.
She glances down at her journal:
"Drowning, falling.
Slowly, sinking, holding my breath.
Everyone is outside, breathing, living, laughing.
My hope is here somewhere, I have to swim through to find it."

She looks up at the window again. Tired.
Being miserable makes you so tired. Tired of being miserable. But too tired to want anything else. She thinks. She considers writing that down. But that is too much work.

She stares. She waits until she finds a pocket of pleasure from what she sees, hears and tastes. Just enough to give her courage.She smiles with her eyes. A fierce determined smile. A transient smile of hope.

But she can't seem to stop the confusing words. They rush back at her and plunge her within herself. They make her sick. Regret. She shrinks wishing the words would consume themselves and pull her in. cover her. Drown her into a comatose state where she doesn't have to fight. Kill her. She is already half dead. Grieving the death of the living. The living cold. The unwanted.

The wind blows and locks her eyes on the waving branches knocking gently against the window. She pours more tea. Sip. Stare. Drama she tells herself. Stop it.

She wants to stand in the wind with her eyes closed, her arms out, her hair swirling. Flying.

She finds a voice of courage. The most courageous thing you can do is to move on and let go. She doesn't know how, but she takes the small piece of bravery she has and whispers for help, refuses blame, shuns bitterness.
She relaxes. She breathes. She smiles with her lips.

She finds she has been given just enough to find grace.
She has found her water wings.

"Sometimes Grace works like Water Wings, when you feel you are sinking"

~La Mantt