Letter to the Editor
Many mornings when I awake, I find, through the years, I’ve become a decidedly serious person — as you well know. I wish I wasn’t so afflicted. Perhaps that’s why I am drawn to bone-dry satire and the occasional irreverent thumbing of a nose to shake me from my solemn orbit. In that jostling, I remember how to curve my lips into a smile, loosen my shoulders, and welcome the crow’s feet at the corners of my eyes. Goliard in my own right.
Humor is a study, is it not? I’m certain it’s a skill I could master one day, yet many times, when I steal a pocket of time alone, humor doesn’t feel authentic to me. Perhaps the trick is to take better advantage of the lightness in those compartmentalized moments. But to filter… is that what I want? I suppose it’s just another word for curation.
Curation, however, implies a decision. When I am slow to decide, I am slow to speak. Quite normal, if you ask me. Over the weekend I was accused (yet again) of “playing games” and unsettling people with my lack of speech. But I can also be wordlessly content when I am at peace — which I admit appears a puzzle. Are you terribly vexed? Is the setting of feet or the weight of a gaze still an answer?
I loathe being patronized, yet I endure it. “Immature.” “Emotional.” The one who drifts away mid-conversation staring out the window, who never finishes a television show or book, who can’t decide on a sexuality. (Though, for the record, I have declared mine most plainly and could shout it until I’m blue in the face to no avail.)
Now then, we arrive — dangerous “diary” territory.
When I began this endeavor, I hoped to avoid betraying myself before the masses, even if readership stayed desirably small. “Musings” was perfectly apt. However, an early revelation gave way to a jealousy which demanded a change in title. “Diary”? Never! What woefully transparent, and far too serious, a collection of work that would be. Better to call it a “Journal” for the time being. After all, what is any of this but some curious sojourn toward the unknown. In the midst of it, really. What does anyone truly know? Certainly I have no idea.
My initial aspirations were to write weekly. But even the bounds of that loose schedule set my insides squirming in discomfort. However, when left to the fancy of my mood (once stripped of “overthink”), I’m afraid I’m bound to tides shaped by a twenty-eight-day cycle, naturally.
A colleague, when asked how she sculpted her new derrière in only six months, replied: “Discipline, of course! Discipline is freedom. And, well, a few cosmetic enhancements, but the Stairmaster did wonders.”
Discipline is freedom.
Middle English: discipline, “mortification by scourging oneself”.
Latin: discupulus, “student,” and disciplina, “learning.”
Something certainly was lost in translation.
Receiving knowledge, then. Followed by application? Is it overstepping to go so far as to imply a particular frequency to the application? Discipline is not a scourge, but the posture of Meno — the presence that precedes the practice.
This week’s service referenced this verse:
“Now the Berean Jews were of more noble character than those in Thessalonica, for they received the message with great eagerness and examined the Scriptures every day to see if what Paul said was true.”
The key words pulled for the congregants were, “noble” and “examined”. The point made was that to be of noble character one must examine the scriptures daily —an exhortation to demonstrate such a “discipline” in this sojourn. Yet, that’s not what it says. It says, because they received the message eagerly, they therefore examined it. An open mind and a disciplined approach. Not chasing acts of proof. Bland fruit with nothing inside to nourish. It’s not lost on me that some sort of melon reference would do very nicely here. (Also, let’s be real, Thessalonica was a huge cosmopolitan maritime city, their priorities were very different, and likely required a certain deftness. So many more thoughts on all this for another day.)
Discipline begins with receiving. Reception of love orients our hearts. From it pours a deluge of curiosity to examine, explore, try, taste, touch, know.
Of late, my heart feels off-center, too distracted by the business of busyness sold as a baseline. I am reminded of a quote from a book of prayer:
“In contemporary society our Adversary majors in three things: noise, hurry, and crowds. If he can keep us engaged in “muchness” and “manyness,” he will rest satisfied.”
It seems as though it is the season to reflect on rest — with a little seriousness. Discipline is freedom.
Goodness there are too many things happening here, and yet not nearly enough.
Dear editor, bear with me. I am not funny. (Yet.)
Your job grows clearer by the day. I think we should talk soon.
— Yours truly