This is me, in school. I'm third desk from the front
on the row closest to the right of the frame.
I was reading Your Life As Story by Tristine Rainer and I came across something that was interesting to me. Ms Rainer tells a story about someone she worked with, a woman, who spent two years writing about her life. The woman self-published her autobiography in four volumes and she gave a set to each of her four children.
Two of her children refused to read the books. Two of her children made some general expression of thanks, but after a couple of years it was clear to this woman that her children were just not wild about reading the story of their mother’s life.
Her grandchildren, on the other hand, were interested. Some of the woman’s friends were interested in reading about her life.
I have had in my mind the idea that I would write up some of the experiences of my life, self-publish the book and have something to give my son that would be of value to him. Now I wonder if it would be of value to him. Perhaps it is just too overwhelming to a kid, like when you realize your parents have sex, or your father was once “with it!” It is too icky, or odd and you are just more comfortable not knowing the intimate thoughts of your dad.
I remember reading my father’s memoir about what he believes. On the topic of religion he outlined what he felt would cause a person to be saved or lost and then identified each of his children that he believed will go to hell unless they repent and change their ways. [I’m on the hell list because I am not attending regularly at a church of Christ service. When my brother or some other C of C person tries to say the Church of Christ does not believe or teach that they are the only one’s saved, they should read my father’s list of his own children heading for hell because they are not faithful to the church of Christ.]
Perhaps children just don’t want to know the thoughts a parent has about them especially if they are negative, critical thoughts.
So -- do I continue to write these parts of my life?
It may be similar to when a person needs to lose weight, or get clean from drugs or alcohol: you do it for yourself, you cannot just do this for someone else, it is part of your own life’s journey.
“People thought becoming an adult meant that all your acts had consequences; in fact it was just the opposite.” ― Chad Harbach, The Art of Fielding
It is hard to assess one’s own life. I don’t feel that my life has mattered much. I feel sure that once I am dead that I will be forgotten faster than I’d like to know. On the other hand, I don’t want to have such low self-esteem, such a firm habit of self-deprecation that I make my life less than what it is. Who do you know yourself?
Why can’t I feel worth? My mind tells me that no human is worthless, but I cannot remember a time that I felt worth, much less worthmore. A true and honest assessment of myself seems like it should happen, and could happen, and perhaps this writing is my effort to make a real assessment of myself. I remember the passage in the Book of Daniel when God writes in a language unknown to all, but Daniel ]MENĒ, MENĒ, TEKĒL, UPHARSIN.
Daniel 5:27 You have been weighed in the balance and found wanting
I remember the first time I really heard that passage. It didn’t just fill the air, but it filled my mind. I knew it was God’s message to Belshazzar the Chaldean king, but when I was perhaps 10 years old I heard that passage in a sermon and suddenly I felt like this was God’s assessment of me. I believed this was the assessment my parents had of me, their stupid knot head, their blooming idiot, but suddenly I knew that this was God’s assessment of me as well. I had been weighed in those balance scales and I was found to be wanting, not enough, less than I should be.
So looking at my life, I may be writing something I wish to be a record, that leaves a trace that I had existed, but the more important job of all this writing is for me to assess myself. It is time I say screw off to all the voices in my head that tell me I am inferior, and to just look at what I have experienced. The words pass through my mind, they pass on through the tips of my fingers and the words appear. I look at the words and allow them to pass back into my mind again, but this time, I have just a slight distance, a modestly different angle in which to view myself, and perhaps, if I am determined, and lucky, I will gain a picture of myself not distorted by my stinkin’ thinkin’ but just a glimpse. This is me turning my head quickly, looking back at a mirror, seeing a reflection of myself in a mirror, but turning away almost as quickly to look forward. I don’t know how many more steps I have to go in my life’s journey. I want the last measure of my life to be unencumbered by a distorted self view.
If my son, or my siblings, or my former students, or my friends, or strangers gain anything from what I write, well, great, that is wonderful, but it is no longer my goal. I will prioritize my reasons for writing and place myself at the top of that list.
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