Breaking the rules

Five days ago I broke the rules.  I got my nose pierced.  Aside from the fact that I am over 40 — and although this is not my first non-ear piercing — this is a bold and daring move.  You see, my workplace has a policy against facial piercings.

Employees who already have piercings are supposed to cover them or wear transparent spacers.  But you can’t do this when you just got pierced.  Besides, most of the folks who have nose piercings in my organization don’t cover them or wear spacers.

But none of them are management.

So why would I do such a rash thing?  Am I, as one of my friends asked, trying to get fired?

No, I’m not, and I did not act impulsively.   It’s just that the policy is a rule–with a lowercase “r”.   Strangely, in three days back at work, only ONE person has said anything about my new facial jewelry or even seemed to notice — my assistant.  To me, this speaks volumes about our organizational culture.

So if I am ever asked by my boss, HR, or anyone who really wants to know, here are my reasons, in loose order of priority:

1. I really wanted to do it (it’s very cute, sexy, and feels good to me!).
2. I couldn’t think of a good reason not to do it that wasn’t fear-based, and I am resolved to not make fear-based decisions.
3. I can’t agree to follow a rule that is exclusive, prejudicial, does not harm people, and in fact creates a false separation between me and the people we serve by implying some kind of superiority based on appearance.  This separation actually impedes my ability to do my job well.
4. It’s up to us in power to push the envelope — to use our power to set new examples and effect change.  New behaviors come before new rules, and setting new, evolved standards is one obligation of leadership.  (Did policies and expectations about women not wearing pants to work change first, or did women just start wearing pants and the rules changed?  How about the laws against interracial marriage? Those rules changed because interracial couples took tremendous risks and went to court to challenge them.)
5. I don’t agree to follow a rule that implies I am not OK, or should be ashamed of myself or how I look.
6. Hyperfocusing on these sorts of superficial rules distracts us from the real problems in our organization/world — like how we treat each other and how happy and fulfilled we are.  Just because a person fits some sort of corporate mold of appearance does not necessarily mean she is kind, hard working, or customer-oriented.  The latter is what we should be more concerned with.
7. I believe in following Rules about being my authentic Self, with integrity.  My piercing is one way I am true to this Rule, and it serves as a visible reminder for me of this commitment.
8. My workplace and I are in a dysfunctional relationship in which I (mostly) give and it (mostly) takes.  This is one way to take some more (instead of waiting to be given to) or to give less.  It is one way to create more joy where it is lacking and to be more myself where I haven’t been.
9. As long as all are not held to this rule equally, and not held accountable for much worse, I cannot agree to comply.
10. Being a good girl and a chronic rule follower hasn’t gotten me what I want and need–at work, or anywhere else for that matter! (Have you seen the bumper sticker “well-behaved women rarely make history”…?)
11. Doing this allows me to be more in touch with my Shadow Self, which is good for me and the world.  (Also see #10. 🙂 )
12. I am willing to accept the consequences of my decision.

I can’t always change injustice, but I can choose whether or not to participate in an unjust system.

I can’t always change the rules, but I can choose not to comply with them.  This also embues any choice I make to comply with more integrity and power.

I can’t always inject reason into insanity, but I can choose to be sane.

I can’t always make people like, know, or respect me — but I can always know, like, and respect myself.

What rules are you willing to break to create change in your life and the world? What Rules are you truly committed to?

Ometeotl … In Lak Ech…

Jaxsine

On commitment

I am lazy and a commitment-phobe.  There, I said it.

You may find this hard to believe.  After all, I eat better than most, I work out hard 4-6 times most weeks, I work long hours in a demanding job, and I always go above and beyond in whatever projects I take on.  My last few boyfriends broke up with me.  I have a mortgage, an ex-husband, and a graduate degree.  I pay my bills on time, throw parties and remember my friends’ birthdays.

Blah blah blah.

I first began to suspect my laziness and commitment phobia in a weight training class.  I have long gotten an ego boost from looking — and being — fitter and stronger than most people much younger than me, even men.  However, in this class I have struggled with lunges, triceps, and chest presses.  Not only have I been unable to do much more than puny weight loads, the exercises have made me very sore the next couple days and contributed to a troubling pain in my right shoulder.  Never mind that I can do biceps, abs, squats, shoulders and back — especially back  — like the champ I believe myself to be; my wimpiness with regards to lunges, triceps and chest presses has been frustrating, almost humilliating.

I’ve found myself wanting to quit.  Maybe this weight thing isn’t for me.  Wait a minute — quit?  Why would some completely logical weaknesses in three muscle groups make me want to whine, pout and drop out?  Or here’s a better question from another angle — how is it that a petite over-40 woman can easily lift so much with her back and shoulder muscles?

The answer is boxing.  Almost 12 years of it, in fact.  As a child I had chronic bronchitis and couldn’t do a sit up in fourth grade to save my life and pass the Presidential Fitness test.  My classmates thought I was pretending. I wasn’t.  I was good at running, so I started doing that at age 10 — competing and earning medals fairly easily.  I loved dancing, which I discovered as a teen, but quit when it became more hard work than fun.  Despite being moderately talented, I was intimidated by all the turns I had to do (which I did poorly), by the sweaty rooms in big-city dance studios full of accomplished dancers twirling across the floor, and by the competition.  I gave up halfway through my last audition at age 20.  I was relieved when I was cut, but I suppose I maintained my dignity by not really giving it my best in the first place.

So I have strong back, shoulder, and bicep muscles because I worked at it.  For years.  Same with my flexibility.  I have my father’s genes, and because of this, I should not be able to touch my toes, let alone put my palms flat on the floor in front of me, with my legs straight.  I am able to do this because I worked at it, gradually over time.

I worked at it, and now I have this ability to rely on and enjoy.  I have set precedent.  So why am I a lazy commitment-phobe?  Why do I want to give up on chest presses and lunges?

I think it’s because they hurt.  They’re hard.  And I don’t see the benefit (yet).  I appear on the outside to be a non-lazy committed person because most of what I do in life is actually easy.  Maybe not easy for many people, but easy for me.  But isn’t the point to compare our current selves to our best possible selves, and not to others?  Is it perhaps that doing so would challenge my identity of being superior to others (ah ha!)?

Apparently one of the curses of the gifted is we don’t learn how to learn.  Things come so easy to us in so many ways that we get discouraged at the slightest challenge or perceived failure.  It threatens our identity.  For instance, even though I am a slim person, I have often been slightly jealous of people much heavier than me who are able to lose several pounds.  The reason is I don’t know if I could do what they did!

In fact, I haven’t yet lost the 8 pounds I gained this time last year.  And the truth is I haven’t tried very hard.  I am so unwilling to make the necessary sacrifices, to experience discomfort, to make the changes necessary to live a truly healthy life in a healthy body.  Nor do I seem to be able to do that which I know I must do to maintain a healthy mind and happy emotional life.  I know I need to get more sleep, to read more, to make music, to not self-abandon, to listen to my deeper knowing, and to not allow anyone — including me — to treat me poorly.

But I don’t always do these things.  I am a poor parent to my own Self, alternately neglectful and indulgent, punctuated by short bouts of inflexible tyranny.  Why? Is my laziness and commitment-phobia my rebelling against controlling parents who have not exerted actual control over me for 24 years?  Is it fear?  Is it lack of self-esteem and confidence?  Or am I unable to imagine the ultimate benefits of the hard work, or perceive their worth?

The New Year is always a time of deep reflection for me.  The Holy-days, my birthday, and the New Year all happen in quick succession, and during a dark, quiet time of year (at least in the natural world) which lends itself to going within.  I recently happened across some old writings and notes to myself.  I was surprised and a bit disturbed that some of the sentiments expressed were about commitments I have still not owned — to living my dreams, to being as healthy as possible, to putting my own needs first and taking a stand for my worthiness.

Am I not making progress?  Am I going in circles or staying in one place?  Is life the way my mother described it — “you spend your whole life polishing a brass faucet and the day after you die it’s green.”  Or am I experiencing natural macro cycles on a micro level; a more indigenous, non-linear way of seeing time and progress, in which el futuro es sólo un reflejo del pasado conocido (the future is only a reflection of the known past)?  I prefer to see it as the latter, and that I have reached a deeper layer of the onion that is my growth and development.

So now what?

A teacher I deeply resonate with once described the Religion of Radical Responsibility — at least that’s how I remember it…I figured that was a doctrine I could get on board with!  But easier said than done.  It means that I have to take responsibility for everything — for my choices, for my decisions, for my actions, for my part in co-creating the “bad things” that people “do to” me or that “happen” to me.  It means I have to recognize that no one — no one — will, or can, love and protect me the way I can.  This is quite a sobering realization for a woman especially, steeped in a culture rife with images of the knight on a steed coming to our rescue as we swoon in our distress and helplessness.

No one is coming indeed.  2012 is definitely a year of profound changes that are already in the works.  But as Tiokasin Ghosthorse says in the film “2012: A Time for Change” [highly recommended, by the way!], a messianic “salvation point mentality” is really a symptom of us shirking our personal responsibility and giving away our “personal sovereignty” (extra delicious that a Native American would word things this way!).  It’s us giving our power away to a person or system to take care of us or fix things, which is spiritually lazy, he says.

Amen Brother Ghosthorse.  But wait a minute — does this mean I need to stop waiting around for the aliens or Jesus or the apocalypse to arrive, to finally separate the wheat from the chaff, rapture us righteous folks away, or plunge the world into so much chaos hopefully folks will wake up?

Yes it does.  I make a difference.  I can help decide whether we have armaggedon or dharmaggedon.  Instead of waiting for permission to be myself at work, I can just be myself at work and run the risk of marginalization or painful consequences.  Maybe being the change I wish to be in the world means I need to find a way to be love, joy, humor, creativity, flexibility and compassion — by any means necessary — instead of walking around full of fear, anger, resentment, tension and overwhelm because I am not allowed to be love, joy, and compassion by someone else, or by the system.  Radical notion indeed!

Once again, I find that despite my many strengths, I created my own prison.  I have been lazy.  I went to sleep.

And speaking of work, perhaps it’s my commitment phobia that has contributed to my current misery.  Creating change in large institutions is not an instant process.  Learning to manage 20 people is not easy.  Building trust does not happen overnight.  I am trying to do chest presses here, getting frustrated and wanting to throw the weight bar across the room.  My fickle ego — “today I ROCK, I am The (Wo)Man and a BadASS” … “today I SUCK, I hate everyone, and peace out, lower lifeforms!” — is not a reliable compass for decision making or deep knowing.  It rejoices and doubts.  It is moody.

So part of the solution is growing up, taking responsibility and making commitments.  Of course, commitment to anything or anyone is not the answer, it must be entered into mindfully and with adequate clarity.  But what is commitment?  One of my favorite people, my sister, once described it as a daily decision.  It’s being able to negotiate the ups and downs with the knowledge that the long term result meets my goals and needs. It’s putting energy into what has pay off, not getting a brand new toy because I’m not getting what I want right now.   It is not blind faith, but a faith based on past experience. It’s a constant inquiry about whether something is a deal breaker or not.  It’s the ability to discern between what’s worth letting go and what’s not, through self knowledge which allows us to assess whether a problem or crisis is due to the situation, or me, or something external.

In short, commitment requires self-knowledge, clarity, presence, and discipline.  No small task.  But if we, our lives, each other, and our world, are relying on us to “be the change” and create dharmageddon, it is a worthy task with huge payoff.

After all, no one is coming.  We must be our own heroes and heroines and slay our dragons.  We are the ones we have been waiting for. Genius designer Buckminster Fuller, who was decades ahead of his time, said:

“I have to say, I think that we are in some kind of final examination as to whether human beings now, with this capability to acquire information and to communicate, whether we’re really qualified to take on the responsibility we’re designed to be entrusted with. And this is not a matter of an examination of the types of governments, nothing to do with politics, nothing to do with economic systems. It has to do with the individual. Does the individual have the courage to really go along with the truth?”

That, my friends, is the question, and in 2012 I am committed to further discovering my Truth and living in disciplined alignment with that as priority number one.

What about you?

Happy New Year!

Ometeotl … In Lak Ech…

Jaxsine

The White Ribbon

I think I know now how the Holocaust was possible.  Even as a child I struggled to understand how humans were capable of committing violent cruelties against one another — slavery and rape in particular.  But now I think I have some insight.

A few months ago, I went to a talk on “the dark stirrings of the unconscious”, given by a prominent Jungian analyst to a room of Baby Boomer analysts — and me.  The topic of the evening was how our individual shadow sides play out and manifest on a grander, societal scale through archetypes and the collective unconscious.  She gave examples, like how, in our approach to war, our country (USA) behaves much like an individual with an antagonist character structure in a narcissistic phase of ego-Self development (called alpha narcissism).  This is not a pretty state to behold, fraught with aggression, grandiosity, manipulation, control and lack of empathy.  It seemed all in the room appreciated how a powerful nation with such an orientation is far more dangerous than a single individual.

Almost in a off-hand comment at one point, she encouraged us to watch the film “The White Ribbon”, set in pre-World War I Germany, as a vivid illustration of the power of the shadow side, and how alpha narcissism can be embedded in other narcissisms — for instance, how we might project our aggression (or any other emotion or shadow side) onto others to act out.  The Oscar-nominated film, shot in black and white in Germany in 2009, meant to make a statement about the roots of Nazism.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to see a film about pre-Nazi Germans projecting their aggressions on others, but I did.  It was riveting and disturbing, but not in the graphic way I feared it would.  It was disturbing in its subtlety and the horrifying normalcy of it all.

At least that’s how it struck me.  What disturbed me most as I reflected, and after I read a couple online reviews to help me understand what I’d seen (and not seen), was how little certain scenes bothered me.  I found myself rationalizing or dismissing both child abuse and the various oppressions of the vulnerable many by the powerful few.  I didn’t like the abuse or oppression, but sort of accepted them as the way life is.  As in, “eh, that’s really no biggie” or “wow, that’s a real bummer, but oh well!”

I believe that what lead me to be so desensitized was partially my own upbringing in a strict, controlling home, but mostly my experiences at work in a large, hierarchical bureaucracy awash in politics and money.  A place where cruelties have been done to people and gone unpunished.  A place where (subtle and not-so-subtle) humilliations occur often.  A place where reason submits to power and the status quo.  A place where political and economic injustice is tolerated in the name of business practices or some manner of rules.

Don’t get me wrong, this organization is not some nightmare from a Dickens or Sinclair novel (although even as I write this, I wonder).  It’s fairly normal.  And that’s the scary part.

I think I have always loved action films and epic fantasy movies because in those worlds, good and evil are pretty clear cut.  With the exception of some confusing (but key) characters like Professor Snape and Boromir, we know who the good guys and bad guys are in movies like Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, James Bond and Terminator.

But good and evil are not so clear cut in real life.  We are all a little like Gollum sometimes — twisted, conflicted, lost, fixated — and a lot like the executives at Skynet — thinking we are creating something wonderful and instead unleashing a monster (hmm, that’s a familiar movie theme … smells like an archetype!).

And perhaps that monster is our own ego and our own shadow side.  This is also why I must create change in my life and find a better place to be.  Once the best parts of me start to die, I get lost. My humanity and empathy begin to atrophy.  Today, I can see possible selves inside me I couldn’t imagine before.  I am capable of being cavalier about other’s pain.  I am capable of accepting injustice.  I am capable of arrogance and insensitivity.  I am capable of denying responsibility.  I am capable of committing atrocities.

And so I understand better now how humans are capable of committing violent cruelties.  Just like the characters in The White Ribbon, denying the evil inside myself — my Shadow — makes it stronger, and projects it onto the world.  Just like our nation denied any ability to understand or relate to the pain, anger, or conditions that could cause men to crash full jetliners into skyscrapers full of people, our inability or unwillingness to see The Other or The Shadow inside ourselves blinds us to our own capability to commit violence and cruelty.  And then one day we wake from our slumber and find our hands and jaws soaked in blood.

And so I embrace the Shadow — I say hello, I get to know it, I love it, I caress it — and then I make more wholistic decisions that are mindful and not ruled by it.

Thank you, White Ribbon, for this valuable lesson.

Paz, amor, vida y fuerza,

Jaxsine

He brought me flowers

He brought me flowers today.  It was a magnificent bouquet of fragrant pinkish stargazer lilies surrounded by white roses and some lovely purple buds.  Yesterday he surprised me with a couple red roses.

Not too long ago, I would have been ecstatic.  I would have felt hopeful relief, a sense of love renewed, and blushing flattery.  Today I know better.  These flowers, lovely as they are, do not erase the beatings, nor the humilliations.

I recognize the cycle.  This is only a respite, and not a sign of change.  It’s just a phase embedded in an overall pattern of abuse and tears.  I know this, and yet I am surprised by my lack of bitterness and pessimism.  I still really enjoy the flowers.

Yesterday the red roses arrived in the form of a small meeting at the end of the day, attended by only three other people — which is far fewer than ideal for that particular committee.  But instead of getting caught up in the spirit-crushing tedium of analyzing statistics and poring over a lifeless action planning grid (both of which I had spent months helping create!) we meandered off into a delightful Big Picture tangent about race, historical trauma, empathy and diversity.  It was a precious moment of safety, honesty, and humanity.  We all expressed gratitude for each other, hugged, and ended our work days there, feeling like we were part of something special and important.

Today the bouquet arrived early — a meeting with some of “my employees” that could have been frustrating and tense, but instead was light and warm.  The following meeting contained not only some rare moments of humor, but an informative presentation and (but wait, there’s more!) a tray of holiday cookies that were colorful and cute as well as tasty!   After that, I got to see another of “my employees” (by the way, I can barely believe that this kind of plantation vocabulary comes out of my mouth now) shine in front of a group in a truly inspiring way.  She is having some serious “performance issues”, so it was beautiful to see a side of her I had not seen in a really long time.  I was able to genuinely and enthusiastically praise her.  She beamed — for the first time since I became her boss months ago.

Today my email was manageable and  there were no “hair fires” all day.  I was able to get my boss some important information right away when she needed it during a critical meeting, and “my assistant” was positively glowing after her two days on vacation.  I finished my day talking with two more of “my employees”.  One of them is one of my favorites; the other is someone who had been the hostile, passive-aggressive bane of my existence up until a few weeks ago, so the ease and excitement of our conversation were especially sweet.

I enjoy the flowers, but I am not fooled.  I admire them; I close my eyes and inhale their perfume, but I have no regrets or second thoughts.  This feeling is heartening, but surprising to me.  I thought this would be harder.

I remember the day almost ten years ago I realized my now ex-husband wasn’t going to change.  I was looking at him in our kitchen and he had just given me another piece of shockingly disappointing news.  I heard the sound of glass breaking, like a tremendous wall of frosted glass had simply shattered and fallen down between us, and I could finally see him clearly.  I began planning my escape not too long after that.  Continuing to live with a husband you know you will leave but cannot tell the truth to is a terrifying feat, especially for someone like me who values integrity so highly.  But it was a wise choice, and I was fortunate to receive almost daily validation of my decision in the following months.  Thankfully, the sex was almost non-existent at that point, which made my attempt to live in two worlds easier.

But it still hurt.  I still doubted and I still agonized.  I still wondered, even on the last night, sitting among my packed boxes, ready to leave with my sister to go begin grad school in another state.  The next morning when we said goodbye — me seated in the cockpit of the U-Haul — was the first time we had been tender with each other in many months.  And watching his form shrink in the rear view mirror as I pulled away was the last time I ever saw him.

I don’t know that there will ever be anything in my life I will be 100% sure of — I am too reflective and analytical — but I think the calm I feel now may be close.  I don’t feel fake or guilty enjoying the people and the moments as they come in my current job, even as I am planning my exit.  The things and people I will truly miss are few, and I will likely be able to take the more valuable connections with me.  The promise of the future is definitely brighter than the current reality.

And yet, this limbo is also a blessing because this time around, being in two worlds — here and also already gone — is allowing me to be fully present and savor that which matters, and “blow off” things that don’t (an almost sacrilegious notion for me, but one I am starting to gleefully entertain!) I think it was Eleanor Roosevelt who said:

Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, and today is a gift; that’s why they call it “the present”.

Amen Sister Eleanor.  And Merry Christimas to me!

So I am grateful for the flowers, but they do not change my mind nor represent a fundamental change in the situation.  Instead of being beacons of hope, they are “presents” to provide respite during this transitional phase.  They decorate the rest stops on the road out.

After all, a prison is still a prison, even when you brighten your cell with flowers.

Paz, amor, vida y fuerza,

Jaxsine