A Happy 2011 to You

At the end of every year, I spend time writing about the year that has just passed; month by month, I try to put it into words. This time, I got lost somewhere trying to recount the last year. Sometime in March I lost momentum. Something about that rings true: sometime in March I lost momentum. But that isn’t quite it, not exactly; it is that something has changed, and I am just beginning to understand the nuances of those changes.

For most of my conscious adult life (excepting my late teens and earliest twenties here—for that is a different sort of conscious, in my case, adult, but not conscious in the ways I have come to know consciousness since) I have self-identified as an artist, a visual artist, a maker of things. Over the past months, as I have been forced to see and articulate parts of myself in new and deeper ways, I have come to see that that label, that way of understanding myself has been shifting beneath me for some time.

Creating objects of meaning that affect only those who are already in the position to connect with them isn’t enough anymore. I’ve come to see that what drives me, the thing I think about almost constantly, is social consciousness—social justice, morality, criticality. I see so much around me that needs changing: so many people so deeply-rooted in belief systems that allow them—even encourage them—to cause harm; I see so much deep-seated fear and bigotry, and the pervasive stains of those things in people whom I love: that almost ubiquitous fear, shame, and guilt. And we all know that fear, shame and guilt do not inspire us to do good, make good; they instead grow roots in the darkness, and in that darkness, they strangle the roots of love, of courage, of truth.

We need to do better. I know we can do better. For all the wrongs I’ve seen perpetrated, I still see the goodness in the hearts behind them. At first glance, this is almost devastating, but it is also heartening. We have the capacity to wake up. We must wake up. We must learn to look critically at the things we believe, why we believe them, how they serve us, how they help us to serve others.

I want every action to be rooted in empathy, in compassion, and in love. Now, I know that for most reading this, that statement may seem like a classic no-brainer, but the kind of empathy I’m talking about involves a deep vulnerability, a purposeful and intentional criticality. We must make a practice of stepping out of our own shoes, and begin to try to think about the impact of our actions on every living creature.

We must learn to imagine the provenance of our vegetables: Who grew them? Did the farmers and farmhands receive a living wage? What practices do the farmers use? Do these practices help or hinder the health of the land? The people? Who delivered these vegetables? How far did they travel? What effects do these modes of transportation have on our air, our water, our communities? What is the local, immediate and communal impact when I buy a banana from Ecuador instead of an apple grown within fifteen miles from me? Do my political/social beliefs and practices correspond with the well-being of those who are feeding me?

We must also learn to imagine and observe the ripple-effects of our kindnesses as well as our unkindnesses.

I take care of children, 2 beautiful children, an almost two-year old girl and a four-and-a-half year old boy. In them I see the manifestations of how they are treated. They are kind to one another; they are gentle, thoughtful, curious, and loving. The boy reasons carefully with his younger sister when she grabs a toy from him. He does not yell; he does not hit. He reasons with her. He tries to understand, and he tries to help her to understand. I see this as a direct result of the way their parents treat them. The children are treated as people, and they are respected. In turn, they are respectful and thoughtful young people. They learn the real consequences of their actions by being allowed to explore within safe and loving boundaries. The older child understands that the consequence of grabbing the toy back from his sister is her sadness, her sense of loss. Cultivating that empathy in him is far more powerful than some artificial imposition of consequence or punishment. He is given the opportunity to devise better solutions, and he rises to that challenge. He values the responsibility entrusted to him. He learns to be gentle with her, because those who love him are gentle with him, and because compassion is rewarded. She, in turn, is learning this gentleness not only from her parents, but from her brother as well.

This is how we should all be with one another. It is so clear to me. I know that my ability to see this comes in part from the encouragement in my own upbringing to think critically, to question that which does not seem right, to stand up for what I believe in even if it's unpopular to do so, even if it is painful. For this I am deeply grateful.

My morality is rooted in empathy, in the knowledge that we do not have the right to hurt each other. As I say that, I realize that it bears repeating: We do not have the right to hurt each other.

We must learn to always think about power, about how we choose to wield it, in what ways we choose to bow to it. Power, privilege, authority… these must always be questioned, must always be measured against the deep knowledge of our hearts, our conscience, our consciousness.

I strive to live my life with an ever-awakening consciousness, an ever-deepening willingness to look at the world around me, look at myself, and be willing to see what is being shown to me by the universe, by God, by the world—by whatever we choose to call that energy to which we all are rooted, that energy from which we all came. I seek to live with vulnerability, with perpetually renewed willingness to be changed. I hope never to cling blindly to dogma. I hope never to use ill-founded beliefs of other fallible humans to defend actions that my heart knows are wrong.

This is not an easy task, and I am always failing. But I continue to be humbled by my failures, and I continue to strive. This is how I want to live. This is how I hope I can encourage others to live.

May we always be willing to grow and change, be willing to be wrong, be willing to reevaluate what is right. And above all, may we always listen to the call of our hearts towards empathy, towards compassion, and towards justice.