Success stories reinforce virtues such as faith and hope, but they can also erode our own Courage To Be ourselves. But here is where it gets tricky: we must strive to be ourselves, but we ought not to become complacent. How can I be completely and uniquely myself, yet still aspire to something greater? We are constantly changing and growing, but always being. Additionally, as some theology suggests: our be-ing might have begun ex nihilo, but we (and all living things) are beloved. Slang: to be ourselves we must know that we be loved, yo. Eloquent, poetic, spiritual version: "Behold the one beholding you and smiling." -Anthony DeMello, SJ
On a related note, I sincerely appreciate Tina Fey's deconstruction of Western standards of beauty, namely because I think these standards often interfere with important states of being and knowing. A standard inevitably marginalizes; standards of beauty are such that if one does not look a certain way, he or she is valued less--and marked different, "other" and inferior. Similarly, I am often frustrated with standards of achievement in classrooms. If teachers value students based on achievement or particular kinds of intelligence, of what worth are the under-achieving, presumably "less intelligent" students? Theologically detached statement: our natural state ought not To Be perpetually insecure.
Tina Fey also has some interesting insights about Improv Comedy. Improv is kind of like a metaphor for life (just used a simile to describe a metaphor) in that failure is inevitable--and valuable. Also, it takes a hell of a lot of Courage To Be an improv comedian. One must constantly make herself vulnerable. In front of an audience. Countless times. But failure builds resilience and confidence, and it leads to growth. Each time we make ourselves vulnerable, we wonder: will we still be loved? Comedians must endure the reality that sometimes they "behold the [audience] beholding them, and the [audience] is [not] smiling." It appears that "successful" people view their times of darkness with endearment, strength, and poise because they have something to show for it. But I think it's important to recognize that triumphs are unique and personal. Also, sometimes people leave this earth without ever having felt successful or triumphant. Perhaps they have only ever felt cowardly and worthless. I am not sure what these realities mean, but they are indeed realities--and tragic.
Interestingly (in my loco mind, at least), in the book that I am currently reading, The World As It Is, Truthdig columnist, Chris Hedges, offers some thought-provoking views on being--and our natural state--from a more macro perspective. He states:
"Rebellion--which is different from revolution because it is perpetual alienation from power rather than replacement of one power system with another--should be our natural state. And faith, for me, is a belief that rebellion is always worth it, even if all outward signs point to our lives and struggles as penultimate failures. We are saved not by what we can do or accomplish but by our fealty to revolt, our steadfastness to the weak, the poor, the marginalized, and those who endure oppression. We must stand with them against the powerful. If we remain true to these moral imperatives, we win. I am enough of an idealist to believe that the struggle to lead the moral life is worth it."
His moral voice illumines the socio-political reality of our state of being. Our personal state of being is one of constant flux and growth; our socio-politcal existence consists of ongoing rebellion. Both states are ever-changing, but grounded in love and worth. For Hedges, to be we ought to have the courage to advocate for ourselves and for each other. He contends that "to be" is not a singular act of success over failure, but, rather, a shared act of being--interconnected and together. According to Hedges, our natural state is community: to be in union with each other. And he suggests that, perhaps, in such living we are also in communion with something greater.
My arguments might be somewhat circular, underdeveloped, and theologically biased--and bedtime is approaching--but I will leave you with this poem:
With That Moon Language
Admit something: Everyone you see, you say to them, "Love me."
Of course you do not do this out loud, otherwise someone would call the cops.
Still though, think about this, this great pull in us to connect. Why not become the one who lives with a full moon in each eye that is always saying, with that sweet moon language,
What every other eye in this world is dying to hear?
What every other eye in this world is dying to hear?
-Hafiz
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