Category: Essays

Deb’s Life: Take 48. And . . . Action!

~ Deb ~ 1 Comment

For the last 29 years, I have been primarily focused on, motivated by, and invested in a primary relationship.  For those who know me, you know it hasn’t always been the same one.  There have been two profound and lengthy relationships, ones which I would call “marriages” despite the legal limitations.  Those two relationships dominated the last 18 years.  There were others, not as long but also important.

During those 29 years (and, yes, every time I write that number I taste a little vomit in the back of my throat), my energy, my earning power, and my ego were all wrapped up in the identity I clung to as one half of a coupled whole.  I heard myself introduced as the unit so often I now have to remind myself that my first name isn’t actually “Deband.”

These relationships were deeply important to me, and I certainly don’t want anything I write to imply otherwise.  My most recent relationship, especially, is still a tender place deep within that alternately sends waves of sadness and release flooding through my spirit.  I mourn it daily.  But, this particular post isn’t really about that, . . . the “that” which is still too real and close and painful to take life in the written word.

This post is about what I didn’t focus on for the past 29 years.  My drive, my natural abilities, my career, my professional fulfillment.  It is about the Ph.D. I didn’t get (yet!), the job security I didn’t manifest, the retirement fund I didn’t build.  This is not the fault of my relationships; it is the fault of the way I was in my relationships.  I operated on the principle that relationships always took priority, but I never realized how I neglected my relationship with myself.

I was a hell of a partner in many ways.  I knew how to show up, support, be strong.  I knew the characteristics of a “good partner,” and I knew just when and how to display them.  I knew how to appear the way I knew others, my partner AND friends and family, expected me to appear.

Some might say I was playing a part.  If you are currently mad at me, your verbage would be that “it was all a big act.”  But the only act a person can keep up for 10 years (18 years, 29 years) is a delusion perpetuated on self.  A consciously directed duplicity would be a role that I, for one, could never maintain for an extended period without breaking out of character.

What really happened is this:  I loved some people really well for a long time over the last three decades, but I never had the proper perspective on where I fit in those equations.  I helped to create a sense of home and family, but I forgot to build in my personal aspirations or pave a way for my core needs to be met.  Deband was all over it, but Deb was nowhere to be found.

So, I’m 47.  I’m filling out grad school applications.  My car is the bottom-of-the-line Toyota, the kind I would have bought at 22 when I still could only dream of the cars I would yet own.  I fold my own clothes and toast my own bagel.

I have two dogs and a five-year plan.  Most importantly, I have me.  Perhaps for the very first time, I have me.

Stripped Down to Nothing

~ Deb ~ Leave a comment

When I was a child, I had a recurring nightmare about being sent to prison.  I thought that would be the worst thing that could ever happen to a person.  I would wake in a start, sheets damp from my sweat, and feel the most intense sense of relief as I realized that the bars had been a dream.

I was reminded of the dream recently as I read a memoir by Neil White titled In The Sanctuary of Outcasts.  White is a typical southern business man with shirts pressed into cracker-crisp submission, the requisite stories of his time in the frat house at Ole’ Miss, and the dual social safety nets of family ties and southern white privilege to catch him when he falls.  Until he finally falls too hard.

Neil White was convicted of check kiting in the early 90s and sentenced to 18 months in a minimum-security prison.  He was incarcerated in Carville, LA, in a facility that, oddly enough, also housed one of the last remaining “leper colonies” in the country.  As he meets and befriends both patients and prisoners, and more importantly, as he privately ponders all he has lost and what he might ever have again, White undergoes a transformation, the transformation we must all undergo to become fully human.  It is behind the bars of a prison — removed from his family, removed from his social status, removed from his lifelong need for approval and recognition — that Neil White begins to taste freedom for the first time.

I have recently undergone a “stripped-down-to-nothing” experience.  Much like Neil White, I can’t say I enjoyed the early stages of this process.  The shock of having my life changed so completely was not an easy swallow.  Those days contained pain and sorrow and sadness and self-pity.  I was numb, but nowhere near numb enough.

And then, things started to change.  Just a little at first.  The change was soft and slow and subtle.  And so incredibly profound.

Any material losses became as a speck of sand to the great ocean of self-discovery into which I now daily dive.  Releasing the material, in fact, was key to my transformative process.  I have a fourth of what I used to have, and I’m still thinking there are some items I could give away.

Two years ago, I again dreamed I was in prison.  I had the dream three times that summer.  I believe I now understand the personal reasons why.  I won’t delve into the specifics of that here, but suffice it to say that the bars in my dream did not represent a person or situation.  They weren’t symbolic of my job, my relationship, or my financial situation.  They didn’t stand for some trauma in childhood or sense of inadequacy.

The bars were the disconnect between the me who moves through time and space and the me who is actually living this life.  They were the great mysterious veil between my projected self and my true nature.  They were the barrier I erected between knowledge and understanding.

It is only when everything else is stripped away, when there is nothing left but you and the bars, that you can see them for what they are.  And then you can remember . . . the bars are only a dream; it is the freedom that is real.

The Racist Post-Racial America

~ Deb ~ Leave a comment

The problem of the Twentieth Century is the problem of the color line.

— W.E.B. Du Bois

Well, Mr. Du Bois — oh, pardon me, Dr. Du Bois — it seems the problem you defined was too big for just the 20th century; we’ve carried it into the 21st.  For you and so many others who devoted lives of study and advocacy, who marched in protest, who lobbied politicians, who gave their lives, we offer our most shame-faced apology for not addressing your problem as fully as we should have.

From the outside, it might look like we’ve made progress, Dr. Du Bois.  We have an African-American President, what would seem like the ultimate final hurdle.  But, his ascendancy has, unfortunately, brought once-silent voices to society’s microphone.  It’s not just that there are white supremacist groups and hate-directed organizations of misfits; we have always had those and, sadly, probably always will.  But, as long as it was just the KKK and the Aryan Brotherhood and isolated pockets of inbreds, we knew what we were dealing with and felt protection under the law for our brothers and sisters of color.  No, the ones that scare us now are the ones we never would have suspected.

When suburban white boys brutally beat and kill an African-American man simply because of his race, when elected officials advocate books and ideas which promote the pro-slavery confederacy, when a politician refers to the President of the United States as a “tar baby,” when a major news organization refers to a gathering at the White House as a “hip-hop barbecue,”  then we definitely have not appropriately addressed the problem you prophetically outlined.

The sad part, Dr. Du Bois, is that the stories mentioned above all took place and hit the news within the last two months.  I so very much wish that I had to dig deep for these examples, but they were at my fingertips.

I recall stories within days of President Obama’s election in 2008 of flags flown at half-mast or upside down (the international signal for distress), of children on a schoolbus in Idaho chanting “Assassinate Obama,” of a black church in Springfield, MA, being burned to the ground within hours of the election, of students spray-painting racist statements against the President-Elect on a sidewalk at North Carolina State University, and of the nooses that showed up in many places, one of which was Baylor University.

On one hand, Dr. Du Bois, I’d rather the racists come out of the closet so we can see them.  A visible enemy is always less dangerous.  But, on the other, far larger hand, I feel saddened and embarrassed that elements in this nation have seemed to remain so doggedly attached to our racist roots.

Saddest of all, where is the public outcry?  Michele Bachmann’s political days should be so clearly numbered that the tick of the countdown clock is almost deafening.  Instead, she leads rallies attended by thousands.  Fox News should be required by the FCC to take the word “news” out of its name.  Instead they continue to be the frontrunner in cable news ratings.  People who hang nooses in reaction to the election of an African-American president should be charged with inciting hate and investigated by the Secret Service.  Instead they receive diplomas from a Southern Baptist University.

So, you see, Dr. Du Bois, it is not the Michele Bachmanns or the Doug Lamborns or the Roger Ailes who have so clearly let you down.  It is us.  It is the collective American spirit that is capable of watching these news stories without taking to the streets.  It is the parents and ministers who have somehow managed to make racism and religion compatible in their pea brains and then pass that warped vision of Christianity to children like a perpetual motion machine of bigotry.  It is the masses who choose to live in isolated fear rather than risk the horrible chance they might actually feel love for all humanity.

We are the reason why the problem of the 21st century is still the problem of the color line.  The only way I know to apologize to you, sir, is to ask myself, “What can I do to address this problem?  What part can I play in a solution?”  And hope beyond hope that others will ask the same.

The Changing Face(book) of Debate

~ Deb ~ 2 Comments

I have recently heard Facebook referred to as your “cyber living room.”  (For the purposes of brevity, Facebook will act as a stand-in for all social networking sites.)  When you sign up for Facebook, you change the carpet, paint the walls, and arrange the furniture based on what you include in your profile, the picture you choose to represent yourself, and the types of status updates or links you decide to share.  Of course, it’s not a direct comparison.  Status updates often seem fair game for threads that are certainly less civil than any dinner party I’ve ever had.

My brother-in-law, the anti-Facebook zealot, claims that social networking sites keep us from really knowing each other.  I would contend just the opposite.  I know friends, and friends of friends, and I-don’t-know-how-I-know-you-but-you’re-in-my-FB-friends’-list friends far better than I ever did before.  I may not be able to read their body language or interpret their facial expressions, but I now have far more insight into how they really think about various issues.

I know far more clearly now which friends are conservatives and which are liberals.  I know who the civil rights activists are.  I know who is passionate for the humane treatment of animals.  I know who seems more focused on work than play.  I know who likes to cook/eat/drink wine/garden/hike/write/tell jokes/talk politics, etc., et.al., e.g., i.e., AFL-CIO, ad nauseum.

This is a GOOD thing.  I always prefer responding to a person’s true nature rather than the social construct that we tend to wear in public.  But it is often a not-so-good thing.  People are passionately attached to their morals, ideologies, belief systems, and political positions (myself included).  When those clash in what becomes a lengthy thread, it often gets cyber-bloody.  (Has anyone else ever regretted “liking” a seemingly benign status update that resulted in 47 additional notifications because of the debate that ensued?)

How should we act on Facebook?  Is it possible to create a social-networking code of etiquette?  When is the right time to de-friend (i.e., kick someone out of our house)?  Could we really alter social-networking behavior if we tried?

The more important question, in the opinion of the rhetorician who lives in my brain, would be this: How is Facebook interaction changing the way we communicate?  I am an advocate of communication and have a natural antipathy to censorship.  Ultimately, it seems beneficial to society to have increased communication, even if that means we are sometimes subjected to statements we find offensive.

I am not afraid to enter into the fray.  I have engaged in many Facebook threads in which I have defended my position on _____________ (insert any of the following:  gay rights, civil rights, animal rights, politics, labor unions, socialism, democracy, religion, etc., et.al., e.g., i.e., AFL-CIO, ad nauseum).  I appreciate the opportunity to do this and consider it an exercise in my right to freedom of speech.  However, I try to maintain a tone of civility and respect for the position of others.  I try to refrain from ad hominem attacks, non sequiturs, false analogies, or red herrings, though I’m sure there have been times when I have failed.   I try to disagree without being disagreeable.

Yet, so quickly these threads sometimes seem to disintegrate into mean-spirited back-and-forths whose origins are often hotly-contested chickens and eggs.  On one hand, it’s great that we have any communication, even the prickly kind.  On the other hand, is this an indication of a general lack of civility in our society?  (Additional question to self for later pondering: And do I contribute to it in any way?)

I know plenty of people on Facebook who purposefully stay away from any kind of controversy or conflict.  I respect their decision to do so (and, frankly, sometimes envy them).  But for those of us who are out there mixing it up, I think we are perhaps part of a significant and possibly valuable shift in our society.  We are the vanguard of a fundamental change in rhetoric.

Either that, or we’re a bunch of opinionated assholes who need to find hobbies.