Tag: diversity

Become an N! (Trust me. You’ll Want To.)

I must confess that I’m terrible at reading other people’s blogs. I tend to be too overwhelmed by writing my own every day. So every once in a while, I’ll go on a guilty binge read.

A few months ago I was doing just that, with one of my favorite blogs, This Labyrinth I Roam, written by my friend Anju. I love her perspective on life. I also love that her world has been completely different than my own. Even though her labyrinth has only intersected with mine in cyberspace, we have a connection. I hope we get to meet face to face someday.

After reading, oh, a couple years’ worth of her blog entries, several jumped out at me. They had to do with a project called N-N-1. She and a blogger friend of hers, Norm, who writes a blog with the delightful name of Classical Gasbag, thought it would be interesting to see what people all over the world were doing/seeing/experiencing at the same point in time. As Norm explained recently, in N-N-1 the first N stands for the number of participants, the second for the number of photos (they should be the same), and the 1 stands for one time.

The plan was that they’d pick a moment, and each would snap a picture at that time, and then do a 50-100 word write up about it. It could be prose or poetry. Whatever the photo inspired in each photographer. Then they’d send that to the host, who would compile it into a blog entry. Here’s a link to a recent one hosted by Norm.)

It turns out that this project is incredibly revealing. It shows how diverse our lives can be. It shows different landscapes, different activities, and different perspectives. These blog posts always leave me feeling really great about the world. We got this, people. Because we all have our unique ways of existing, that diversity leads to strength.

So far, so good. But since they really did have participants all over the world, picking the same time became a bit problematic. 6 p.m my time would be 2 a.m. for folks in Europe, for example, so it tended to hinder a lot of people who would otherwise be up for the challenge. Eventually, they decided to regulate it to each individual’s time zone.

So, long story short, I’ve volunteered to host the next one. And I’ve chosen 6 p.m. (your time zone) on October 31st to be the pivotal moment. I figured that would yield some interesting Autumn or Halloween pics from those of us who had those experiences and chose to focus on them, and even more absolutely-nothing-to-do-with Autumn or Halloween pictures from people in other parts of the world. Fascinating.

So, would you like to participate? If so, contact me using the form below, and mark your calendar for October 31 at 6 p.m. Then send me the photo and the write up by no later than 6 p.m. your time on November 7th. I’ll compile them all into an interesting blog post and send you the link. Anyone can participate. You don’t have to have a blog. (But if you do, send me a link to it as well, and I’ll give it a plug in the post. It’s a great way to increase your readership!)

Also, feel free to share this invite with other friends who might want to play, too! The more far flung, the better! This is going to be fun! Join us!

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It Takes All Kinds

I used to work with someone whose anxiety came out in the form of OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). On really bad nights, she’d actually walk up to the bridge on the roadway, on the dotted yellow line, because to her way of thinking, encountering a 4,000 pound vehicle was vastly preferable to walking on the germs of the sidewalk, or stepping on the places where tires had touched the roadway (because, she reasoned, most tires had gone over road kill at some point).

I felt sorry for her. I really did. It must be exhausting to live under the weight of such stress. Her world was full of illogical rules that she absolutely had to follow, or disaster would surely strike. For example, under no circumstances could she wear her glasses into the bathroom. And all her dirty dishes must soak in bleach for at least 12 hours.

I also worked with someone who was a compulsive hoarder, which is also considered by many to be part of the OCD spectrum. To see the way he lived was heartbreaking. I’d say 90 percent of his home was full of garbage and useless junk. And he’d come to work and just take the place over. He wasn’t comfortable unless he was surrounded by possessions. In fairness, though, he’d take all his stuff with him at the end of his shift. That must have been tiring, too.

It was always scary to see him walk into the roadway to retrieve something that had fallen off a passing vehicle. It didn’t have to be anything of value. It just had to exist. If it existed, he had to have it. That bridge had the cleanest roadway on the face of the earth, despite what the OCD lady thought.

Actually, that’s probably not true, because for some reason I’ve worked with quite a few bridgetenders who were OCD and/or hoarders in my career, so there are probably quite a few picked-over bridges out there. I have no idea why these types of individuals are attracted to this job, but it seems to be very much the case.

Maybe it’s because as a bridgetender you tend to have more control over your environment than you do in a lot of other jobs. You work alone. You have your own way of doing things within a narrow field of requirements. And the job is, for the most part, predictable. (Except, of course, when it isn’t. But those are stories for other days.)

And maybe there’s another way of looking at this. You actually want bridgetenders to be all about the rules. The safety of the traveling public depends upon bridgetenders not cutting corners or getting too complacent. And if you have an anxiety disorder and yet still have to earn a living, it’s probably better for all concerned that you work alone.

I’ve never met a bridgetender who wasn’t unique in one way or another. The same could definitely be said about me. As the saying goes, it takes all kinds to make a world.

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Letting People Be

Now that I’m residing in the wild and whacky world that is Seattle, I’m surrounded by diversity the likes of which I’ve never experienced before. I’m not just talking about different races and cultures. I’m talking about different lifestyles. On any given day, I can cross paths with a man with bright purple dreadlocks down to his ankles, a woman wearing a witch hat, cross dressers of every stripe, people who will only eat raw vegetables and call you a murderer if you don’t follow their lead, free love activists, and couples who host cuddle parties.

I love this diversity. I revel in it. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

But I have to be honest. There is a tiny little part of me that feels awkward in these situations. It’s way out of my comfort zone. These are encounters I would never have had in the conservative cultural backwater of ignorance that is Northeast Florida.

I had no idea how sheltered I was until I came to Seattle. Actually, “sheltered” is not the right word. That implies that I was being protected from bad people. It’s more like I was closed off. Shut away. I now totally understand why Florida is such a red state. They don’t know any better. It’s hard to have an open mind when you spend all your time in a tiny little room with no windows, culturally speaking.

Here in Seattle, I seem to be growing up. I’m learning to relax that Florida muscle that instinctively tries to force people into neatly ordered cubby holes. I’m learning to let people be. I have no idea why that should be so hard, but a lot of people have trouble with it.

So, yeah, all this is new to me. And there’s a little squirmy feeling I get inside sometimes because of it. But you know what? Bring it on! I welcome the squirm if it means I get to see the wider world in all its exciting variations.

I feel like I’m seeing the universe in color for the very first time. A little scary. A little unexpected. But oh, how beautiful it is!

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[Image credit: NASA.gov]

Revel in the Differences

I went through this period in my life where my family was so poor that all we had to eat was a bag of potatoes someone had given my mother. No oil to fry them with, even, so my mother baked them. To this day I rarely can bring myself to eat a baked potato. It seemed like that situation lasted for years, but it couldn’t have, surely.

That experience definitely made me appreciate variety in food. I love almost any food you can name. I enjoy going to opposite extremes from one day to the next. Lasagna today, Chinese tomorrow. It’s all good. As long as it’s different from yesterday, I’m happy.

I don’t get people who want everything to be the same. People who associate only with their own race, or expect people to have identical religious beliefs confound me. Why would you want to live in a monochrome world?

I was once told by a fundamentalist relative that because I hadn’t accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savior, I was going to go to hell. I responded, “If the only people in heaven have to look like you and think like you and believe like you and act like you, heaven must be a boring place indeed, and I’d rather not have to spend eternity there.”

I enjoy diversity. I like to be exposed to different points of view, different cultures, different flavors. It’s the differences that add spice to life. Man shouldn’t live on baked potato alone. It’s just not healthy.

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[Image credit: popsugar.com]

My Jacksonville to Seattle Odyssey—Part 8–Home Sweet Home!

In truth I’ve been in Seattle for a week now. When I first arrived I felt kind of claustrophobic after driving through big sky country, so my first thought was, “Oh, God. I’m not liking this.” But then I got my city legs back, so to speak.

I have to say that I love this place. The rolling hills and the lush greenery and the stunning vistas at unexpected moments… it all takes my breath away. I also like the laid back attitude and the liberal sentiments. People take the environment and diversity pretty freakin’ seriously around here. I feel like when I left the conservative South I took off a pair of shoes that had been two sizes too small.

Another thing that impresses me is that when you ask people for help, they go above and beyond anything you have a right to expect. I couldn’t find something in a Lowes Home Improvement Store, and the clerk didn’t know where it was either, so she logged out of her computer, logged into the regular internet, researched it, got a product number, logged back into the Lowes system, checked the inventory, discovered they had 7 in stock, then led me personally all the way to the other side of the store to get it. And so far this kind of service isn’t the exception, it’s the rule, everywhere I go.

And holy cow, the water that’s coming out of the tap actually tastes good! In Jacksonville, you buy all your drinking water. I can’t believe this.

Don’t get me wrong, there is a down side. The traffic is horrendous. It can take 45 minutes to go 5 miles on Interstate 5, no matter the time of day. And I’m dreading the grey and the rain.

And sometimes I feel like a foreigner. I don’t know my way around at all. Not even slightly. Some of their traffic patterns confuse the hell out of me. It was 5 days before I had the courage to take a right on a red light, because I wasn’t sure if it was legal up here. (It is.) But you can’t legally talk on your cell while driving, and my cell phone is so ancient that they don’t make hands free devices for it, so don’t call me. Not even maybe.

And they sure do talk funny up here. I was in the grocery store and one of the signs at the end of the aisle said “Soda Pop.” Seriously? Is it 1950? I had a bit of a giggle.

And as for the house that I rented sight unseen, well… The dogs adore the yard, and I adore the neighborhood. But the bathroom is a mess. The toilet is right up against the wall, so your shoulder is jammed against it whenever you’re using the facilities. And the shower head comes out of the wall at chest height. And the shower curtain rod is so high that the curtain hovers way above the edge of the tub, so it is pretty much a waste of time trying to avoid getting the floor wet. Half the plugs don’t work, and the exhaust fan over the stove won’t STOP working. The ceiling in the master bedroom is only 6 feet 4 inches high, so you kind of feel squished. But it’s a roof over my head, and I’m so sick of moving I may ask to be buried in the back yard.

And I may not have a choice on that score, because I still don’t have a clue how I’m going to pay for this relocation. I won’t get my first paycheck for about a month, and the debts are mounting. Just registering the car cost me 270 dollars. And a bunch of my stuff got ruined in the move. My favorite chair. My antique armoir. My printer. A whole lot of clothes and bed sheets were destroyed by a burst container of bleach. My mattress is covered in grease.

Another thing I didn’t factor into my expense calculations was that I had to buy a bunch of clothes. I don’t own long sleeved anything, for example, or rain gear, or coats, or water resistant shoes. I spent a lot of time at Goodwill, but believe it or not, it still adds up. It’s going to take me a long, long time before I stop waking up in a cold sweat, wondering how the bills will get paid.

But I have to say, in spite of all the stress, and even though I often feel like a fish out of water, I’m excited to be here. I can’t wait to get out and explore. There’s so much I want to see and do! And when I do (and see) I’ll be sure and take you with me!

My new seattle home

Home Sweet Home.

Convivencia

There was a period in Spanish history between the beginning of the eighth century and the end of the fifteenth century known as the Convivencia, which, roughly translated, means the time of living together, when the Muslims, Christians and Jews lived in relative peace. Not to say that Spain hasn’t had a past checkered with as much violence and intolerance as any other country, but there was that enlightened period, at least in the southern part of the country, and that has always appealed to me.

I try really hard to live in Convivencia, not just in terms of tolerating other religions, but other philosophies and lifestyles as well. One of the most beautiful things about being well traveled is that you learn that your way isn’t the only way, and it may not even be the best way. Once you realize that, you become a lot more open minded.

I have never understood people who use the term “politically correct” as if it were an epithet. They assume that that tendency must be insincere and false. That speaks volumes about them. It really is possible to accept diversity without being disingenuous about it. It might take effort sometimes, but it doesn’t have to be unnatural. It may not be your custom to fast during Ramadan, for example, but how hard is it not to eat in front of someone you know is fasting? It’s common courtesy and it shows that you have the maturity to be aware of those around you.

I’m always befuddled by people who get angry every year when someone says Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas. Why is it so unpalatable to them that you want to include everyone in your well wishes? I personally appreciate any well wishes that come my way.

For that same reason, I don’t get people who oppose gay marriage. What they are basically saying is that they don’t want “those people” to have a chance at the same happiness that they have. That makes no sense to me. Why do they care?

The tendency to embrace the wider world is much more positive than practicing a xenophobia that not only limits you, but pours the acid of hatred on your very soul. Allowing for other points of view can only increase your emotional intelligence and open you up to a broader range of experiences. Try it. You might learn something.

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