Wednesday, December 20, 2006

What you leave behind

I will preface this entry by saying that it deviates a bit from the tone of earlier posts, given that the content of this blog so far has been relatively light: a strange obsession with books, adventures in tranny-land, and kind words about a bunny. However, I figure it's too early to commit myself to a particular type of "content" for this blog, so we'll just see where it takes me (and us)....

Today I have been considering the things we leave behind after we die. Sorry to say it, folks, but we're all gonna die. Take a moment to get over that, and then keep reading. I'll wait...

So, I've been thinking about what will happen to the things we leave behind after we die. No, I'm not completely morbid--I don't sit around and consider the after-effects of death on a regular basis. This line of thinking was prompted by my travels home for the holidays. My grandfather passed away over a year ago, and each time I go home my family continues the long and arduous process of dividing his possessions between his widow, children, and grand-children. The struggle lies in how to best honor his life through the tangible things he has left behind. Some things are thrown away or donated, but what remains are those possessions that the rest of us think are valuable or otherwise important. There are artifacts he collected during his WWII tour of duty and from his days as a semi-pro baseball player. In his later years, my grandfather became an artist, and there are paintings and carvings of his that have been divided among the family. This divvying up of his possessions is an important part of the grieving process. However, I think this process is also ripe for reflection about what we can learn about living in thinking about what we will leave behind in death.

The Tangibles vs. Intangibles

So, when we die, we leave things behind. But what most of us consider when we think about our worldly possessions are the tangibles, the concrete things that will clutter someone else’s home after we die. This might be one’s jewelry or baseball card collection or other things society deems to be “valuables,” primarily based on their monetary value. Sometimes these “valuables” are important to those who care about us not because of their monetary value but because they carry some emotional meaning or memory that those who survive us would like to hold on to. Because I’m relatively young and have not accumulated many of these “valuables” to pass along to my survivors, it can be somewhat unnerving to think about how little stuff I have to leave to others. Maybe someone would want my iPod or laptop, my skis or golf clubs, my books or pictures, my furniture. I certainly don’t have a hefty savings account or real estate to pass along to my successors. So, the family and friends who survive me would get pretty screwed if I die sooner than later because I have less stuff to give them.

But, I feel a bit better if, instead, I think about the intangibles I will leave after I die. By intangibles, I refer to the aspects of myself and my life that people identify as belonging to me. These intangibles might be my beliefs, personality characteristics, actions, ideologies, and ideas that people attribute to me. Generally, it seems that intangibles are not bound by medium; they are usually things that one cannot touch or quantify. Instead, they are things that other people must carry with them as thoughts or action potentials in order for these intangibles to matter. Generally, intangibles’ affect on others is determined by how these people change their lives in some way (no matter how small) because of you. Because these things are often not easily quantifiable or tangible, they may seem fleeting or too abstract to conceptualize. It’s certainly easier to think about how someone might use my iPod after I die than it is for me to consider how people might change their lives based on me being a feminist. But, if we can get over this challenge of defining or conceptualizing what it is that we are (this part certainly isn’t easy) and the aspects of ourselves that might impact others, I think that contemplating how my intangibles will be passed on in death is by far more interesting and rewarding than any crappy CD collection I have to give.

The value of really considering these intangibles, I think, lies in how acknowledging that we each have intangibles to give to others can also cause us to live life differently and perhaps in a more meaningful manner. If I consider the tangible stuff I might leave when I die, maybe I’ll work harder to earn more money to accumulate the stuff I think others might like. Maybe I’ll make wiser investment decisions. Maybe I’ll make sure to buy the really nice stuff rather than the cheap stuff. However, if I consider the intangibles that I will leave when I die, I might be more intentional and thoughtful about what it is that I and my life represent. Instead of worrying about the stuff, I might worry about what people learn from me, how my presence affects people for better or for worse, and what my legacy might be. And if I think more about the effect of my intangibles upon other people, I might also consider how others’ intangibles affect me. Maybe I’ll be a better person, a more appreciative person, a more grounded person. At best, maybe thinking about the intangibles will give me a greater sense of purpose, a greater sense of efficacy in my ability to mean something to others. At worst, maybe thinking about the intangibles will make me realize just how much I need to do make sure I do more good than harm for others, that I have a lot of catching up to do to leave a positive effect.

I certainly didn’t spend a whole lot of time considering how my grandfather’s intangibles affected me while he was alive. But, now it is very clear to me that I learned a lot from him about what it means to be a loving, committed, and compassionate person. He probably didn’t always know that he affected me in these ways while he was alive and that his intangibles affect me more now than any of his tangible stuff. Sure I love looking at the paintings he made and having something tangible to remember him with. But, if I look closely enough, I can see how the intangibles of his life have a much more profound and lasting affect on me than anything I can touch. Of course, for these intangibles to have such an effect, it requires that I have the psychological energy and desire to reflect upon and consider the intangibles of his life—resources that are not always easy to find or utilize. It’s certainly easier to spend inheritance money than it is to contemplate how another’s life has affected one’s own. But perhaps the additional mental work this makes is worthwhile because it provides us with more comfort, more meaning in our own lives. That is, if we truly consider how others’ intangibles affect us, we realize that one’s life does not end at death. Rather, one’s life has an affect on others even in death. The very nature of intangibles means that they are not bound by tangible constraints. Rather, intangibles are bound by the extent to which people allow themselves to be affected by others. After I die, people may forget me and my life. But, the intangibles of my life can continue to affect others throughout their lives and those who succeed them. Just as my ideas, emotional experiences, and actions have been affected by others who have now passed, so, too, can my life’s intangibles continue to affect others after I die. The effect of these intangibles might be best thought of as a wave, then, where the most noticeable effect occurs for those who are closest and most directly affected by one’s life. But, just as a wave changes into only a ripple the further away it travels, so might the intangibles of one’s life continue to affect others well into the future, perhaps even many generations and centuries from now. Money will be spent, real estate may be destroyed, fancy china will be broken. But, one’s ideas, values, and experiences have the potential to affect people in a much stronger way and for a much longer span of time.

If there is one thing that studying social psychology has taught me about human interaction and life, it is that we are often affected by others more than we will ever recognize. We rarely ever know what or how things affect us. Maybe these intangibles are not the wave I think them to be; maybe I overestimate one’s ability to affect others even in death. But, I don’t doubt for a second that the intangibles of one’s life have the ability to make a more profound and lasting effect on others than does the stuff we leave behind. The intangibles don’t have to be divvyed up between your survivors; they can all have them. Everyone can benefit from your intangibles if you let them and if they let themselves.

Sunday, December 17, 2006

Book fetish

I'd like to come clean for the record....

I have a book fetish.

I love books. I love to buy them, look through them, smell them, read them, look at them lining my bookshelves, on my nightstand, on the floor...wherever. I went to my local dealer tonight (Borders) and bought a few. I was jonesin' for some books. I love them when they're new, with unbroken bindings. They have such interesting covers, such intriguing titles, and all of them have received rave reviews...at least that's what the back cover says.

I love how they smell. Yes, books smell. I often put my nose right up to the pages and smell that musky smell that the pages make as they flip past between my fingers, one by one like dominos. You know the smell.

Do I need a support group for that?

Books make me feel smart. I love having books around because it signals the *potential* for me to become smarter, to have a new experience through words and the meaning they create. Sometimes they make me feel disappointment because there are so many staring back at me, longing for me to pick them up and finally read them. Sometimes they make me feel content in knowing that they are patiently waiting for me. Some of them are old friends that have been read multiple times, with writing and highlighting along the borders, tattered pages, or the occassional spot where I spilled my coffee while trying to multitask. Some of them are only acquaintances I picked up because they had a shiny cover.

Books are sort of like wine, I guess. You have to pick the right one for the right moment. Some people have simple palates, some more complex. Some prefer trashy romance novels (the wine spritzer drinkers), some the latest Jeff Foxworthy "You know you're a redneck if..." book (the Franzia drinkers--if Budweiser made a wine, they'd drink that, too), some the non-fiction historical piece written by some stuffy Harvard professor (the French Bordeaux 1960 vintage drinkers). Most of us are somewhere in between. Some of us like to dabble across the board.

Books are also a sort of time stamp. You have to be ready for a book to truly get the most out of it. For instance, I wasn't ready to read Noam Chomsky 10 years ago when my Dad was ranting and raving about it. But maybe I am now. What I also like is that the meaning I get out of a book changes each time I read it. I like to read "Tuesdays with Morrie" every few years because I get something different out of it each time--it says something just a bit different because I see something new in it each time, something I didn't see or wasn't ready to see the last time I read it. I like that books also track where I've been and where I'm going.
I have books that are gifts from loved ones. I have a Jewel poetry book (back off!) from my tumultuous high school years--I liked to read it while listening to some equally-depressing Sarah McLachlan music (her early stuff, like Solace). I have servant leadership books that marked my studies of leadership and community service during college. I have books that mark a specific day, like the time I got Bobby Knight to sign his autobiography in Indianapolis. (He signed it but didn't scream and throw a metal folding chair at me--I have to admit, I was a bit disappointed.) These books describe my past interests and things I'm not ready to let go of, although they are opened less frequently now. I have some books that represent my current life and interests, like anything about feminism, social psychological methods or research (boring!), and the occassional fictional read. And some represent ideas or things I'd like to start thinking and doing more about in the future, like feminist theology. In some ways then, books mark your life, sort of like a visual diary. Sometimes the trajectory is steady and deliberate. Sometimes you stumble across something at a used bookstore or you receive a new book from a friend, and it totally alters the future of your book collection. It totally alters your collection and you.

So although they may sit there and stare at me, collecting dust as I have way too many other things to do than pick them up, my books are waiting patiently. And now they have more friends to keep them company.

So, there...I've said it. My name is Martha and I have a book fetish.

Tranny got pack

Although I already spend a considerable amount of time thinking about gender issues and sexuality, tonight's adventures forced me to (re)consider them in great detail...

So, I'm out celebrating a friend's birthday and we end up at a dance club. I am the odd-woman-out given that I am the only person in our group who does not have a spouse/significant other to dance with. However, that's not necessarily a problem seeing as I can hold my own on the dance floor. But, what that *does* mean is that I am the likely target to be picked up by men who scope the floor looking for someone to dance with. I liken this experience to being the "weakest link" or the gazelle who is being targeted by hungry cheetahs in an African dessert. It seems that men tend to strategize for this moment: find the weakest gazelle in the group and attack (normally from behind). I usually try to prepare for this moment by having some sort of code or call for help so that my gang knows when to intervene, which in my case has recently been the "sound of a dying giraffe": Mwah...mwah.

So, I plan for these "attacks" cuz I'm a planner like that. However, the rules (and my call for help) suddenly change when the attacker is no longer a man--a cheetah, if you will. Instead, I am being solicited by a female-to-male transexual who seems to want me to engage in some sort of dance-off with him/her. So, because I like to dance, and because I figure "what the hell? let's see where this goes," I dance with the tranny. He/she is sort of a punk rocker type: wearing black from head to toe, spikey hair, lots o' piercings, even a dog chain, I think. He/she is a good dancer, and he/she compliments me on my dancing. I continue with the dance-off as my group of much stronger gazelles looks on, probably wondering what the hell I'm doing dancing with someone who is clearly a woman. They probably even wonder if I *realize* I am dancing with a woman. At any rate, the tranny turns the dance-off into a pick-up attempt, asking if I have a boyfriend. I mumble that I do have a boyfriend, but the tranny looks on in disbelief, asking where he is if said person exists. I say "out of town"--for a second, I think about asking the tranny if he/she has a boyfriend, but then I reconsider, wondering if I should "out" him/her and let him/her know I know he/she is a woman by reciprocating the "do you have a boyfriend?" question. Where is Ann Landers when you need her, damnit?!?! What the hell is the appropriate etiquette for questioning someone's sexuality? I decide to not ask the question back and introduce myself instead. As it turns out, I am dancing with "Ace"--come on! (By the way, does that make me Gary?) Don't you think that someone who is going to that much effort to become the gender he/she thinks he/she is meant to be would pick a "better" name than Ace? WTF? Eventually the dance-off/pick-up attempt ends and Ace goes his/her way, leaving me to return to the group of gazelles.

But, because I'm a high need for cognition kind of gal, I keep wondering what this interaction means. Here's what I've come up with so far:

1. What about me attracted the tranny to dance with me?
I would like to attribute this pick-up attempt to my mad dancing skills--maybe Ace just has a deep appreciation for phenomenal dancing skill. Hmmm....maybe not.
Instead, I am left considering if I am appealing to the tranny. Again, I would like to attribute this to my intense sexual aura, which knows no gender boundaries. Hmmm....maybe not. Ace is clearly a "butch" sort of tranny, so is he/she operating on a similarity principle and soliciting me because I, too, am "butch"? Or, is Ace soliciting me because I'm an attractive feminine type (I *was* wearing my hot red dancing shoes, you know), thereby operating on a contrast type principle? (Hey, this could be believable because Ace hasn't seen me play softball, flag-football, or any other contact sport which would clearly de-bunk my "feminine" facade.) Alternatively, do I just come off as being a welcoming or otherwise friendly and accepting person, and that's why the tranny approached me?
Of course each of the reasons I've suggested so far assumes that there *is* something about me that prompted this interaction--am I just being egocentric or falling prey to that damn fundamental attribution error? Instead, maybe Ace was just operating on the "weakest link/gazelle" principle and only approached me because I was in the most vulnerable position at the proverbial African watering hole.

2. What *is* the protocol for dealing with this situation?
Ann Landers seriously needs to send me a note about this, because I have no clue. Is it rude to tell someone that you know their gendered secret? Should I just play along and pretend I'm dancing with a cheetah when really I know I'm dancing with a lioness? I have set no precedent for these types of interactions because I have never had a tranny try to pick me up....well, at least that I know of. Is it more awkward to interact with someone while keeping secrets or "unmentionables," or is it better to put it all out on the table and risk creating hurt (or otherwise awkward) feelings?

3. Feeling sexually objectified is not bound by sex of the perpetrator.
Ok, so I get creeped out when strange men eye-fuck me, but how should this feeling translate when the perpetrator is a tranny? I was trying to interact with him/her as a woman--"be cool, he/she is just another chick." But, he/she still eye-fucked me as a man. You know, he/she eyed me up and down, lingering on specific parts of my body. Sure, women check out other women, but they don't eye-fuck them. How am I supposed to feel when the oogling is done by a woman, dressed and performing as a man? Gender *is* performed, you know. Feeling aside, I find it interesting that this oogling or eye-fucking is so gendered. That is, there's nothing biological about the fact that men eye-fuck other women. There's no gene that makes men do it--it's something that's socialized. So, I find it interesting, and a testament to how gendered these aspects of male-female interactions truly are, that this woman-trying-to-be-a-man oogled me from a man's perspective. Is that what it means to be a man? I guess the tranny thinks so....or at least that's how he/she decided to perform gender in this situation.

Hmm...I wonder when the next performance will be...

Friday, December 15, 2006

Haiku for You

What better way to start a free association, random collection of (mostly) meaningless blogs than with a Haiku?!

(Feel free to verify my pentameter.)

Ode to a Bunny

Hop, hoppity, hop
Slow, fast, faster, faster, stop
Excite, energy

Long ears, use them well
So limber is your body
Jewels around your neck

Hungry, curious
Hop hopping through the vineyard
My forbidden friend