Clothes Masquerading as What They Are Not

I have a list of things to blog aobut that actually matter. I want to write more about my thoughts and learnings about racism. I want to tell you about our family travels. I want to plumb truths about self-care. 

But tonight I find myself at home and alone (note: not actually home alone, that never happens, but the others who are home are doing other things) and sitting by a backbard patio fire in the chill autumn air and I want to rant about a pet peeve of zero consequence (as they all are) that I simply cannot let go of. 

I like to think of myself as an easygoing person. Certainly choosing the husband I have (a very easygoing guy) and surviving a household of children has taught me some excellent lessons in flexibility. My years and the lessons they have contained have loosened my own moral rigidity in some very healthy, Godly ways. But I can't stoop so far as to allow clothing into my life that is pretending to be a thing it is not. 

We can start this diatribe with pants with faux pockets. No, let's not even admit that these atrocities could be something worthy of french - they are fake pockets. These are the dumbest things on earth, I think we can all agree to that. I occasionally get Stitch Fix shipments (God bless you, Stitch Fix) that contain pants with fake pockets and I immediately send them back. There's no point in even trying them on. Fake pockets are evil. Sure, the front of the pants are rendered smooth, but my own front is lumpy enough to counteract any benefit provided by the pants. No fake pockets. Not ever. I know my phone will only fit into the pockets of 10% of the pants I own because their pockets are still ridiculously small, but at least they are pockets. 

But my rules about clothing go far, far deeper than this. I also can't handle prints of patterns that are meant to be woven in. Perhaps this is a thing you've never thought about, and that is good for you because it means your psyche is healthier than my own, but I can't handle things like: 

• Printed stripes. This is wrong; stripes are supposed to be woven into the fabric
• Printed plaid patterns (plaids, ginghams, checks, houndstooth, all of them). For all the same reasons as the above only double because the stripes go both ways.
• Prints on sweaters. I once got a lovely sweater with flowers printed on it, but I returned it even though I thought it was really pretty because I knew I would never wear it. Sweaters are supposed to have the patterns knitted in, not printed on. 

Now, I’m sure we could come up with many exceptions to my rules above that I gladly admit into my closet. For example, I am OK with printed t-shirts, which are basically just sweaters with tiny knits, right? But now you’re just getting pedantic (ha ha, yes, I get the irony since this is possibly the most pedantic diatribe ever written).

I have one exception to this rule: novelty printed bike jerseys. Because, come on, these things are just so gosh darn cool.

The other thing I just can’t handle in my wardrobe are animal prints. I know the popularity of these prints comes and goes and that’s fine, it’s just not a trend I ever participate in. I don’t think it’s because I’m particularly against wearing animal skins or a depiction of animal skins... I think it goes back to my dislike for clothing masquerading as what it is not. I guess that deep down I just think that if you’re going to wear a tiger-print top, you should just wear a pelt. I don’t know... I’m not trying to justify my aversion... I just know that I can’t own animal prints. 

There is also one exception in my wardrobe to this rule: the RBG leopard print shirt that my husband purchased for me a few years ago. I don’t even have to justify this, it’s obvious that this should be in every woman’s closet regardless of her internal rules on animal prints.

I’ve experienced these aversions to clothes masquerading as what they are not for a long time and I’ve reflected a bit on what it means about my own character and personality. I do think that to some extent this is all a reflection of some of my own black-and-white thinking that I just can’t let go of. I do think it’s a (misguided) reflection of my deep passion for integrity and being wholly who one is.  

I don’t think these rules need to or should apply to anybody else, much like most of the other norms that rule my daily patterns (I am such a creature of habit). That is, don’t feel weird wearing printed stripes around me. 

Strange as they are, I stand by my rules. At least I know what I like and what I don’t. And if you ever see me wearing a printed sweater and pants with faux pockets, congratulate me for finally transcending my own rigidity.

But, let’s be real, it’s never going to happen.

On Bike Rides and Ineffecient Time Investment

For a few weeks, I've desperately been wanting to ride Goshen Canyon. There's no logical explanation for my devotion to this canyon - it's certainly not anywhere near the most spectacular in Utah, it's a short 10 mile ride so it's barely enough to get your pulse moving, it's 45 minutes away. But I think it's awfully pretty and the canyon holds a bunch of happy memories for me, including being on the route of the very first century ride I completed.

Anyway, with all of the organized rides cancelled this year, I've had "Ride Goshen Canyon" on my family activity wishlist all summer. 

Last Sunday we had the perfect weather, Ben had a unicycling friend over who wanted to take a ride, and we decided to (i.e. I talked my family into) take a ride in Goshen Canyon. 

And then reality sunk in. Steve needed to change his bike tube. I needed to get the tandem bike shipshape. We needed to figure out how to get 6 people, an ebike, a tandem, a youth road bike, and two 36-inch unicycles into vehicles. The best vehicle to take would be Rainy, but she was rather stubbornly refusing to start. We had to figure out our one-way route plan (who was dropping off a vehicle? How would they return to the rest of us? A fox, a chicken, and a bag of corn want to cross a river...). It was now closing in on 4 pm and we still had a 45-mintue drive ahead of us. All for a 10-mile bike ride. Really?

I was ready to throw in the towel. The effort just didn't seem worth it. Hours of prep for maybe 50 minutes of riding? The return on investment just wasn't there.

I've definitely been experiencing a scarcity mindset when it comes to time. There are so many reasons - my Western, perfectionist culture, a season of life when time comes at a premium (4 kids, working full-time, finishing a big construction project this summer), and my own "take every moment captive" mentality... it's particularly easy for me to prioritize activities that provide obvious output or are the fastest way to tick an item off my list.=

It's not all bad, this prizing of effeciency. But it's not all good, either. It's easy for me to miss out on the joy of creating and the sheer pleasure of doing something for the doing's sake rather than primarily for the fulfillment of its output.

And so I especially treasured the feeling of the setting autumn sun on my face, the happy chatting with my girls as we coasted downhill, the fun of my husband buzzing ahead on his ebike to snag photos of us (and, also, to show off how fast he could go), the ravenous consumption of a 7:30 pm dinner at Wendy's.  I appreciated the reminder that sometimes the ratio of enjoyment-to-preparation isn't linear. It was an awfully good time, inefficient time investment and all.

It can be awfully challenging to get a selfie of 3 gals while riding, especially when 2 are on a tandem!

I love that you can see the tandem's shadow in this pic

Our hearty unicycle riders took the canyon both ways to add some extra miles to the outing!

Goshen Canyon may not be the most spectacular in Utah, but it's still pretty great

The home stretch! Our unicyclers definitely earned their Frostys.

Construction Complete... except for the ten million things left to do

19 weeks ago, we embarked upon an epic quest to transform our home.  It's been a summer of dirt and dust and noise and giant trucks and scads of strangers traipsing around and through our home. It's been a TON of work (even though we paid people to do the real work). And it's been a joy to invest in this home we love so much and to add space and functionality and a look that we will enjoy for decades. Because after this, Lord knows I'm not moving again!

Here's the "before" photo - your multipurpose 1960s split-level. For many years, we've praised the functionality of our home - there aren't many floorplans that would allow 6 people to live in (comparative) harmony for almost 20 years. It's so dang functional. 

But it lacked a few things we really wanted: 

1. Curb Appeal (let's face it, it's your multipurpose 1960s split level)
2. Gear Storage (we have so. much. gear.)
3. Office Space (we decided a while ago that we didn't need more bedroom space. After all, our children may eventually vacated their bedrooms. But we did want more multipurpose/family space. This need has been dramatically underscored by our COVID-19 experience with all of us at home for work, school, and EVERYTHING ELSE)

We knew what we wanted (sort of) thanks to the list above and the Pinterest skills of several friends. About a year ago, we started shopping for architects and builders who we could partner with to bring our concepts to life. 

We were especially blessed to sign with a builder who was meticulous, funny, and has become a dear friend to us. In this season of social isolation, it's been so fun to have somebody at our house every day who is making our home a better place and will enthusiastically consume anything we put in front of him.

By late January we had all of the permits necessary to realize our plans, and in early April, demolition began! Our removal and construction plans didn't enter the footprint of our home, which was a blessing because it meant that we could still live in our house while all of this was going on.

We still haven't snapped our "official after" photos. We really want to get the ski lift chair into place in the front yard. And the sheds aren't in yet, so there's still "shed stuff" all over our back yard. And the front gardens aren't planted yet. And the sod is still rooting. And our skis and gear are still in storage. And the new chair hasn't come for the sunroom.

There's no such thing as done! 

But not-done as it all still feels, we did get our final inspection complete last week, so it seems like a good time to celebrate all that's been done!

Thanks to everybody who has been watching our Insta posts and dropping by the house to say hi and cheering along this project. It feels great to be this far and to have this much done. We love the space we've created and the updated look of our home.

Now... to work on the ten million things left to do!

I Get By with a Little Help from My Friends

We love ourselves a good vacation, and we try to camp as much as we reasonably can (no small feat given our summer of construction plus, of course Coronavirus!). 

A few weeks ago we headed out to Dinosaur National Monument for a camping + rafting adventure and learned some good lessons about community and interdependence. 

As you know, we faithfully camp in our 1987 Volkswagen Vanagon, Rainy. This is equal parts deeply cool and notoriously unreliable. We always say that we feel bad for folks who load up into a car just assuming they’ll end up where they intended to go when they intended to get there. The Morningstars live under no such delusions, and we’ve both enjoyed and endured many unexpected adventures as a result. 

Our first two days at Dinosaur were hot and uneventful (as camping trips should be!). We drove the back roads, we waded in the Green River, we took some short hikes and checked out the petroglyphs and, of course, the fossils for which the park is well-named.

Day three was our rafting day, and we had a blast on the Green River. It was one of our best family memories in a long time - light and fun and out in nature and adventurous and just perfect.

And then we got back to the rafting company's parking lot, and Steve started Rainy and then Rainy stopped. We were about 10 miles from the campground, and while Steve spent hours working on the van before ultimately surrendering to the help of a tow truck and 3-hour tow truck ride, the kids and I hitched a ride back to the campground with new friends (that is, strangers who were also headed to the campground and had spare seats in their vehicle). The lovely rafting folks gave him a ride into town for some auto supplies. My parents offered to drive out to help us out. Our camping neighbors loaned us a broom so we could sweep up before packing up. We were surrounded by the help of those around us.

And the next morning, Steve drove a different car the three hours back to pick us up and we headed home. And you know what? Our auto insurance even picked up the $800 tow truck bill!

Without a community of people around us willing to help, our camping trip would have ended with  us being stuck and hot and hungry and unhappy. But because of the kindness of both strangers and family, what could have been a disaster ended up being a family adventure and a fun night of junk food and sleeping out under the stars. And I am simply grateful.

So, What's a Person to Do?

This blog post contains personal musings on race, racism, equity, and inclusion prompted by my own thinking and continual education and especially How to Be an Antiracist by Ibram X Kendi. This is written with the primary purpose of working through my own thoughts and learnings, but if it's helpful to you in some way, all the better!

These past few months have brought recognition of my own privilege, bias, and racism in new and dramatic ways (for examples see these posts: How I'm Learning from Black Lives Matter, On Representativeness). I've been reading both fiction and non-fiction about the Black experience (lots of great resources in this Qualtrics blog) and I find myself returning back to where I started, with questions of what to do and how to help.

I do believe the change has to start with me. Thoughtfully choosing new voices to hear, voices that come from experiences well outside of my own, and voices that are often suppressed or dismissed continues to be illuminating and challenges my assumptions. Learning about definitions of racism and finding vocabulary and voice to some of the swirling questions within me matures my own thinking.

But I also believe that suasion (my own or even that of large portions of society) is insufficient to create lasting change. I have become newly committed to choosing a side in the battle of racism, and I'm firmly on the anti-racist side. There's no neutral in this battle - we are each either creating or dismantling racism.

In How to Be an Antiracist, Ibram X Kendi says that, "Changing minds is not activism" - instead, activism is power and policy change. It also means that the most lasting investment we can make in this very moment is in funding and advocating for policy and power change instead of programs that touch and enrich the individual lives of oppressed or suppressed people. True, this isn't an either-or scenario - we can invest in enriching individual lives, changing individual minds, and changing power and policy. But think that when investing with limited resources, this is the time to create policies that actively create equity.

And (stepping in a minefield here, but it's worth it because important to work these things through), to me that's the difference between something like Black Lives Matter and Blue Lives Matter. Do police lives matter? Yes! Police do a hard and dangerous job with lots of baggage and little recognition. The difference is that, in general, the safety and security of individual officers is not suppressed by power and policies. Police safety is endangered by the actions of individuals, not government-created and funded laws and systems. Black lives are endangered, shortened, violated and suppressed by government-created and funded laws and systems.

There's so much I'm still working through on this - for example, how do economic systems and capitalism fit into this mesh of racism? I don't have answers there. 

But I do know the system is rigged and it's predominantly rigged in my favor. And I get to be a part of changing those power structures and policies that created and perpetuate a racist America. 

On Representativeness

This blog post contains personal musings on race, racism, equity, and inclusion prompted by my own thinking and continual education and especially How to Be an Antiracist by Ibram X Kendi. This is written with the primary purpose of working through my own thoughts and learnings, but if it's helpful to you in some way, all the better!

I was riding on a local bike path the other day, listening to How to Be an Antiracist and suddenly the concept of representativeness was illuminated in sharp relief. 

I'm a big fan of "friendly trails" and as I ride my bike on our local paths, I try to say hi or wave to everybody I pass. Of course, there are times I'm distracted or feeling a little fussy or concentrating on something else, and I miss returning a wave or smiling at a fellow trail user. Now, of course, I know this is not indicative of my overall friendliness as a person - I'm a good person who just happened to miss that wave. But other people? Heavens, if they don't smile back or wish me a "good morning" I quickly assume that they are unfriendly trail users and probably should be banned from all multi-use paths ;)

And this got me thinking hard about race and representativeness. And I came to the following conclusions (all obvious and also based in known psychological theories, but they hit me on a personal level in a new way):

1. I am predisposed to assume the best about my own intentions or people with which I have an affinity. For example, as a skier I may assume that line-cutting by a fellow skier was an accident or oversight, while line-cutting by a snowboarder is clearly the action of a thoughtless punk.
2. The more unfamiliar I feel with a group, the more likely I am to view their individual behaviors as representative of that group. For example, if I don't know many Indians, I'm more likely to assume that the choices of the first few Indians I meet are representative of all people from India.
3. But this is dumb. The actions of an individual do not represent the behaviors of a group. They represent the behaviors of that individual at that moment.

These are useful insights on their own, but this chain of "logic" becomes more difficult and potentially when applied to race. The concept of "representing" one's race (or any group) is crazy-pants, yet it's one we use and hear commonly. 

There simply is no such thing as racial behavior. There's no such thing as "black behavior." There are personal behaviors. And there can be shared culture within races (and plenty of shared culture that has nothing to do with racial constructs) and some in a shared culture can share behaviors, but that is many steps away from a racial behavior. Behavior simply cannot and should not be representative of race. Assuming otherwise is just as silly (and far more potentially dangerous) as me assuming that the person who didn't wave to me on the bike path is unfriendly because they're wearing the same color helmet as the last person who didn't wave to me on the bike path.

Individual behavior does not represent race. Individual behavior represents individuals. 

Today was 2020 in Miniature

Oh, 2020, you are quite the adventure, you rascal.

I’ve been really (really, really) needing to create things to look forward to. The last few months have been tough (duh) and the monotony of these Groundhog Day weeks can easily get me down. It helps a lot if I have things to look forward to - a camping weekend, an evening plan, anything.

But, it’s also been really (really, really) hard to muster the hope and energy to schedule and plan for these things to look forward to.

Last week, Steve and I summoned up our planning skill and made plans and reservations for a few fun things over the next few weeks, which feels great. One of these things today’s float down the Provo River. Usually we float the Provo as a Qualtrics Engineering summer fun activity, but since that isn’t happening (sigh), I figured we could break up the week with a Wednesday float. I arranged to take the afternoon off, the boys had off work as well, we made our reservations, we were ready to go. 

And then last night I looked at the weather forecast. For 4-6 weeks, our highs have been in the 90s every day. Hot, sunny, dry. It’s summer in the desert; we’re used to it. But what was today’s weather? The one day we had planned to enjoy the heat? High 70s and rainy. 

I experienced a mix of emotions at seeing the forecast. From, “meh, it will probably be warmer than that, we’ll still go and it will be fine” to “seriously!?! WTF?” And then I felt the commingled frustration at my foiled plans and guilty shame because other people are dealing with way worse circumstances than this and what right do I have to feel angry about this small thing. I am such a mess.

But the weather wasn’t too bad at noon, so Ben and I decided to ride our respective unicycle and bike up to the starting point while the others met us there. And as we rode, the rain started, the wind whipped, and the temperatures dropped. 

By the time we arrived, Steve had texted to tell us that he and the other kids were having grave doubts about the wisdom of this plan and could I see if we could move the reservation?

Disappointed by my family wussing out (but also now reaching the conclusion that they were clearly right), I checked in and successfully moved our reservations to a (hopefully) warmer day. And Ben and I sat under a pavilion and watched the rain and ate our apples. And then Ben had the brilliant idea that we should grab lunch, so we rode down the canyon soaking wet and had a really fun lunch together (because lunches with a 17-year-old are few and far between!) and rode home in the still-increasing wetness. And I took a hot shower and enjoyed a little nap and it turns out that those are also pretty great activities to enjoy on an afternoon off. 

I feel like today has been exactly like 2020 in miniature:

1. Feel crappy
2. Summon your energy and make some plans that will feel good
3. Plans are foiled
4. Feel a bizarre and caustic mix of anger and disappointment and frustration and hopelessness
5. Feel guilty that you feel this way just because your little plans were ruined, when other people have it so much worse
6. Do an alternate thing
7. Find out that the alternate thing has its own sweetness. It wasn’t what you were looking for, wasn’t what you planned, but still provided its own redemption
8. Repeat

2020, I don’t love the lessons you’re teaching me. They are hard. Punishing. Exhausting. But I do love the sweet results of some of these lessons and the ways they’re shaping me. So, I’ll take that victory... because I really don’t have much of a choice anyway!

Optimism and Permission to Feel

I’m an optimist.

I naturally see the bright side of most situations. I always think things will be faster and easier than they are. I expect the best.

And there’s so much good stuff about this part of my personality - I’m super grateful to be an optimist.

Note that the previous sentence was the most meta-optimistic sentence you’re ever likely to read.

But.

Over the past few months I have also experienced som e marked downsides to my natural optimism and the resultant behaviors I’ve perfected over the years. As an optimist and a control-freak, I’ve taken the concept of “take captive every thought” to a new level, sometimes at the expense of allowing myself to experience the natural negative emotions that accompany a circumstance, decision, or season.

The logic goes like this:

1. A person experiencing this thing I’m experiencing could feel some negative emotions. In fact, perhaps I’m experiencing some twinge or shadow of those emotions.
2. But, I don’t see how those emotions are going to help me lead a more fulfilled, productive or happy life.
3. Plus, through the power of logic and intellect, I can talk myself into other emotions that would also be valid for a person experiencing this thing I’m experiencing and that seem more useful, positive, or at least less icky.
4. Therefore, I will choose this second set of more useful emotions rather than that first icky set.

Basically, I just say, “Hmm... this emotion seems to lead to a yucky place, so I’ll just replace it with a more positive or productive emotion.” Or I implicitly tell myself, “What’s the use in feeling this way? Nothing? Well, then, feel this other way instead.”

Now, perhaps this chain of logic makes no sense to you and you are now thinking I am a deeply bizarre and unwell person. I can live with that; I’m just being real here.

And I do believe there’s some utility in this line of reasoning. Over-indulging in negative emotions has some really negative and gross side-effects that I want nothing to do with. I don’t want to ruminate on my hurt or pain or doubt. I don’t want my negative emotions or experiences to monopolize my life. I don’t want to get stuck in the hurt. Choosing to replace something negative with something positive has its time and place (and, Lord knows, I have perfected that process). 

But I’ve also started to learn that honoring and allowing myself to feel what I actually feel, rather than what I think would be more useful or positive to feel, is pretty important. As self-helpy as it sounds, I have learned that there’s some good stuff to honoring what I’m feeling and giving it the space to just be, rather than immediately talking myself out of the efficacy of that emotion.

For example, my long-standing habit in, say, prayer or journaling times has been to talk about something hard or something I feel negative emotions about, and then in the next sentence explain why it’s not really “that bad,”or the other side of the story, or the good that could come of it or how I really ought to feel about it.

What I’m learning is to give space for the icky feelings, the bad experiences, and just to let them feel bad. I don’t always have to talk myself into making them feel ok or immediately seeing the inherent value or lesson in a tough time. It’s ok for me to admit to myself that some things are just hard. They will, eventually, become easier. They will bring their own lessons. But in the middle of it all, it’s ok if it just feels hard.

What does this look like, practically? 

Well, one new practice for me is that every morning in my journal I list out the Sweet and Tough things from the previous day. And now I don’t excuse or justify or un-justify or explain the tough things. I just let them sit in the “tough” column. I don’t try to explain the validity or invalidity of their presence in the column. I just let them be. 

Because it’s ok for something to feel hard or hurtful or icky for its season.

At least, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself.

How I'm Learning from Black Lives Matter

Like so many other Whites in the U.S., these past few weeks have been wildly disruptive for me. I've been confronted in uncomfortable ways with my prejudice, assumptions, laziness, and responsibility when it comes to race and racism. I thought I got it before... and I was wrong. I still don't get it - but I'm getting iteratively closer to understanding, listening better, and becoming an active part of the solution.

This post is a line in the sand for me, briefly documenting what I am coming to understand.

If you're a Black reader, don't waste any more time on this post - you know all this and are shaking your head at my sad ignorance.

For all other readers, this isn't intended to be a sermon, and it isn't written to convince or chastise you. It's not written for you at all, it's written for me to work through what I'm learning and to record it, however immaturely and clumsily. If any of this causes you discomfort, start to sit with that discomfort and ask why you feel that way. If you want to learn more, you don't even need to ask for resources - there are a billion lists out there of wonderful podcasts, movies, scholarly research, and novels to help you dig into equality and anti-racism more deeply. Here's a great place to start: https://www.qualtrics.com/qualtrics-life/how-to-be-an-ally-to-the-black-community

Many of these thoughts were catalyzed by White Fragility: Why It's So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism. It's deeply challenging. If you want to start with a summary, here's a good one: https://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/white-fragility-why-its-so-hard-to-talk-to-white-people-about-racism-twlm. You'll probably agree with some of it, be challenged by some of it, disagree with some of it - that's cool. That's what learning should look like.

In no particular order, here are some of the things I've been wrestling with and learning from:

1. I kind of have a problem with Jesus and his love for the lost and oppressed

This comic hit way, way too close to home.

In Luke 15:3-9, Jesus tells two parables that are essentially about how he will leave the masses of safe folks behind to risk life and limb to help the hurting and lost.

In my more honest moments (e.g. these ones), I'll admit that I don't really like this Jesus. I want him to chase after me. All the time. I know everybody else matters... but in reality I want to be the one who really matters the mostest. And although on one level we are all the lost sheep and lost coin of the parables and Jesus seeks to save each of us, it's also super clear in the Bible, and especially the New Testament, that Jesus chases super duper hard after the oppressed.

It's easy to spout off Christian-sounding niceties that Jesus came for all and died for all (a short semantic hop to "all lives matter"). And, yes, yes he did. But he also spent a whole lot of time working on behalf of the downtrodden of his day - the Samaritans, the widows, the prostitutes, the sick, the poor, the powerless - those whose rights were systematically denied by the Jewish law and economy and government. Jesus chases after the ones in danger. And boy does he have some harsh words for insiders (the ones who benefit from, perpetuate, and don't actively dismantle the bigoted attitudes and policies)

And he calls us to do the same.

2. I don't naturally self-identify as White
I don't think of myself as White. I don't think of my family as (mostly) White. My subconscious position is that race is something for other people groups  - you know, the "racial" ones. And White just means that I'm not Black or Indigenous or Asian or Latinx or Middle Eastern or...

I simply don't see race as an essential part of my experience. Because I am the defacto one. And the other races are, just that, "other".

Now, it drives me crazy that I needed to hit my 41st year to recognize how insane this is. For many years, I have experienced the segregation and bias of being "other" - by being a woman. My gender is does not represent the defacto experience. My environment is predominantly defined and controlled by and for men, and I am out side of that. Even the name of my gender remind me of that - the origin of "woman" is "wife-man" - my gender's very word is a description of our relationship to the group in power.

I know how hard it hurts to be so far outside.

Yet I never really internalized (or, at least, started to internalize) that this is just a small shade of how hard it hurts to be even farther outside of the defacto, assumptive normal experience as a Black person.

It is super uncomfortable to talk about myself as White, and I think that's at least partially because of the clear privilege encapsulated in the term. Thinking of myself in racial terms has been a healthy struggle.

3. The most useful definitions of racism are not about individual moral choices
If you asked me to define racism a few weeks ago, I would have described racism as something like, "decisions bad people make to discriminate against people of another race."

I now understand that this definition of racism isn't super useful. This definition is mostly a shortcut tool that we use to prove that we can't be racist and don't need to enter into the conversation about racism. The logic goes something like this: "I am a good person. I don't make individual choices to discriminate against people of another race. Therefore, there's really no need for me to educate myself about racism or to enter the conversation except perhaps to point out how morally inferior racists are."

It's tidy logic that exempts me conveniently from discomfort or responsibility in regards to racism.

But.

Then there's the undeniable evidence that Blacks are incredibly oppressed in our nation by every measure I can think of - from political power to economic power to incarceration numbers to educational achievement to social mobility to corporate power. The "better" you get along any of these scales, the whiter (and more male) your surroundings and the people around you.

The system is rigged. And the use of power and policy to perpetuate the elevation of one group at the expense of others is a pretty decent working definition of racism.

4. And, so, I have a responsibility

White Fragility says it well, "I don't feel guilty about racism. I didn't choose this socialization, and it could not be avoided. But I am responsible for my role in it. To the degree that I have done my best in each moment to interrupt my participation, I can rest with a clearer conscience. But that clear conscience is not achieved by complacency or a sense that I have arrived."

For years I have been trying to help my coworkers and employers understand that gender disparity isn't a women's problem - it's a human problem and that it cannot be solved without the support of those in power. Yet, somehow, I hadn't made the emotional and intellectual leap to think the same about racism.

This is an imperfect analogy, but it's one that helped me:
Women gained suffrage in 1920 (remember these were mostly White, middle class women who gained suffrage, but the analogy still stands). It was impossible for women to earn or gain themselves suffrage. Because women were unequal in the eyes of the law, they could not get their own suffrage no matter how hard they tried.

The only way women could gain suffrage is for the people with the power (in this case, White men) to grant it, to extend it, to change their policies and attitudes.

The group in power had to care and get involved enough to dismantle bigoted policies and extend that power to another group.

My right and responsibility as part of the group in power is to stand with and for Blacks. To listen, to educate myself about the Black experience, to dismantle systems of privilege, to gain sensitivity to my own prejudice and dismantle it, to enter uncomfortable conversations, to engage in uncomfortable learning (all learning is uncomfortable!), to put my energy and money where my mouth is and invest in equality, to replace racist systems with anti-racist ones.

This is rough learning. And I am deeply grateful to be on this uncomfortable journey.

Losing my Zombie Eyes. Or, Getting Work Done.

I'm not a deeply vain person.

You know this is going to be a good post with a solid self-justifying start like that!

I’m not a deeply vain person. I don't blow dry my hair or wear makeup. I've never dyed my hair. I mostly accept my crows-feet and gray hairs as hard-earned through a pretty well-lived first half of my life. I like nice clothes, but I'm not obsessed about what's in style. I subscribe to zero beauty or lifestyle magazines.

None of these things are inherently wrong, and Lord knows I have plenty of pride issues. But, I just don't tend to fall into the beauty trap too hard. I think of myself as pretty well-balanced in that department. I definitely never saw myself as a “cosmetic surgery” kind of person (whatever that implied in my imagination). 

But, like most people (most women?) I have that "just one thing" that drives me batty - the bags under my eyes.

I know, you're saying, "Jamie, I have literally never noticed this thing about you ever."

I get it.

This really wasn't about you or anybody else - it was about me. I felt like, no matter what I did, I always looked tired.

So, I started investigating what was going on and found out that the poochy bags under one's eyes are actually fat deposits, and there's really nothing one can do about them - this isn't about creams or diet or exercise because it's all under the skin. It's mostly genetic, and some people just have more generous fat deposits under their eyes than others. I just happen to have prodigious under-eye fat.

About a year ago I started to investigate what could be done about this. I had several requirements (not saying these are everybody's requirements, but they're mine):

• No fillers or weird injections
• It had to be something I couldn't correct with diet, exercise, or a healthier lifestyle
• It had to look natural
• Whatever I did, it had to age gracefully and require no upkeep/maintenance/touchups. I was not about to sign up for a lifetime of regular surgeries or injections or whatever to keep things looking right

And after a ton of thought and many discussions, I decided to go for it! And because I know you're wondering, Steve was against the whole thing (mildly, not passionately opposed) and willing to support whatever decision I made. He's a good man.

My surgery was originally scheduled for Thanksgiving and then that didn't work out for our family's schedule so it got pushed to April which, of course, didn't happen for many weeks because of Coronavirus. But, eventually, schedules aligned and surgery centers opened and it was time!

The surgery itself was pretty fast and for sure the worst part of those first day was recovering from anesthesia. Steve lovingly prepared many icepacks for my swollen face. I went back to work (from home, of course) after 5 days. Most of the swelling was gone after a few weeks, and the bruises are still there (faintly) 7 weeks post-surgery.

Here are a few choice shots:

Day 2

Day 11

Day 25

Day 37

And here's a pic from today:

I'm super happy with the results - the bruises are almost gone and I think the overall effect is my normal face, just without the big bags under my eyes (which is what I was hoping for).

I think that getting cosmetic surgery or any permanent/long-term cosmetic intervention is an intensely personal decision with lots of pros and cons.

Am I glad I did it? Yes.

Would I do it again? Yes, having been through it, I would go back and do the same thing agin.

Would I do other surgeries? I don't think so - I stand by my original rationale for which surgeries were ok for me to consider and there aren't many that fall into that same category. Plus, there are risks with any surgery and the recovery, as easy as it was, was still no joke.

So, there you go - the story of my first surgery (unless you count getting my wisdom teeth out)! One surgery every 40 years seems like a decent pattern to perpetuate.

What I'm Learning from Coronavirus

Oh, 2020. I know everybody is saying this, but I just have to throw in my opinion that you are one crazy-ass year. I'm learning a lot, but, boy oh boy, it is not cheap or easy learning.

To be sure, nothing worth learning comes cheap or easy. I know this... I just don't like it.

Also, I'm learning a toooooooon right now about being an ally to African Americans and fighting for justice, but those learnings are all super raw and need a little more time to settle before I write about them. More hard, expensive learning. More essential learning.

So, with that meandering preamble, here's what I'm learning through the dismantling of normalcy through coronavirus disruptions, in no particular order.

Lesson A: There's simultaneous freedom and claustrophobia about the shrinking of my world

It's a very curious sensation having my practical, everyday world shrink down to the footprint of my house. I used to travel across the country every other week and internationally every 2-3 months. It's been a part of my normal schedule for years. And now, although I may be on Zoom calls with Seattle and Krakow regularly, it's also just two people talking from their home offices - we could be down the street from each other.

Overall, I'm surprised how much I like it. I like not being jetlagged. I don't mind not flying (although I miss the snobbery of my business travel). I like knowing I'll be home every day and not having to remember which time zone I'll be in on a given day. There's a simple contentedness in this constriction of my practical world.

I also miss feeling like a global citizen. I worry a little that in not being in the various corners of the world, my heart for the whole world will likewise constrict. I worry that somehow I'll start to only care for the people within the footprint of my home.

I am glad that this is only a season. I can't wait to get out into the big, wide world again. But for now, I'm also glad to be content in this small corner of it.

Lesson 1: I've found (some) peace in not excelling right now

From a professional perspective, I don't feel like I'm doing the best work of my life. I'm doing good work. In some ways, I love it, because I'm doing different work and that feels good. But I don't feel like I'm doing brilliant work right now.

And I'm mostly ok with it.

I'm pretty sure you didn't know this, but I kind of embrace "high achiever" as an essential defining characteristic. There's some good stuff about this, and there's some gross accomplishment-based striving that comes with it as well.

Thanks to the bizarrity of coronavirus reality, I've reached a new level of okayness with not excelling. There are so many contributing factors to this - the weight and distraction of national and international news, the extra burden of keeping 4 kids reasonably busy and productive and happy and harmonious and learning and not exclusively subsisting on Cheetos and Animal Crossing, the heavy weight of feeding myself (boy oh boy I can't wait to go back to the office and eat from a buffet line daily again. I really miss corporate lunches). It's a hard time, and I've found a new level of acceptance of not being ok. I've cultivated a new level of self-compassion for my own needs and wants and hurts. These are good lessons.

Lesson I: There's contentment in being a bigger part of our home rhythms

I do love being more involved in the goings on of our home. To be clear, I also miss the peace of compartmentalization that comes with being able to leave the largest part of my home worries at home when I go to work - and I really, really look forward to getting that healthy compartmentalization back. But until then, I do like being a bigger part of my kids during-the-day lives. I like us all being home more together and playing games and working our way through Clone Wars. I like cooking together. I like being on-hand to help my girls bake.

There are some really hard parts about us all being home together all. the. time. But there is also real sweetness in doing life intertwined in a way we haven't experienced since the kids were itty bitties. I don't want to lose this deeper connection with my family that we've developed over the past few months.

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Overall, I am really, really looking forward to going back to the office, having the kids go to school and youth group, and returning to lives that include a little more independent time.

But that time isn't now. It isn't safe or possible for us to go back to schools, offices, travel. So for now I'm doing my best to embrace the unique blessings and lessons of this time. They are good and sweet and hard and life-altering lessons. And I am grateful for them.

Running Away to the Desert (Again)

Learning: A four-day weekend surrounded by two four-day weeks is just about the right pace for me right now.

Last week, Qualtrics (and all of SAP) decided that in the face of hard times, they would turn Memorial Day weekend into an extra long weekend by giving us Friday off as well as Monday. It was pretty cool to be given that extra unplug and unwind time, and I'm extremely grateful for a company that is not only financial stable but also is attentive to and acting on the extra needs of employees in these tough times.

With this extra gift of time, we decided to high-tail it to the desert, along with approximately half of the state of Utah. Fortunately, the desert is pretty big, so there was plenty of space for all of us. The extra van in this photo is my parents', there wasn't actually a traffic jam of VWs on the dirt roads. Although... that would be pretty epic if it were the case.

We're self-contained in our van, so we don't need campgrounds (although flush toilets are awfully nice when you can get them). So we just headed down the Burr Trail in Escalante National Monument until we found a secluded (and ecologically responsible) side road to camp on.

There was a large sandstone hill-rock-thing down our dirt road that Ben immediately vowed to conquer. We had, of course, packed along a set of three unicycles so that he and WanYing had a few to choose from for whatever camping unicycle needs might befall them. We like to stick to packing only the necessities while camping - beer, hot dogs, unicycles, sleeping bags.

I got to play photographer for the unicycle slickrock adventures and it was a blast, except for the part where I got totally freaked out trying to climb down the giant sandstone mountain and my children had to talk me down. Yes, I was scared to walk down the same slope my son carried/rode his unicycle down. I stand by my self-preservation instincts.

Here are some of the choice unicycle shots and movies:

It had been years since we had hiked to Calf Creek Falls, so we decided it was time to make the trip again.

Here's Sasha on our last trip to the falls :)

And here's another one from the way-back machine! Thank goodness the kids can hike 6 or 8 miles under their own power now!

It was such a lovely hike - hot on the trail, cold at the falls. The trail was busy, but not so busy that you felt like you couldn't find your 6-foot bubble. And the dogs loved it.

I'm pretty sure this is the same place as where I took Sasha's photo 8 years ago!

On Sunday we decided to try a new adventure and drive to Spooky and Peekaboo Slot Canyons. This meant driving 26 miles down a dirt road, which didn't sound so bad until we discovered that the road was essentially one huge washboard. It was astoundingly awful and I have pledged to Steve that whenever he wants to upgrade the van's shocks, I will not stand in his way.

Deeply awful drive that it was, the hike more than made up for it. The 1.4 miles to the slots themselves was super beautiful and a total unexpected bonus to the day.

Like everything else, the slots were busy, but traffic moved through pretty well except for one chokepoint where we ended up waiting 30 minutes for a family to navigate one of the 12-foot drops.

The slots were the perfect level of adventure for us. Plenty of squeezes, a few drops to navigate, a few climbs to get over, but nothing that required a rope. I can see why these slots are so popular!

I am so grateful for the time and space to get away with my family. The freedom of running away to the desert, where we can experience adventure and move our bodies and still do it in a way that is safe for ourselves and the local communities is a huge blessing.

I'm sure we all have a bunch of figurative steep grades and sharp curves ahead in the coming weeks and months. I'm just grateful that last week we got to enjoy these literal ones on a family adventure!