Archive for July, 2010
#53) Yo’ Shack In Glory Gonna Tell Da Story!
I spent a large portion of my formative years at New Hope Tabernacle Church. My parents made certain that my brother and I attended Sunday school, morning worship, afternoon service, night service, prayer service, and bible class. Many of my fondest childhood memories stem from my time in youth choir and attending Vacation Bible School. We were at church so much that the church members became family.
Our church family matriarch, Evangelist Mona Lisa Lockhart, was my favorite Sunday school teacher. Perhaps it is because by the time I was in her class, I was old enough to make connections from Bible stories to real life. Perhaps it was because she was such a passionate instructor. More than likely, it was a combination of those things and more.
Because I was raised in Detroit, I had a degree of separation from the cultural traditions of southern Black folks. I remember being puzzled at the notion of someone putting “roots” on someone. I recall being absolutely befuddled at the thought of people living in places that did not have interstate highways. I laugh at the memory of my first visit to the rural south when extended family members bellowed in laughter at my inquiry of “what else are we going to do?” For you see, after the fish fry, everyone just sat around outside and talked. There was no television, no basketball court, and no corner store, just family and rehashed and revamped stories. Needless to say that first visit was a massive culture shock.
Nevertheless, it was an overwhelmingly apparent Southern charm that really endeared me to Evangelist Lockhart. Initially, I found humor in her southern dialect and inflections. But with each year of living, I uncover more wisdom within her numerous rural colloquialisms. Of which, the most frequently used was “yo’ shack in glory gonna tell da story.” Actually, the printed word does not capture the heavy twang in which the syllables in “glory” and “story” were more pronounced as “glo-reeey” and “sto-reey.” Our adolescent chuckles never deterred her from sharing that nugget of wisdom.
Because we were in church, it was assumed that the “shack”, “glory”, and “story” of which she referred were heavenly or religious concepts. Sometimes she would elaborate that she was not going to have a shack but rather, a mansion. Because her intentions were to convey that our Christian efforts on earth will be reflected in our heavenly rewards. As I have matured, I have found the “shack” and “sto-reey” also has implications for our earthly lives.
Since I last sat in those wooden folding chairs listening to Evangelist Lockhart and admiring the distinctiveness of that hats she wore, I have come to realize the results that one achieves in life are indicators of two things: their circumstances and their effort. It would be impossible to assign a percentage value to circumstances or effort but I can attest that the former is often beyond our control and the latter is totally within our control.
When people refer to their circumstances or environment as cause for their life success or lack of success, I understand. Indeed some use circumstances as an excuse to underachieve, but beyond that, circumstances do contribute to who we are and the methods used toward what we can become.
However, our effort plays more of a role in what we become. Our effort determines whether we will earn metaphorical shacks or mansions. Our efforts are the largest indicators of what type of results we will earn.
No, this is not a pronouncement of “pulling yourself up by your bootstrap” because that notion is fallaciously shortsighted. Instead this is a prompt for reflection.
- Are you satisfied with the results you are getting in life?
- In what ways have your efforts contributed toward the results you have?
- If you are unsatisfied with your results, will you change your efforts?
Arthur Ashe would tell us to:
Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.
It can be that simple. We can choose today to exert efforts that determine what story our place in glory will tell.
#52) The Illusion of Multi-Tasking
One day, I had a couple of hours of one on one time with my then two year-old daughter. My intentions were to maximize that time as quality daddy-daughter time. Ironically, while my intentions were to play with my daughter, I found myself texting friends by phone and occasionally glancing at updates on Sportscenter. Our quality daddy-daughter time was diminished due to my inability to be fully engaged with my daughter. While being drawn to Sportscenter, I did not notice her walk towards me until I felt her little hands on my face. My two-year old was doing what I failed to do myself, fully placing my attention upon her. A two-year old had to remind me of what I should have known all along – that this was our time and that I needed to be fully attentive to her.
In his book, Coming to Our Senses, Jon Kabat-Zinn refers to the illusion of multi-tasking as the infidelity of inattention. How can we actually experience the beauty, the lessons, and the opportunities provided by one thing when we are only partially paying attention to several things? How can I truly say I spent time with my daughter? If I quantified or made a pie chart of that time span – some time texting, some time television watching, some time transferring my attention from one item to the next, and some time playing the game with my two-year old – how much time did I actually spend with her?
I once believed there was value in multi-tasking. I believed I could simultaneously work on reports and have conversations with people in my office. I believed that could spend time with my children even if I brought them to my work place. I erroneously placed value on driving, talking on one phone, and texting with another phone. In those instances and more, I was wrong.
The individual tasks were not wrong. The error was attempting multiple tasks at once. Just because my children accompanied me as I supervised the youth ministry does not mean I spent time with them. Just because I called my mother during my daily commute while texting my co-workers, does not mean I was fully engaged in our conversation or that my texts were coherent. I mistakenly assumed that busy equaled productive. I had actively embraced the illusion of multi-tasking.
Thankfully, nothing tragic had to happen for me to begin to recognize the illusion. In fact, the understanding came during a lunch conversation with a friend. She wanted to know about my company and my book. She is a self-professed career woman who feels woefully inadequate when not accompanied by her Blackberry. We exchanged initial pleasantries while being seated and she placed her Blackberry on the table. While I was talking, she held up one finger for me to pause and she answered her phone. She apologized and told me to resume because she really wanted to hear how things were going. As I began to explain how things were going, the finger came back and she responded to a text. A little bothered and speaking with greater reservation, I eventually started talking about the process of writing my book. My reservation stemmed from not wanting to be interrupted; however, after resuming our talk, she received an email and I got that finger again. Needless to say that while we were both physically present, we were unable to share much.
While I had heard of the concept, the illusion of multi-tasking began to be more apparent to me after that day. I learned the difference between being fully present and sharing distracted attention. I learned that despite the multiple avenues for people to stay connected, many of us are less “connected” than we recognize. When we engage in multiple tasks at once, we actually do a disservice to each of those tasks. In essence, by attempting so much, we accomplish so little.
#51) Would Have To Have Been Through Something
As a child, many of my favorite television shows had catchy introduction songs. Fat Albert, Welcome Back, Kotter, Different Strokes, Good Times, and a handful of others have permanent residence in my cherished memories because of their songs. Recently, I have been captivated with watching The Wire on DVD. Just like the treasured shows of my childhood, The Wire also has a catchy introduction song.
Each season of The Wire opens with a different artist performing “Way Down In The Hole”; yet it is the Blind Boys of Alabama’s interpretation during season one that has captivated my attention and conjured deep cultural meaning. The Blind Boys’ version has the feel of a wooden white steeple church on a dirt road, with wooden floors, wooden pews, and nearly unbearable heat. Their version of the song evokes the imagery of hard working field laborers, with calloused hands and weather beaten skin gathered together in the one public place where they could maintain their dignity without being directly burdened by race. The Blind Boys channel the pain, the strength, and the soul of the Black church with raspy tenor and baritone timbre that is nearly absent in contemporary music.
My friend Rashad and I were discussing the uniqueness of the song, how fitting it is to The Wire, and more notably the soulful wailings of The Blind Boys. While lamenting on the absence of that type of spirit in our music, Rashad assessed the dilemma perfectly. He said “to create that type of sound, you would have to have been through something.” Indeed, he was right – to create something of timeless value, to develop something of resonating meaning, to share a gift from the soul for the uplift of others – to do all of those things, one would first have to have been through something.
W.E.B. DuBois could capture and convey The Soul of Black Folks because he had been through something. Zora Neale Hurston could compose literary and cultural masterpieces because she had been through something. Earl Graves can develop and maintain a successful magazine geared toward minority businesses because he had been through something. Ruth Simmons can effectively lead a distinguished university because she too, has been through something.
Chances are, the aspirations you may have for growth will only come to fruition after you have been through something. “Something” is an ambiguous term that permits the diversity of our circumstances to culminate into our personal life lessons. Our choices to gather meaning from those life lessons and share their value become the substance of our relationships. When we share our life lessons, we enrich the experiences and the lives of others.
Another friend, Solomon, often shares the story of Hattie Green. As described by Solomon, Hattie was found in her apartment having died some time days before. When Solomon tells the story, he evokes feelings of emptiness, loneliness and inconsequence. He emphasizes what good is life if you could die and no one would know or care that you were gone. While we cannot speak of Hattie personally, I imagine that the unremarkable nature of her demise could be attributed to no one knowing her life lessons and no one being familiar with the “something” that gave shape to her life. For you see, what good is it to go through something if you fail to share your experiences with others?