Andrew's Daily Notes

In every society, the question of distribution of resources looms large. There is ongoing conversation on an individual and communal level around the mindsets of scarcity or abundance. There are think tanks and governments, and NGOs, and faith-based organizations, and not-for-profits, and all sorts of other mechanisms that have been made to attempt to solve this question: What do we do with what we have?

Before we answer that questions I think I need a few clarifications. First, “what we have” isn’t just about money. It’s time, energy, food, shelter, a listening ear, a word of honesty, an encouragement, a giving of attention – there’s a lot that we have, especially when we take a second look.

Second, I think there are really two basic choices for the “what we do.” We can either give what we have, or keep it. The middle ground here would include things like loaning, sharing, or exchanging. Loaning and sharing lean toward the side of giving. Exchanging is a kind of keeping as the measure of what we have will likely stay the same (especially in an equitable exchange). So we are really looking at giving or keeping.

There is a third aspect to our main question which is important as it might inform whether we decide to keep what we have, or give it. We will likely ask, “to whom?” or “for what purpose?” I imagine my choices shifting dramatically depending on the answers here.

In every moment in every day we are confronted with choices about what we do with what we have. Do we give? Do we keep? Do we trust to whom we are giving? Do we encourage the purpose?

What kinds of answers do we need to have so that the things we, ourselves, have been given, can be kept or given again in the moments and ways they are needed?

Everyone is testing. No one knows what will work. Some people can see a little further than others, but everyone is guessing. Some people have had past experiences that seem more relevant than others, but no one knows for sure.

Some people are providing services. Some people are selling products. Some people are caring for the hearts and bodies of people in the midst of everything.

In the moments of (re)birth, we will have great pains. Ask any mother. Ask anyone who has experienced major shifts in their relationships. Ask anyone who has attempted to bring a project, endeavor, or pursuit to life. The labor pains abound. But there is another side.

A time of rest and the fruits from labor are on that other side. A moment to breathe and bear witness to that which has found life. The things we strive for are all possible. Peace is possible. Shared experience, communal bonds, and fellowship are all possible. We work toward these. Yet, we will never know if we will actually experience them. Maybe we will only work, and the next generation will see the fruits of our labor. Maybe we are the ones seeing the fruits of the labor of past generations.

Wherever we are on this cycle, as we continue to work, let’s remember what is waiting for us on the other side. Once, that is, everything is new again.

My dad has worked on commission for the majority of his life. Years back, when I first entered into the world of freelance work (read: paycheck to paycheck) I had a visceral reaction. I still remember how tense my body got realizing how fragile my financial survival was. It seemed that so many variables had to line up just right for me to land a gig, feel good about work, and actually get paid. It was scary.

So, I began to work towards stability. I started to think of the most stable models for the work I do, the areas in which resources seemed to be abundant, and my own positioning in the market. The journey has been interesting, and I’ve learned a lot.

Of all the things I’ve learned the biggest lesson is this: Stability is an illusion.

As many of us have discovered, our entire world can shift in what seems like an instant. We can work as hard as we can in a specific direction and then forces beyond our control can shift our context. Just ask anyone who has lived a life exposed to the elements. I’m not just talking about nature here, but the forces of the market, politics, social pressures, etc. We all are being acted upon. “Easy lives” are those that are shielded from these forces. “Hard lives” are ones that have had to develop the strength to survive while living in resistance to these forces.

There isn’t a single solution for dealing with the forces here. Too many different lives being lived to say one thing will solve this. What I have come to know is that, while stability is an illusion, peace is not. I’m talking about the kind of peace that allows us strength, and resilience, and thoughtfulness, and clarity, and wisdom, in the midst of chaos. For individuals and communities. There are those who we think might be living an easy life that lack this kind of peace. There are those who we see living the hard life that have an abundance of it.

I should say that this isn’t escapist either. It’s not peace, while running away from reality. It’s peace born of trust. Trust in Love. That Love provides, guides, cares, and acts for the sake of Love. Love that allows us to be wrapped up in it, more than we are wrapped up in the inherent hardness of this world.

In the weeks of COVID-19 we’ve all been confronted with a part of our own identity. It’s the part that says, “What do you do?” and is measured against, “Is what you do valuable?”

There is now language around essential and non-essential workers. Freelancers and employees have had dramatically different journeys even if they were working for the same organization. In this context we have also struggled to acknowledge the importance of the arts and find ways to support artists (and many others that don’t fit nicely into the current economy).

The arts are indeed a unique aspect of our culture. We are enamored by the creations that come from the imaginations of talented artists. These heightened expressions of song, music, poetry, dance, and painting, drawing, and sculpture (among others), capture and activate something within us with such power…we begin to think that only certain people are meant to be making things. We think only certain people are allowed to engage their imagination and bring it to life. This is patently untrue.

There is at one thing that every single human being makes. One thing that we all are continually in the process of making, and re-making. One thing that is of the utmost importance. More than any piece of art, or invention.

That is a relationship. Everything that we do is in relationship to someone or something. Relationships are everywhere, and we are always in the middle of them. How we approach our actions, words, and thoughts, will show up in our relationships. How we approach our relationships will show up in our actions, words, and thoughts.

Relationships are the most beautiful creations of all, and are super powerful. What happens in relationship affects everything. Relationships multiply the fruits of an inner-life well lived. They can be a communal embodiment of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and intentional composure.

With this in mind, we can imagine the kind of relationships we would like to be in. We can all work as artists – thoughtfully and attentively building and working, slowly making and re-making with care – all the relationships we are already in, and those we long for.

A cat I used to know named Jimmy “Preacher” Robins shared this nugget of wisdom with me:

“If you name it, you can claim it.”

Preacher was an uber-talented, street-wise, underground musician. He knew what he was talking about. He know about appropriation, the relationship between naming and ownership in the market, and how this simple act could create the perception of invention.

Said another way, if you can package it, it’s yours to sell.

But naming is a sacred act. It can be so powerful as to bestow meaning upon whatever is being named.

Advertisers know this well. They use powerful language and imagery to convey the values they want us to associate with their products – the things they have named. Soon, we automatically have these associations, and they are difficult to break.

Indeed, I’ve been pretty outspoken about my disdain for labels. Labels have a restrictive, even oppressive, connotation. I wonder if my disdain isn’t for the label themselves, but for the flagrant, manipulative, even violent use of them.

I’m thinking of what it means to be given a name that empowers, uplifts, encourages, emboldens, and is truthful. I’m thinking of what happens when that same act of naming demeans, discourages, or injures.

Which one would we rather take part in?

The story goes something like this. Every time a new tap dancer came to town, all the locals cats would buy tickets to the show and sit in the front row. If any of them saw the newbie perform one of their steps, they would begin to heckle. They had to protect their work, after all.

Tap dancer Eddie Brown, having coined the term “Scientific Rhythm” for his approach to tap dancing, was recorded as saying this:

“If anyone wants this, they have to come through me.”

There seems to be something innately territorial about our nature, especially if we are operating under pressure. I’ve experienced it both in the market and personally. In the market mechanisms like copyright and trademark exist to try to protect people’s work (their territory) from infringement. Personally, our physical environment and social support systems are meant to be that protection.

But we will always bump into people. There is almost no way to navigate life without it. Some of us try to avoid these bumps, while some of us seem to make a point of initiating them. So what happens when we bump into people? Do we protect ourselves like a mama bear protecting their own cubs? Do we try to negotiate or navigate the situation? Do we just shrink in the face of confrontation?

There doesn’t seem to be a single right answer. Most navigation depends on the context (who’s involved, what’s the culture, are you in the market or is this personal, etc.). But not everything here is relative. So much informs the way we navigate our bumps. Our needs, desires, triggers and past experiences, all play a role. But, ideally, our responses to bumps would be framed by our values, the way we want to show up in relationship with others, and the kinds of relationships we ultimately wanted to build in this world.

Something to think about.

What happens to the speaker when their voice, their thoughts, the energy they used to get everything together to express is un-heard? As in undone, or the undo command, with which we are so familiar.

The expression happened. They spoke. Whatever they expressed could have been heard, but it was un-heard. It was taken away, erased, removed from the ears of others.

Have you ever been a part of something that never gets acknowledged? Have you ever expressed an idea that is removed from further conversation?

All of these things are a part of life, so I’ve been told, but I wonder what can each of us do to make sure that everyone we listen to feels heard?

I’m thinking about space today. Not necessarily the physical kind, although that is quite real. More like the, “Is there room enough for my voice in this conversation” kind of space. Or larger still, “is there room enough for me in this world?”

We live in a pluralistic society (or at least one that says it aims to be that way), and yet there are still many people who feel unseen, unheard, unknown, and ultimately undone. Their existence is taken for granted, and their work unrecognized even with the smallest of acknowledgements.

Towards the end of his life Harold Cromer, a tap dancer and performing artists with a vast and long career in the entertainment industry, talked a lot about there being no room at all. His experience of being blocked from reaching his fullest potential as a performer was real. He reasoned it was because the business only had capacity for one “leading man” or “leading lady” or “top banana” or “world famous comedy duo.” If you happened to be the person who filled that space you had it made. It that wasn’t you…well, your journey was going to be a lot harder.

With the consolidation of the market into a few digital platforms it has felt to me that everything is shrinking. While the promise of digital is growth, and expansion, and reach, it seems as if there are less gatekeepers, fewer marketplaces, and less room.

Wondering what making space would look like in our current context?