Why Life Is (and Isn't) Like Labyrinth

I’m moving. All my stuff is moving. Some people and places I love are not moving. That’s hard.  

This isn’t the first time I’ve made a move like this, but this one has made me think. About home. About my choices. And kind of randomly (but maybe not) about the movie Labyrinth.

                                                     

When I was a kid I loved this show. If you haven’t seen it, I’m sorry, but it’s probably too late. This 80’s gem is one of those things that requires a heavy cloud of nostalgia to appreciate. If you’re an adult watching it for the first time you’ll probably be confused at best and more than likely quite disturbed.

The plot is pretty simple: David Bowie plays a goblin king who steals a baby and tries to seduce a 15-year-old named Sarah (Jennifer Connelly). Yes. I know. But through the rose colored glasses of a pre-CGI childhood, it’s a pretty fantastic show.

As a child I think I was drawn to this film mostly because I lived about 90% of my life in my own imagination. And there was the whole goblins plus Cinderella thing…and the giant red gorilla guy who calls the rocks…and the muppet/monster dance numbers…I could go on, but I think you get the idea. I admit that I still let myself get immersed in the escapist side of the movie, but after navigating a few twists and turns of life myself, I can also see how Labyrinth applies to the tangles of reality. In the movie, the girl only fulfills her quest because she learns two important lessons:

1. Being selfish is not cool. Having friends (both real and imaginary) is cool.

2. No one really has power over you. You get to decide what you’ll be.

Totally applicable to life as a thirty-something PhD student, right? Of course none of us learn these life lessons all at once. Each twist and turn is important. We make bad choices and good choices, we learn who to trust and who not to trust, we get lost, we get distracted, but eventually we figure some stuff out.

  

The twists, turns, and dead ends can be frustrating, and some are terrifying, but struggling to find my path has given me a better perspective on what I know and what I don’t.

Recently, Sahar, a friend from Palestine, taught me that part of the getting through this mess is realizing that even though we only see this much of the labyrinth,

                                                           God sees the whole thing.

When we’re lost, we can ask him for directions. Sometimes he’ll send a layout of everything, but more often than not, he just lights the way for a few more steps and sees if we’ll muster enough faith to move forward. When we do, more light comes. My friend has seen this pattern in her life again and again, and I’ve started to notice it in mine, too. Though my journey has been relatively smooth compared to hers, I am grateful we both know how to pray when we’re stuck in a corner.

And in the parts without corners.

And when the whole labyrinth changes completely.

In fact, some labyrinths aren't like the ones in the movies at all. A few years ago, in Chartres, France I discovered one. It was in a garden and, on a whim, I decided to walk through it. I quickly realized that this kind of labyrinth requires a different approach than the typical corn maze.  

Take a look.

Notice that there’s only one connected path in the whole thing. It’s impossible to get lost. If you walk this labyrinth, you aren’t going to get stuck after a wrong turn. But you can't take any shortcuts (unless you cheat, but let's say you don't). And sometimes you might think you are really close to the end only to discover that you still have a long way to go. 

The point of it all is not finding the path, but simply staying on it.

The older I get, the more I’m convinced that some parts of life are a confusing maze full of trial and error (dating?), but others are a test of endurance.

Faith is that kind of labyrinth.

Choosing the Way is a one time deal. Choosing to keep going is an everyday battle.

Sometimes it’s not easy. Sometimes I want to give up.

I don't though. Like 15 year-old Sarah, I know I can’t.

Too much is at stake, in my own future and in the future of others.

So I go on.

Luckily I don’t have to do it alone. I have friends on the path. The path itself is my friend.

Always there. Always leading me on.

I’m not saying I’ve got it all figured out, and I certainly don’t condemn anyone who chooses a different path. I think testing different paths is an important part of the journey. I’m still testing the one I’m on, and I know that despite the simplicity of the path, I’ll still have days where I need to go just a few steps at a time. I know I’ll even question and doubt the path, but I won't abandon it.

Every now and then I get glimpses of home. And that is enough for now.

Why Points Aren't the Point: A Rant About My Writing Class

Recently, before starting an in-class writing assignment, a student asked: “Is this worth any points on our grade?

 

I knew what the student was really asking was:

 “How much effort do I need to make?”

And also, “Why should I do this?”

I wanted to answer, “Does it matter?”

And to be honest, I’ve been musing about the answer to that question ever since.

Knowing if something matters is important, and the following questions might help any student (or teacher) put assignments into perspective:

“What are you here for?” (Not just “here” at college, but “here” in the world. What are your goals?)

“Do you intend to be successful?”

“What does 'success' mean for you?”

• “Is it getting a job that makes you lots of money?”
• “Is it having close, meaningful relationships with other human beings?”
• “Is it becoming the best version of your self?”

“Do writing assignments connect to these goals?”

Honestly, many of my students don’t see a connection between everyday writing assignments and their success in life. And even if they do see a connection between writing and their future, it’s hard for them to see the point of writing something right now.

Part of this is my fault. For a long time I have relied heavily on grades/points as a temporary way to get students to take assignments seriously enough to put some effort into them.

But I’ve also found that grading can skew students’ view of what is valuable and what is not.

The fact is, if students are only working for a grade, they may be getting points, but they’re missing the point.

In some ways, a student who constantly asks “Do I get points for this?” is like a basketball player who questions the purpose of dribbling, running, defending, passing, or rebounding. It’s true that in basketball the only thing you actually get points for is making baskets. But anyone who knows anything about the game knows that if you don’t dribble, run, defend, pass, or rebound, you aren’t playing basketball. It’s not just about baskets, and it’s not just about individual performance.

And neither is getting an education.

So, instead of answering “Am I getting points for this?”, I’d like to put down in writing the answer to “Why should I do this?” for every future writing student I’ll ever have.

Why write?

Writing is an amazing technology.

Humans have used writing for so long that we often forget just how incredible it is.

We forget that the main reason why we’ve evolved so rapidly and dominated every other species on the planet is largely because we could pass on not only our genes, but also our understanding of the world to future generations. We do this through words. Through writing, the ancient Greeks, Chinese, Arabs, and other civilizations passed down a wealth of powerful information on mathematics, health, politics, religion, and every other aspect of life. Without the written word the arts, sciences, and other fields of knowledge would all be much smaller, and humans in general would be far more isolated and ignorant.

And writing isn’t just valuable for societies and cultures; it is significant to individuals, and will be a major factor in anyone’s success.

Want proof?

Try to find a job description for employment that pays over $40,000 a year that does not require “excellent written and verbal communication skills.” Not just passable skills mind you, excellent skills. 

Ask successful people about their jobs.

What do top engineers spend most of their time doing? Math? No. Writing.

What do lawyers do? What do teachers do? What do the richest business executives do? A lot of things, but they’ll all tell you that they couldn’t function without one specific tool: writing.

Still skeptical?

Try to go through your day without using e-mail, or reading/writing any other written communication.

And let’s not forget about writing’s growing influence on personal relationships.

One in four couples meet online. That number will likely increase over time. What does that mean? It means that not only your future job, but also your ability to attract a future mate can depend on how clearly you can construct a sentence.

Wanna get a hot date? Better learn to punctuate.

Also…did you ever notice that when you’re doing all the little writing prompts I assign in class that I do them too? Did it ever occur to you that I want and need to get better at writing? Would I expect to get better at writing just by watching someone else do it or reading about how to do it? Obviously not. If I want to get better at writing I need to do it myself, and I need to do it a lot.

And if I want you to get better at writing, the best way I’ve found to do it is to make you write. A lot. Every chance I get, in fact.

So, let’s go back to the original question:

Are you getting graded on every thing I tell you to write? No.

Are you turning it in? No.

Is it worth points? No.

Is it still worth doing?

You tell me.

I Am Losing It

Normally I’m pretty good at losing things.

I lose my keys at least once a day. I lose files on my laptop. I lose handouts for my classes. I often wonder if I’m losing my mind.

But there’s one thing that I actually want to lose and can’t.

Me.

In fact, if you knew me well, you’d know that I’ve been trying to lose myself for a long, long time.

It’s not that I haven’t tried.

I can tell you all about the things in myself that I’d like to get rid of. Maybe you can relate.

Maybe you’d also like to lose a self that is a little too different, too fat, too white, too awkward, too stiff, too eccentric, too quiet, too isolated, too easily overwhelmed, etc. etc.

But it turns out that rejecting yourself is not the same as losing yourself.

And I know I am supposed to lose myself.

I was raised with the example of Gordon B. Hinckley, a man I consider a prophet, and his life is summed up by this simple sentence:

“Forget yourself and go to work.”

I’ve also found evidence of the idea of losing myself in scripture.

Christ said: “He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.” (Matthew 10:39)

But I can’t seem to do it.

I can’t seem to forget my self.

And I’ve always had a hard time understanding how losing my life is going to help me find it.

I suppose I’ve been terrified that if I did lose my self/ my life that I wouldn’t get it back. That I would go from having a flawed self/life to having nothing at all.

So I’ve worked for a long time to find a self/life worth losing.

And I’ve mostly relied on outside sources –grades, acceptance from friends, awards, authority figures, etc.—to let me know if I was good enough yet.

I’ve done well: good grades, awards, scholarships, praise, etc., etc.

But I’ve never felt it was enough.

Oddly, even right after winning an award, I’ve often felt more disconnected and alone than ever.

And lately I’ve begun to have a new worry: I’m running out of time.

My body is getting older and less attractive.

My ability to get attention or praise from others is only going to decrease.

What do I do?

To be honest, I’m still figuring it out, but here’s what I know so far:

1. I am not as happy as I want to be.

2. I need to figure out how to lose my self to find happiness.

And here’s the one I’m still working on:

3. Doing it.

The good news is, I know my options:

1. Be self-ish. 

2. Be self-less.

What do I mean by this?

1. Be self-ish.

For a long time I honestly didn’t think I could be selfish because I wasn’t rich or cool enough. Selfish people are stuck-up snobs, not miserable self-doubters, right? But I’ve learned that anyone can be selfish.

 It doesn’t matter what you think about yourself, all that matters is that you consistently think more about your self than anything else. Your self becomes your life. Your self becomes your god.

At first being selfish seems to be simply a matter of survival. We have to take care of ourselves.
But sometimes I think I confuse the part of me that really needs to survive (my body and soul) with the part of me that is just an image of those things. And how many people actually destroy their bodies and souls just to build an image?

[Insert picture of favorite/least favorite child celebrity here.]

How much time and energy do I spend on Facebook and even face-to-face social gatherings trying to project an image of a worthy self?

Is my profile really who I really am?

Or is my self something else?

Oddly enough, I had to go to a celebrity for the answer.

A while ago, Thandie Newton, a beautiful and successful actress, gave a lovely TED Talk about embracing others and embracing herself. For Newton, the journey to losing her self began when she realized that she was most happy when she was least aware of her self.
It turns out that being less aware of your self means you can be more aware of everything else.

Which brings me to option #2: Be self-less.

Sounds easy, right? But it’s not. One of my other favorite speakers is Brene Brown. (If you’re not familiar with her excellent TED talks see: http://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability and http://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_listening_to_shame)

Like me (and many others), Brene Brown was spending a lot of time looking for ways to protect and project her self, but instead she found that the people who were happiest and most connected to others were those who “were willing to let go of who they thought they should be in order to be who they were.”

Instead of trying to build a self that is “worthy” Brown recommends that we look at ourselves, our children, and everyone else and say:

"You know what? You're imperfect, and you're wired for struggle, but you are worthy of love and belonging."

Not worthy of love and belonging after we “prove” our worth, but worthy of love and belonging right now.

And this is the secret of selflessness.

Instead of focusing on building a perfect self with no weaknesses, instead of trying to make a life for our selves, the self-less option invites us to open up, reach out, and get to work serving others.

That is what losing our selves means. That is what losing our lives means.

And that is what I think Christ meant when he said that if we lose our lives for him (which is basically another way of saying open up, reach out, and get to work serving others), we will find our lives.

And as we find our lives, I also think we find we can love whatever self we have to live with.

So here’s where I’m at as of now:

I admit that I’m not who I want be yet.
I admit that I'm still afraid of losing my self.

But I’m going to try harder to stop hiding my self.

I’m going to allow her to do what she can do and learn from what she can’t.

I will lose her, but it won’t kill me.

I’ll keep living, and one day, I hope to welcome my self back with open arms.

Until then I’ll just love her wherever she is.

You Are What You Crave

Cravings are interesting things.

Before living in Seoul, Korea I was not a fan of spicy food.

I had never had any food that remotely prepared me for the experience of eating kimchi.

For those of you who haven’t tried it, try to imagine eating a mixture of sauerkraut, seafood, and really hot peppers. And garlic, lots of garlic.

Try to imagine eating it with everything, all day, every day.

Bascially, to survive in Seoul you need to know that kimchi is not part of the Korean diet, it IS the Korean diet.

Some who visit Seoul claim you can almost be knocked over by the smell of kimchi as soon as you get off the plane. I don’t remember having this experience, but I do remember getting on a subway car around dinnertime and feeling almost suffocated by the strong smell coming from every passenger. I plugged my nose and prayed that the car would go faster. I vowed to avoid the subway from 5 p.m. to 7 p.m.

But there was really no way I could avoid kimchi. During my first week in Seoul I had the opportunity to visit several Korean families and my American friends made it clear to me that if I didn’t want to offend my hosts, I had better eat lots of kimchi, and I had better look like I liked it.

I quickly learned that each family had their own “special” recipe with flavors ranging from mild-and-tangy to tears-and-snot hot.

I tried cucumber kimchi, radish kimchi, white kimchi, old kimchi, fresh kimchi, and pretty soon I was hooked.

In less than two months I went from plugging my nose in the subway to having my mouth start to water as soon as I caught even the faintest whiff of the spicy, fermented concoction. If I am ever pregnant, I hope we live near a Korean market because I am certain that my husband will have to do a kimchi run at least once a week.

My food cravings were forever altered by my time in Seoul, but recently I’ve noticed that this phenomenon isn’t limited to kimchi.

About a month ago I started a new exercise routine.

Everyday Monday through Friday my roommate and I wake up early and go to the gym.

We work out for about 45 minutes and then come home.

It’s been nice to see my body start to tone up.

It’s been nice to go up stairs and be slightly less out of breath than before.

And it’s been nice to not crave salt and sugar so much.

I look at desserts now and a treadmill appears in my mind.

Do I really want to have to do the work to burn that off?

I look at my dinner and I find that I want the healthy stuff. I’m actually craving good carbs, veggies, and fruits. And surprisingly I crave meat less and less.

So what does this mean?

Well the obvious message is that our cravings can change, but lately I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want from life, and I’ve begun to wonder if I haven’t been doing things a little backwards.

For most of my life I’ve been focused on trying to find what I want.

I’ve tried to find the right job, the right man, the right clothes, the right…everything.

But now I think that maybe what I really need to do is to stop trying to find what I want and to teach myself to crave what I need.

I’ve started to look at my everyday actions:

What is my mental diet?

What is on my daily “to do” list?

What relationships are the strongest/weakest?

If my physical cravings are influenced by diet and exercise, wouldn’t it make sense that my mental and emotional cravings (i.e. the desires of my heart) would also be influenced by my daily choices?

Wouldn’t it make sense that the people, places, and things I’m attracted to; the attention and praise that I seek; and all the other sources of my motivation could change depending on what I choose to let into my mind and heart each day?

I suppose the real question is not “What do I want?” but “What do I want to become?”

The real goal is not to find my life, but to choose my life, and to make it easier to choose what is best by teaching myself to crave healthy, good things.
So, what is my real purpose in life?

For me, it’s basically summed up by the following:

I am a daughter of God.

I was sent here to learn and to prove that I would choose good instead of evil.

Fortunately for me, God wants me to succeed, and so he gave me commandments.

In many ways God’s commandments are like diet and exercise.

Just like eating kimchi and going to the gym, living and keeping the commandments can change cravings, too.

I know this from personal (though imperfect) experience.

As I have followed God’s commandments I have felt my desire to serve, love, have patience, pray, study, and work hard increase.

As I have followed God’s commandments I have found my desire to watch a lot of TV, waste time online, or spend too much money start to decrease.

A prophet named Alma once compared this process to planting a seed. He said:

“Now, we will compare the word unto a seed. Now, if ye give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if ye do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breasts; and when you feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves—It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me.” (Alma 32:28)

So we see that the gospel of Christ, like kimchi, is an acquired taste. But the benefits go beyond deliciousness. Alma also taught:

“...plant this word in your hearts, and as it beginneth to swell even so nourish it by your faith. And behold, it will become a tree, springing up in you unto everlasting life. And then may God grant unto you that your burdens may be light, through the joy of his Son. And even all this can ye do if ye will.” (Alma 33:23)

All this I can do…if I will.

And so my goal is no longer just to keep the commandments, but to crave them.

To have God’s word become as delicious as my favorite food.

To have “going the extra mile” be a daily part of my exercise routine.

To become what I want to be, and to want to be what I become.

I know my cravings won’t change overnight, but hey, if I can learn to eat kimchi, I’m pretty sure I can learn to do just about anything.

Why Stories Can Make You Stop Being Mean

A few weeks ago I found a TED Talk called “Does Money Make You Mean?” and, I know this may come as a surprise to some of you, but the answer is: yes, money can make you meaner.

Science has proven that Robin Hood was justified. 

You can (and should) watch the entire talk (see link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bJ8Kq1wucsk), but here’s a summary of the findings:

In several experiments researchers discovered that rich people (even if they were only “richer” because they had more play money than another player in a game of Monopoly) tended to be ruder and more prideful than poorer people.

Rich people consumed more.

Rich people were more likely to lie, steal, and cheat.

Rich people were less likely to share.

Rich people were less likely to stop so a pedestrian could cross the road.

Astonished? I didn’t think so.

But this talk didn’t just bash on rich people. The speaker made me aware of at least two critical points that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about:

1. We are all rich in some way or another. Though we often focus on how much less we have (or how much less we can do) than others, the truth is, we are all more advantaged in some way than someone else. We are all susceptible to meanness. We are all tempted to lie, steal, and cheat to get ahead.

This thought led me to point number two:

      2. We all need something to help us overcome this tendency to be mean. But what could that be?  

Legislation? Government programs? Electroshock therapy? More prayers?

While any of these solutions might address part of the problem, there is a simple solution that costs almost nothing, and creates a huge difference: stories.

Sound crazy? Too easy?

Maybe. But maybe not.

As I’ve thought about this I’ve asked myself many questions.

Which people have changed the world in significant ways? How did they accomplish so much?

What are major religions and ideologies of the world? How have they lasted so long?

What stories do I know? Are there any specific examples of these stories making a difference? 

I thought of at least one. You’ve probably heard it; it’s the one called “The Good Samaritan.” This story was originally told by a carpenter who lived in poverty most of his life. And yet, almost all people in the world today—even those who don’t believe his story about being the Son of God-- know his story. And there are thousands of people who try to live differently because of his story every day.

Now, to be fair, the TED Talk doesn’t actually mention stories. In fact, I don’t think the speaker ever even says the word “story,” but I believe the same researchers who proved that rich people tend to be meaner also proved that stories could help rich people to be nicer. If you go to about 13:50 in the talk, Paul Piff explains a simple experiment that worked like this: a research team showed test subjects a short video on childhood poverty and then, about an hour later, put the same subject in a situation where they had the chance to help someone else.

The results? After rich people watched the video--after they were reminded of the story of others around them--they were just as likely to serve others as anyone else.

And I find that amazing.

This made me wonder two more things:

1. What stories am I hearing?
2. What stories am I telling?

A lot of the stories I hear are religious. I have been told my entire life to “study the scriptures,” and because I am LDS, that means studying the Bible, Book of Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants, Pearl of Great Price, and also the words of modern prophets.

But what I now realize is that what I’ve really been asked to do is to allow stories to change me. I've been told to read stories over and over again so that I don’t forget the people around me. 

Incidentally, those scriptures tell me to not only “study the best books…and seek learning” but also to teach others “words of wisdom” (Doctrine and Covenants 109:7). 

So it’s not enough to just hear good stories.

I need to tell good stories, too.

What are these “good stories”?

As an English teacher I know a lot about form, structure, rhetorical strategies, etc., etc., and I believe all of these tools can contribute to effective storytelling. But I also believe that how I say something doesn’t matter much unless what I have to say is linked to truth.

Truths like:

Every person is important.
Every life has purpose.
No one is ever completely alone.
Anyone can make a difference.
Each human’s worth is eternal; it can’t be measured with material stuff.

But do I have publish the stories on a blog or speak at a TED Conference to make a difference? No. Obviously I support blogging and TED Talks (this very post proves that), but I think the most important stories we tell are the ones we tell ourselves.

And I have to admit that I don’t always tell myself good stories.

I don’t always tell myself that I’m important, that my life has purpose, that I’m not alone, that I can make a difference, and that my worth is eternal.

But I’m going to do better.

Today, I’m going to tell myself a good story.

And if I run into you, I’ll try to tell you a good story, too.

And maybe, if we all tell good stories, the whole world can be a little nicer.