Selfless

A little less self, a little more selfless, a little more self to give.

The selfie obsession reached a new low this week when a family placed their child in an 800-year-old coffin at a museum in Britain for a photo op, damaged the artifact, and then left without a word. Of course, closed-circuit television cameras caught them in the act. Somehow, this story seems to encapsulate so much of this era in a nutshell. A little less self, a little more selfless, perhaps?

So much of public discourse of late seems to revolve around the self -- what I deserve, what I have lost or sacrificed, what I know to be true, what I was told, how I perceive the world, how I defend what I said or did, who I see as lesser than myself or greater than myself. So much is said and done and believed to be true without thoughtful reflection of or engagement in the perspective and experience of others. Somehow the foundation of working for the common good has been badly shaken, and we continue to dig in our heels. Maybe, a little less self, a little more selfless?

Our public discourse might be far more civil, if we first thought of how every word and deed might effect the other before we spoke and acted. Isn't this what we have been trying to teach our children all along? I have told my girls dozens of times over the years:

"You are no more or less worthy than anyone else. You don't have to like everybody, but you must treat everybody with basic respect. Period. And, remember that each individual has a personal story that makes them who he or she is. Try to understand and it will be far easier to be gracious."*

The message remains true for me as much as them. A little less self, a little more selfless.

For me, the bottom line is that the health of our society depends on sacrifice of self for the common good. The needs of many are great in communities no matter where you live and nothing is more common among all of us than the desire to have the essential needs met of those we love most. Anything less must certainly be a moral failing in light of our nation's economic and political standing in the world. A little less self, a little more selfless.

So, I am turning this mantra over in my head, a meditation of sorts. I might even call it a personal mission statement. Of course, I mix up my wants and needs on a regular basis. I rant. I rave. I know, if you know what I mean. I dig in my heels, too. I am working on it though, step by step. A little less self, a little more selfless, a lot more self to give.

Want 

Carrie Fountain

The wasps outside
the kitchen window
are making that
thick, unraveling sound
again, floating in
and out of the bald head
of their nest,
seeming not to move
while moving,
and it has just occurred
to me, standing,
washing the coffeepot,
watching them hang
loosely in the air-thin
wings; thick, elongated
abdomens; sad, down-
pointing antennae-
that this
is the heart’s constant
project: this simple
learning; learning
how to hold
hopelessness
and hope together;
to see on the unharmed
surface of one
the great scar
of the other; to recognize
both and to make
something of both;
to desire everything
and nothing
at once and to desire it
all the time;
and to contain that desire
fleshly, in a body;
to wash it and rest it
and feed it; to learn
its name and from whence
it came; and to speak
to it-oh, most of all
to speak to it-
every day, every day,
saying to one part,
“Well, maybe this is all
you get,” while saying
to the other, “Go on,
break it open, let it go.”

*Don't get me wrong as I also clearly communicated that abusive and bullying behavior is never to be tolerated!

Trash

One woman's trash is another's treasure.

I have a penchant for old things and am more than happy to scour secondhand and vintage stores for unique goods. Since my parents arrived from war torn Germany with little but a suitcase, and family heirlooms are few and far between, I think I like the link to the past that old finds provide. And, since manufactured items all look the same in stores today, I appreciate the distinctive dress from a consignment shop still with the tags on or the solid hardwood table from the used furniture store with nary a scratch. Yes, one woman's trash is another's treasure.

Of course, this wasn't always the case. I grew up in a working class family with six children in a Midwestern community of mostly middle to upper income professional families. Hand me downs and Goodwill outfits were a staple in my life. I am not complaining, but I would be lying that it wasn't a sharp contrast and difficult pill to swallow when I was also around peers who got brand new cars for their 16th birthday. 

And, thrifting back then wasn't chic like thrifting is today. I remember leaving Goodwill bathed in an aroma of must and mold and feeling dirty and a sense of shame. I hate to admit this as I have grandparents that barely scraped by in the Great Depression and parents that knew hunger, violence, and fear all too well as children in WWII. I give myself a break as I was only a child then. Now, the values of basic respect for food and monetary goods still form part of the foundation of my being. A penny saved is a penny earned after all.

More importantly, I must remind myself that in a world of over seven billion people, I am among the wealthiest and most privileged. This is due, in part, to my good fortune of being born in the United States. In part, this is also due to the work ethic instilled by my parents and the life my husband and I have worked very hard to create over many years. As such, I try to be a good steward of what luck and hard work provided. 

Since we moved into Nara in June, I have been slowly working my way around the yard, clearing out beds, walkways, and underneath bushes and trees of weeds, sticks, debris, and undergrowth. In the process (and I am so far from done), I have been shocked at the trash I have found scattered throughout the property. I decided to keep a list of items, many broken, that I have unearthed:

• Baseball bat
• Two arrows
• Numerous Lego pieces
• Multiple pens and pencils
• Rusty nails and screws of all sizes
• Hammer handle
• Two metal posts
• Nylon string in blue, yellow, red and white
• Birdhouse
• Dart
• Plastic toy shovel
• Canadian and American coins
• Numerous plastic drink bottles (hate those things!)
• Pieces of glass
• Duffel bag
• Aluminum cans
• Bricks
• Sock
• Balls of all shapes and sizes
• A dog's chew toys
• Various metal plates and parts
• Barbie accessories
• Plastic caps, ties, pieces and gizmos in every color

I have no idea where all this stuff came from. One way or the other, it was trashed. And one of my all time pet peeves is how people treat the earth like a trash can. I don't understand how someone can just throw a cigarette butt out the car window or refuse to recycle a water bottle or toss a half eaten sandwich into a landfill without a second thought. 

I am a product of the US Forest Service's campaign to protect the environment with the Woodsy Owl motto, "Give a hoot -- don't pollute!" I clearly remember the programming in elementary school in the 1970s. As a result, I am a big proponent of environmental stewardship, including recycling, composting and thrifting. After all, one woman's trash is another woman's treasure only when donated.

In the Basement of the Goodwill Store

Ted Kooser

In the musty light, in the thin brown air

of damp carpet, doll heads and rust,

beneath long rows of sharp footfalls

like nails in a lid, an old man stands

trying on glasses, lifting each pair

from the box like a glittering fish

and holding it up to the light

of a dirty bulb. Near him, a heap

of enameled pans as white as skulls

looms in the catacomb shadows,

and old toilets with dry red throats

cough up bouquets of curtain rods.

You've seen him somewhere before.

He's wearing the green leisure suit

you threw out with the garbage,

and the Christmas tie you hated,

and the ventilated wingtip shoes

you found in your father's closet

and wore as a joke. And the glasses

which finally fit him, through which

he looks to see you looking back—

two mirrors which flash and glance—

are those through which one day

you too will look down over the years,

when you have grown old and thin

and no longer particular,

and the things you once thought

you were rid of forever

have taken you back in their arms.