Hello, All.

When Liz and I first began “What is Worth Knowing” in March 2007, we aimed to write together. However, I guess that I had so much to write and share that the blog became more personal than I originally thought it would.

SO, I’ve switched over to a new blog to continue my personal musings. You can find “A Walk in the World” at www.awalkintheworld.blogspot.com

My hope is to continue writing here with Liz, so do check back here periodically.

See you soon.

Kelly

Recently, I listened to a 50 something year old man spout off about his annoyance with the “new” generation and its feelings of entitlement. “They” expect instant results with everything, don’t understand the value of hard work and patience, want the wealth and success of their parents now, and are sometimes ruthless in their attempts to achieve these things.

My first reaction upon hearing his vitriolic monologue was to defend these “youngsters”. In fact, the group about which he speaks isn’t that much younger than me…they’re in their early twenties and are taking the workforce by storm. However, the more I meditated on his words, the more I thought that he spoke some truth.

Over the years, I have worked with this generation through teaching. My interactions with them have been relatively positive, except that I have been continually shocked by their lack of work ethic and amazement when quick advancement does not rain down easily upon them. Still, I chalked most of it up to youth and thought no more about it.

However, now that I am interacting with them on another level, the workplace, I find them to be arrogant and, at times, disrespectful towards those possessing more experience than they.

In an effort to determine if my encounters were localized, I’ve checked in with my friends and family across the country about this generation. Were their experiences the same? Was I imagining it or not seeing them clearly?

What I learned is that most older people view them the same way as me and cite several reasons for the arrogance and aggressiveness: my father sees them as having grown up with a better economy under which families didn’t have to sacrifice as often as those did before the Clinton era. A friend of mine calls them the “video game” generation, having been molded by games which bring about quick results and encouraging even more demanding expectations of life’s experiences. Another labels them as the “instant” generation, citing the fact that they never had to wait for anything…many were given cell phones at an early age, credit cards, too. It is a generation which is used to instant access to everything, including information. Their demands for instant success and wealth follow what they’ve been taught by society at large.

A friend of mine, who is 23, said to me recently, “Is there anything really wrong with wanting instant results? I mean, am I wrong to want nice things now and not wait until I’m 50 to get them?” His comments made me pause, and I came to conclude that he has a very valid point.

There is NOTHING wrong with wanting the success and wealthy of our parents *today*. However, there is value in struggling for them today.

I think struggling for the things you want develops character and backbone. As my yoga teacher, Michael, used to say, “If everything was easy, what would it be worth?” Gabbow, my 82 year old grandmother, often remarks that “kids today don’t know the value of hard work or struggle. They want everything to be easy, but life is not designed to be easy.” She is horrified that most young people today are in debt over their heads and don’t seem to want to work to make things right.

The older I get, the more I agree with Gabs. Life isn’t easy. There is struggle and there are many things we can’t control. However, we can approach the process with patience, humility and grace. We can learn to respect those who have already walked the paths we find ourselves walking today. Sure, we might be able to walk it more quickly, but what might we miss if we speed by *too* quickly?

Here’s something to mull over or pose to friends and family next you get together:

If you could bring someone back to life for 60 seconds, who would it be and what would you ask him or her?

I’ve been thinking it over myself and I just don’t know who I’d choose. Anxious to learn who you would and why.

I really adore the city of Chicago. Architecturally, it fascinates me. Socially, it’s incredibly vibrant and energetic. Culturally, there’s so much to do and see. I am never disappointed when I visit.

Armed with my sister’s camera, I’ve been capturing the city’s shadows and angles all day long. I’ve always been fascinated by how light moves across buildings and how they, in turn, were built to accommodate the light. The photographs I take of the land and architecture always come out better than those I take of people. I wonder why? Perhaps it is because people’s faces change too quickly for my finger to capture them? Justin, who is very good at snapping faces, has much to teach me on this point, and I am anxious to learn.

The day began with a stroll down Michigan Avenue with Gabs and ended with dinner at a great local Italian restaurant. Cruising towards Millenium Park with Gabbow and Manna, I was reminded of the diversity that urban environments offer. In fact, my hunch is that one city block in Chicago has more diversity of race and religion than in all of Montana. Once at Millenium Park, I marveled at Cloud Gate (aka The Bean), which was designed by an Indian architect and attracks throngs of people to its mirrored surfaces.

After I snapped about a gazillion pictures, we headed off to our architectural boat tour of Chicago. I learned such juicy tidbits about Chicago from our guide, Kate. For example, did you know that the Chicago River was once considered toxic? They’ve cleaned it up considerably now, proudly boasting the label “polluted”. Riigghhtt. However, the river’s pollution is not recent. It dates well back to the 19th century when all the factories lining the river dumped their waste into it. Even during the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, the river ignited itself in two different locations due to its toxicity.

Here’s another interesting tidbit for you. The city’s nickname of “The Windy City” has nothing to do with wind patterns but politics. Apparently, during the 1893 bid for the World’s Fair, Chicago’s politicians lobbied for it so heartily that they were referred to as “windbags”, hence the city’s nickname. I don’t know if I buy the explanation completely, but I like it.

After that, we went up to the 96th floor of the Hancock building and then zoomed home to ease Gabs into a much needed nap. This allowed Manna and I to stroll around her neighborhood, swapping tales and catching up on each other’s lives. Highlights? Getting introduced to “Smores”, a little dog fish at the Old Towne Aquarium, popping into a wine store for an impromptu tasting, and meeting her lawyer “friend”, Jeff. He was nice but I couldn’t see him with Manna long term. Immediately after leaving him at a lakeside party, I turned to Manna and said, “Cookie”. She agreed.

I want her to be happy. She wants to be happy. Perhaps the answer for some of this yearning in her heart for a family and partner who “gets her” resides in Cookie. Time will tell.

The point, then, is to count our blessings and good fortune when it finds us, as well as to drop the attachments and baggage which prevent us from embracing the right person when he or she materializes.

This is my wish for my sister.

Pazienza. Pazienza. Pazienza. My mantra for today was “patience”, and I spent a great deal of time breathing in “love” and breathing out “patience”. I believe the practice saved my sanity.

All I will say is this: the drive is beginning to take its toll on me. As Gati told me last night, “Do you realize you drove 600 miles in one day?!” It’s not something I think about while I’m driving, but hearing her say it really packed a punch. Let’s see…I drove 13 hours the first day and another 13 the second day. Today was another long day, having driven for approx. 8 hours and through the remnants of Chicago rush hour traffic. I’m plum tuckered out! ‘Tis hard to be the one doing all the driving and navigating. At times, I found myself wishing for someone to take over the wheel, as Gabbow doesn’t really drive anymore nor should she. Well, she especially shouldn’t drive in Chicago! Imagine, if you will, six lanes of gridlocked cars, packed in tighter than sardines in a can, and you’d have a good idea of the situation this evening during our approach to the downtown area. It was insane! Cities are great fun, but I never miss their traffic when I’m away from them.

When I turned the corner to Manna’s street, we found her prancing like a little horse in front of her new apartment, anxious to show it off. It’s so GREAT! Totally her and it’s been rather enjoyable to see her style come out to play on the walls of her apartment and in the furniture she’s chosen for herself. It’s a great space - lots of exposed ceiling beams and brick. Also adding to the character of the place is the fact that it used to be a factory for Dr. Scholl’s. The space was constructed in 1906 and the staircase near Manna’s apartment is occupied by a little ghost with a penchant for cherry lollipops. We “communed” with him this evening, and I had my sister introduce herself to him so that she could actually use the staircase without fear.

I really love my grandmother, but I’m looking forward to taking a day off from driving tomorrow and to “sharing” Gabs with Manna. It’s becoming challenging to care for her and make sure she has everything she needs while also trying to drive and navigate at the same time, not to mention take care of myself. Beginning the day with running has allowed me the decompression that I need in order to function later in the day.

Along these lines, Justin has encouraged me lately to tend to my knees so that we can run together in years to come. He’s right. I can’t afford to abuse them and must change how I’m running now in order to ensure that I can continue to run in the future. Buying a new pair of running shoes will help, but I also must change how I strike the ground. This is where Chi Running comes in to play. My dear friend, Ramadan, first introduced the concept to me, even sending me the book, but I never read it. BUT, guess what I’ll be tackling upon arrival in OH?!

I encourage you all to check it out and to let me know how you find it.

After running 4 miles this morning in support of Justin’s upcoming 1/2 marathon, I find myself keen to try one of my own. I so love running, and I’m delighted that it’s taking Justin by storm, too.

I can’t wait to show him all the great running paths in DC and log some mileage with him.

Soon enough.

Soon enough.

Sigh. I did something today that I didn’t think was actually possible: I left Missoula behind in order to begin a new chapter in my life. Jamie Kelly, friend and writer for the Missoulian, once told me that perhaps one of the saddest sights one could experience was that of Missoula in the rear view mirror. He’s right. Hm. So, the thought is just a bit dramatic, but it’s honestly how I felt for the first few miles of my journey. Perhaps the only sight which could trump this feeling (and did) was that of Justin waving to me as I drove away.

The journey:

The plan is to drive from Missoula, Montana to Washington D.C., taking time to stop at little slices of Americana along the way. I’m estimating that it will take me about a week or so to do this. There’s good weather to be had and long days of sunlight, which will make this journey all the more enjoyable. Well, that and the fact that the car’s air conditioning has just been fixed. Like the Canterbury Tales, I won’t be traipsing across the country by myself but will be accompanied by my trusty steed, Bobby J, and my 82-year-old grandmother, affectionately known as Gabbow (aka Dollie). I’ve been away from home for so many years, that Gabs and I haven’t always had time to visit and, even though my dad was supposed to play navigator this trip, I feel blessed to have Gabs with me.

Bobby J is laden down with snacks (nothing frightens the yawns away faster than wasabi peanuts), my personal items and probably more books than I could possibly read during the trip, but their very presence soothes me, bibliophile that I am. Along these lines, I’ve decided to set the tone of our trip to Homer’s Iliad. I mean, what could be more perfect than listening to the drama of a great Greek war poem unfold??? As my friend Nat said to me when he found out about my little plan, “And you’re subjecting your 82-year-old grandmother to this situation? And, you say you love her?”

Well, Nat, if you’re reading this, I’m happy to report that Gabs has developed a bit of a fascination with Achilles, wondering outloud, “So, Achilles has weak heels because why?” Oh, and she can’t get enough of Agamemnon! Scout’s honest truth!

Highlights:

Battle of Little Bighorn

Gabs and I wandered around the site with what seemed like most of America. We saw where members of the 7th cavalry drew their last breath, where Custer himself had fallen (only to be removed later and interred at West Point), as well as where the members of the warring Indian tribes fought valiantly to defend their homes and land. I was struck most of all by the Native American peace memorial, which provided quotes from survivors and spoke of a need for peace in all battles. One prayer, in particular, gave me pause:

Before Peaceful
Behind Peaceful
Above Peaceful
Beyond Peaceful
Everywhere Peaceful

After soaking up this spot and the quiet there, we hopped back into the car to pursue Devils Tower.

Devils Tower was about an hour of the way, but we decided it was well worth the trip since the sight is so unusual. Rising 1267 feet above sea level, it rises sharply out of the Earth and beckons climbers to scale its sheer walls. Those of you who are movie buffs might also remember it from the movie “Close Encounters of a Third Kind”. The Native American story for its unusual shape goes something like this: a group of seven girls were being chased by bears when the Earth lifted them away from the bears’ claws and deposited them into the night sky, making up today’s constellation Pleiades.

Other than that, the day was comprised of chats with Gabs, usually about the landscape (”Look! It’s getting more and more level here.” or “Now this is remote!”) but also peppered with her thoughts on relationships. I asked her what she felt was the most important ingredient to a successful relationship and she simply stated, “Communication”. Apparently, my grandfather wasn’t the best at it, but, according to Gabs, talking just wasn’t expected between couples, especially those raised by parents from the “Old Country”.

I don’t think this will ever be a problem with Justin, as I tend to have the gift of the gab and wear my emotions on my sleeve. Still, it was hard for me to express to him just how I felt in leaving him behind in Missoula. I was sad but also excited for what awaits us in the future. There were no tears and few words, but I believe he knew exactly how I felt. Words seemed not only unneccessary but also limiting. I knew they would fall short of anything I could hope to express, so I chose to let my eyes speak for me instead.

Encountering and knowing Justin reminds me of a quote from Jung. He once said, “The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances; if there is any reaction, both are transformed.”

I have been transformed.

A few months ago, I traveled the pages of Milan Kundera’s The Joke, which was published on the eve of the Prague Spring in 1967 and eventually banned. I had read other works by him, as he is one of my favorite writers. Still, in this book, I came across a quote which struck me and deserves mention here.

“Do love stories, apart from happening, being, have something to say? For all my skepticism, I had clung to a few superstitions - the strange conviction, for example, that everything in life that happens to me has a sense beyond itself, means something, that life in its day-to-day events speaks to us about itself, that it gradually reveals a secret, that it takes the form of a rebus whose message must be deciphered, that the stories we live in life comprise the mythology of our lives and in that mythology lies the key to truth and mystery.

Is it all an illusion? Possibly, even probably, but I can’t seem to rid myself of the need to decipher my life continually.“

Today I watched a documentary about Thich Nhat Hanh entitled “Peace is Every Step”, and I was moved by the address he made to Vietnam veterans, who had come to see him, seeking healing and peace.

In a quiet way, Hanh stated that though 30+ years had passed since the beginning of the war, so many souls have not been diffused of the violence of war. He said, “The Vietnam war is not necessary… so many spend so much energy on this war..millions of people died…still there are a lot of mines not diffused yet…there are a lot of bombs which have not been diffused…bombs in our souls which have not been diffused…and we need to diffuse the bombs in our souls first.”

HE’S RIGHT.

In order to help others heal of trauma and suffering, we must first heal our own wounds. We must diffuse and disarm the bombs and weapons we have stockpiled within us. We must love and be kind to ourselves so that we can be loving and kind towards others.

Hanh stated that atrocities can be committed when we are totally possessed by fear, hatred and anxiety. So, by working to move away from these emotions and states of being, we not only liberate ourselves but also those around us.

NOW…how do we do this? Simply by moving inside and traversing the plains of our own souls. We breathe in “I have arrived” and breathe out “I am home”. We learn to truly see ourselves and to confront what we find. We learn to forgive…everyone, including ourselves. We learn to feel compassion. We become mindful of what we do and why.

Such a simple practice but challenging, too, because it takes time and patience. Still, isn’t it worth it?

In March, I went to the funeral of a woman I didn’t know, but she was someone I wish I *did* know. While she clearly lived a life in which she suffered tragedy and illness, she had a remarkable spirit. Her obituary made me laugh out loud with joy because she clearly LIVED! May I be able to say the same one day. You can read about her life below:

MISSOULA - On Saturday, March 24, 2007, Myrna P. Moon left a body pained by failing organs and set out on what she referred to as her “interesting journey.”

Myrna was born in the Garden City on Jan. 16, 1952, to Annamae Nimocks Moon, who died when Myrna was 7, and her father, Justice of the Peace John Moon.

Myrna struggled through her childhood. She attended Missoula County High School for a year and a half before the day came that she “walked in the front door, and out the back,” though she later completed her general equivalency diploma.

During her tumultuous teenage years, she hitchhiked from coast to coast. While hitching, she met Michael Lee Glenn in 1971, and they traveled to the French Quarter of New Orleans, where they conceived a daughter whom they named Kiomi Sunshine. They married in Missoula and soon had a boy, Jeremy John, before separating in 1978.

Myrna worked at Mammyth Bakery and lived with her children on the Northside of Missoula. They enjoyed walks by the river and time spent reading together. Myrna was the most loving of mothers, and the time she gave to her children was the foundation of the characters that they would build.

In 1982, Myrna met tree planter Daniel Reddish, with whom she lived in tepees and log cabins around Montana before building a house in the mountains near Philipsburg. With him, she bore a daughter and a son, Liberty Moon and Quinn Robert. While Daniel was traveling for his work, Myrna would often walk the five miles down the mountain to town for groceries, since she did not drive.

In 2000, Myrna and Daniel separated, and she returned to the Missoula she loved. She enjoyed writing poetry, listening to public radio, crocheting hats for friends, tracing her genealogy, and growing beautiful plants and flowers. She also loved to spend time with her children; her granddaughter, Lily; and other beloved relatives and friends.

Everyone who knew Myrna will affirm that she was a light in this valley, and to meet her was to be touched by her kind nature and the joy of her laugh. Not al knew of her struggles with depression and illness brought on by lupus that may have been present her entire life.

Myrna received tremendous help and inspiration from both WORD and Living Art, and in particular from friend and family advocate Tammy Adams.

Through these two organizations, she found a strong, expressive voice, and worked to overcome difficulties that would have stifled ones not as determined as she.

In 2006, she was presented with a Women of WORD Award and joined its board of directors. It is not enough to say she will be missed. Her gentle voice is echoed in the river that flows through Missoula, and her delightful smile is reflected in the moonrise.

In addition to her children and grandchild, Myrna is survived by sisters, Marsha Hauck and Janet Wentworth; nieces, Carmen Hauck and Noel Moon; stepsiblings, John and Clint Pearson and Candy Weisharr; sons-in-law, Scott Schweitz and Ray Barrows; and her calico cat, Inca.

Myrna has been cremated and a service for her memorial will be held at noon Saturday, March 31, at the SHEC Community Center, 1919 North Ave. W. in Missoula. Her family suggests memorials to WORD and Living Art.

In addition, an endowment has been established for her 17 year-old son Quinn through Gateway Community Federal Credit Union, attention Laura.

***

Here is one of the poems she wrote, entitled “I Dance”.

I Dance
in spite of the pain
I dance,
and stick out my tongue
like a Maori warrior
to thank all the troubles
I have.

In spite of the shame
I dance,
with grace as a teacher
shame turns to shine
reflecting the beauty within.

In spite of the fear,
I dance,
and put out my arms to fly,
and while I am flying
the anger, sadness, grief and
madness go gently spinning,
floating and spinning,
spinning,
and spinning away.

Jeannette Rankin (1880-1973), the first female legislator in both Montana and the Congress, is quoted as saying, “You no more win a war than you can win an earthquake.” I think there’s great wisdom in this statement, and its content makes tremendous sense when one examines Rankin’s career as both a legislator and pacifist. In 1917, just four days after she began her first term in Congress, the House voted on a resolution to join WWI. Rankin voted against the measure, along with forty-nine other representatives. This, in and of itself, is not that earth shattering. What is, however, is the fact that she was the only member of the House to vote against joining WWII a few decades later.

I admire Rankin’s moxie, but I also respect her wisdom with regard to war. I’m not a Rankin scholar; however, I have a hunch that she voted against joining WWII not only because women could not serve but also because she had read about and learned of the horrors of WWI firsthand. War is a messy, horrid business no matter how you slice and dice it. It affects everyone. Both winners and losers grieve and feel loss. As Robert E. Lee (1807-1870) stated, “It is well that war is so terrible; else we would grow too fond of it.”

Still, I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around the numerous wars we’re fighting these days. There’s the war in Iraq, the war with the insurgents, and the war on terrorism. There’s also the race wars, culture wars, religious wars, civil wars and Star Wars. Too many wars, in my opinion.

Perhaps the worst war of all, and arguably the most destructive, is the one we wage with ourselves. I don’t know why it happens, but I know that it does. In fact, I would go so far as to say that the majority of folk, at least in the First World, are vets of such a war. I know I am. We seem to wage war on just about everything: our thoughts, emotions, dreams and ambitions. We turn aspects of ourselves into “the other”, creating disharmony and discord at the very core of our nature. Even the body turns on itself at times. Deepak Chopra writes in The Book of Secrets, “In a healthy body, every cell recognizes itself in every other cell. When this perception goes awry and certain cells become “the other”, the body goes on an attack against itself. This state is known as an auto-immune disorder, of which rheumatoid arthritis and lupus are devastating examples. The violence of self against self is based entirely on a mistaken concept, and although medicine can bring some relief to the war-torn body, no cure can be achieved without correcting the mistaken concept first” (p. 26).

So, the question which must be addressed here is: why do we wage such destructive wars against ourselves? What would lead us to fill our inner dialogues with messages of destruction, violence and self-hatred? What causes us to move from a state of balance to a state of chaos? How do we come to see ourselves as “the other” in the first place?

Chopra suggests that this occurs with our perception of the world. “The debate on how to end war, for example, has proved totally futile because the instant I see myself as an isolated individual, I confront “them,” the countless other individuals who want what I want” (p. 26). When I perceive that I am separate from myself and others, I am sowing a seed of discord. Repeating this practice long enough can only result in chaos.

Taking this a step further, is it possible that when I begin to adopt others’ perceptions, truths, opinions and judgments as my own, I commit an act of war against myself? I say “yes”, but it’s complicated. Part of being human is growing through both individual and shared experiences. I may read, for example, a terrific treatise on intelligence and certain parts of it will resound within me as being truth while others will not. The same can be said for our personal interactions with others. For example, if someone tells me that I’m funny, I may believe that to be true because I hold a personal belief that I’m funny. (Okay, *maybe* my friends groan when I tell a joke, but I think you get the point.) However, what becomes more challenging and ultimately tricky is when you believe statements made by others which you know deep down inside are false.

For example, someone may tell you that your idea for a new project is terrible, although you know it has merit. Someone might tell you that you will never amount to anything, though you know you will. Others may tell you that you’re stupid, when you know you’re really bright. In the end, what allows some to simply pooh-pooh the doubting naysayer, while others unconsciously herald this individual as a prophet?

I think it comes down to the beliefs we hold to be true about ourselves, and it is here that we need to do the most work, dear readers. We need to know our truths and have the courage to live them. This requires sitting down with ourselves and examining what gives us life and what doesn’t. This includes paying close attention to what we tell ourselves each day. How much of this inner dialogue is said in your voice and how much is said through those of others?

When we believe in ourselves and in our abilities, we no longer give power to others who might suggest otherwise. We no longer invite infiltration. And, when this happens, we no longer war with ourselves, simply because we’ve made the conscious choice not to accept that which we know is not true for ourselves. We stop spending precious energy engaging with foreign beliefs, recognizing that they are only illusions.

This act gives us permission to move away from fragmentation and towards wholeness. And, when we integrate, we begin to recognize the wholeness in others. We no longer see or speak in fragments, using statements like “us” vs. “them”.

We realize that we’re all part of the same struggle and walk.