the dark side of 'you do you'

Nashville is beginning to reopen this week after a Safer at Home decree first ordered on March 22. The easing of restrictions rips away the sense of normal we found in seven weeks of isolation. We realize now that what we think is normal, or safe, does not perfectly align with the plans of friends. Some think it’s time to party, gathering with different friends, sharing food and giving hugs.  Others think it is appropriate to stay home, only going out for food, always wearing a mask. When our notions of normal are different, we should not be surprised to realize our actions will also be different.

As I have felt judged by others, or sensed judgment rise up in me, I also hear many remind us that such differences are to be expected, that we need to have grace for each other. We should assume we are all doing the best we can do. This desire to live at peace with people living really differently is noble, but putting it into practice is hard, because the choices other people make impact the people around them.

When norms are in flux, it causes discomfort. This tension arises because we have not agreed on a norm, a set of appropriate actions or beliefs, as a city. What is expected of us, and what can we expect of others? Am I responsible only for my speech and actions, or does living in a community require me to respond to the words or actions of those around me? Coming out of quarantine brings these issues to the surface, but these questions are not new. Philosophers, theologians and social activists have long wondered how we are responsible for deeds done or words uttered in our presence.

We live in an age in which tolerance seems to be the highest relational goal. A strong norm permeating our culture is the mantra, “You do you.” Replacing strict moral codes and harsh judgments, I am a fan of folks staying in their lane, taking responsibility for themselves alone. However, you do you has a dark side, with the potential to destroy communities.

In fact, you do you sounds empowering, but it often photoshops a more selfish sentiment: I want nothing to do with you. These words offer me a way to wash my hands of you, to move on without a second thought. If your choices, motivations or actions are hard for me to understand, I have a few choices. One, I can pass judgment, deeming you wrong-headed without taking the time to understand. Two, I can tolerate you, saying you do you as if it is a vote of confidence, when in fact it is a statement of dismissal.  Three, I can demonstrate the value I find in you by asking you to help me understand your thinking around a choice. While you do you sounds affirming, I’m not sure that it is loving. Our cultural norm of tolerance asks us to only tolerate each other, no matter how dangerous or destructive our actions or words may be. I’m afraid you do you short circuits communities, absolving us from engaging with what is said or done around us.

The death of Mr. Ahmaud Aubery, and our diverse responses to it, reveals this break down in community. When it comes to race, our society has proven stubbornly opposed to finding a norm. Some of us live as if every human is worthy of dignity, and take active steps to name injustice and change the foundational systems that privilege whiteness in every power sector. Some of us live as if any challenge to the status quo of white belonging (and brown exclusion) is whining or unpatriotic or race baiting or trouble making. Some of us think racism has never been honestly faced or dealt with in America, and it is the root of massive injustice in every part of society. Some of us think racism ended with the Civil War, and people need to get over it and earn their rights by becoming productive members of a society that rewards hard work and good manners.

Another way to say this is that in some parts of society, antiracist behavior is considered normal, while in others, subtle judgments based on race are shrugged off and accepted as normal. Both of these norms dominate our culture, and probably determine how responsible we feel for what is said or done in our presence.

As quarantines end, we face the reality of changing norms of behavior. It is unsettling and can create tension. Conversations about Mr. Aubery’s death also expose opposing norms on what is acceptable to say or do. Most folks agree that if this was active racism, rooted in extreme exclusion and resulting in physical violence, it is evil. It is not normal or accepted behavior.

Is it normal to suggest he probably provoked them though? Is it normal to joke that I guess he picked the wrong street to run down or explore? Is it normal to stay silent when people of color in every city constantly wonder if their presence causes suspicion that will lead to violence?

If we want to expand our us, to create communities of belonging, to take care of each other, then we must develop the courage to reject norms that hurt people. Instead of allowing subtle racism or suspicion to be normal, make it normal to reject such speech. When it comes to mocking pain or ostracizing people outside your race or tax bracket, take responsibility for what is said or done around you. Make it normal to value others. Make it normal to listen until you understand someone’s perspective. Reject you do you, and make it normal to care about how a person lives and finds meaning.

Fluctuating norms cause tension, but they also give us a chance to reevaluate what we care about. Racism is alive and well and—even if veiled—normal in lots of conversations. Imagine how norms could change if we care enough about our communities to respond to what is said or done in our presence. We might shift what is considered normal, and find ourselves living in a more perfect union.

on pandemics and interdependence

I am not the first American to notice that the COVID-19 pandemic exposes a few points of tension we are aware of and accustomed to ignoring. We are the wealthiest country on earth and over half of our citizens have essentially no savings to sustain them in hard times. We have a massive economy that struggles to survive a dip in consumer spending or confidence. We all depend on the federal government, but many of us pretend like said government is either incapable of doing good, or at least not involved in our success. We actively rely on a globalized world, while demonizing the organizations that represent global partnerships. We think of ourselves as a people committed to the greater good, gladly pulling together to help our neighbors, while also maintaining our insistence on independence and absolute freedom.

Our need to make collective sacrifices, inhibiting our perception of liberty in order to protect vulnerable others, is starting to chafe. Instead of pointing fingers, I suggest we consider our relationships—past and present—with the communities around us. 

I grew up in a home where beating the odds with hard work was the norm. My parents’ life trajectories took them to unchartered territories. Fueled by huge dreams and backed by even bigger work ethics, they rose. They raised us to do the same, providing us with opportunities to belong in every room we entered, teaching us to overcome any obstacle by relying on our own purposed determination.

I am grateful for every single achievement they helped me access, and I take credit for breaking through all sorts of barriers presented to me in my 42 years of life.  This recent quarantine at first felt like another challenge I needed to overcome. So I did. We made bread and tried new recipes, we did home improvements and transplanted plants, we built raised garden beds and are growing vegetables, we are teaching our kids to create even as they bring order to chaos. We are masters of our domains, overcoming the odds.

Except for that sometimes my need to overcome makes me unbearable to live with.

Sometimes my agenda is revealed as raw selfishness.

Sometimes my kids fail to do anything I ask of them.

Sometimes my “liberty” is terribly costly for others.

Sometimes I realize my life story as a one-of-a-kind badass is a lie.

The truth is that every single thing I have ever achieved is the product of group effort. From study habits to writing skills to rhetoric to teaching, others taught me. From sticking with a life partner to raising kids to learning to care about my neighbors, I leaned on others as I learned to find my way. I haven’t even ever moved into a new house without massive help from my sisters, parents and friends. From painting to boxing to unboxing, I did nothing alone. I learned to make bread and biscuits and dumplings from mom and mom-in-law and sister. I learned to design and build with power tools from dad and brother. I learned how to be a grown up in the world because my family and community taught me.

And yet, my own life mythology mostly erases this story, replacing it with one of my own stubborn independence and will to succeed. I am responsible for all that I have and am, and therefore have earned my autonomy. I have grown into a person more comfortable giving orders than receiving them. I would rather lead than follow, and trust my own instincts more than nearly anyone else’s.

There is the rub: COVID-19 asks us to trust our leaders instead of ourselves. COVID-19 asks us to limit our independence in order to protect people we don’t know. COVID-19 asks us to belong to a community, to remember others share responsibility for us even as we bear responsibility for others. None of us is truly autonomous.

COVID-19 forces us to confront the tensions that exist between two beloved American mythologies:

We are a neighborly people willing to work together to rise.

AND

We are a country full of totally independent frontierspeople who pull up our bootstraps and beat the odds on our own.

Are we fundamentally a generous people willing to sacrifice to help others, or are we a people whose need for independence requires us to achieve our dreams alone? I believe that expanding our us, growing our capacity to know and care for a wider circle of diverse peoples, is the antidote to living isolated, competitive lives where my success demands someone’s failure. Competing claims on the essence of the American Spirit makes this difficult to do.

Our evolving response to COVID-19 suggests we are watching the pendulum swing from “We’re all in this together”, to “Quit taking away my rights!” Our reliance on binaries—in our media, political parties, religious institutions and rhetoric—suggests we must pick one or the other. We are either part of the we, willing to be mindful of the needs of others, or we are on our own, aggressively autonomous. If we want to expand our us, we have to reject such binaries, and resist the idea that these ideologies are mutually exclusive. The mythologies of America suggest we are both rugged individuals AND communally minded burden sharers.

Spend a little time with your own story, and allow it to reaffirm the beautiful truth that you are both independent and a product of the community who invested in you. Resist the urge to allow one narrative to dominate your story, and resist the urge to respond to this challenging time by elevating binaries. Each of us has a track record of being responsible for others AND of making choices alone, and each of us maintains the capacity to do so now.

week 6 lent readings, 2020

Back in the olden days, when I worked out at a gym, socially intimate with other athletes, I would occasionally use the elliptical machine, or strider, instead of the treadmill. My dad taught me to love running when I was in high school. He would drag me out along the country roads I knew so well, and soon I knew what to expect from every step. I could anticipate exactly when I would think, “Must stop! Can’t breathe!”, or when I would think, “I am an Olympian! So strong, I could run for days.” Dad taught me to push through the hard, to enjoy the good, and, always, to look around and notice what there was to see.

I know running. I know what it feels like to push it and what it means to take it easy. In the gym, people who use the strider look like they are having more fun than runners.  I know nothing about striding, and each time I try it I do so thinking it will be an easier way to elevate my heart rate than running. I mean, you can’t even really do it without bouncing! Bouncing is fun, right? 

Here is what the strider teaches me every time I climb on though: I don’t know how to do it. I have yet to fall off, but I never find my rhythm. The strider’s motions are wholly foreign to me, and spending 30 minutes on the machine always turns into 30 minutes of frustration. Because it is so unfamiliar, I have no idea what it feels like to push myself, and I can’t figure out what “hard” is. I typically start thinking how fun and weird it is to bounce along while also “working out.” Soon, though, I get disoriented. What am I doing? Am I sweating? Should I make it harder to push the pedals or just move faster? How do other people look when they know what they’re doing? How do I know I’m doing it right? What is this supposed to feel like?

We are living in a disorienting time. I call it the Age of the Strider. It is wholly unfamiliar to maintain an isolated state. It is wholly unfamiliar to stay home, with no agency to go and do when needs arise. It is wholly unfamiliar to be around children or roommates or partners every relentless minute of the day. It is wholly unfamiliar to either have no work or to be swamped in new, alienating work. It is wholly unfamiliar to have no idea if you can hang onto your job or home in the weeks ahead.  It is wholly unfamiliar to feel powerless. Many of us can’t find our rhythm. We keep reflecting inward, trying to figure out what feels refreshing, what feels hard, what feels right. It is all so different though that many of us don’t know how to anticipate what comes our way. 

While I don’t have any answers, I find it helpful to name that the Age of the Strider is disorienting. It’s unfamiliar. But it won’t always feel this way. If you find yourself off balance, searching for what healthy is even supposed to feel like, know that you aren’t alone. As we surrender to these moments of distance and isolation, we will find a groove that works. We will find generosity for the people who currently hover around us.* We will find the capacity to extend compassion when we recognize a person we live with is not doing super well. We will remember to lift our eyes to those around us, searching for who needs what, and how we can help. We will begin to trust our bodies and spirits, as we recognize what restores, what stretches, what feels easy, what feels hard, and how long it lasts.

Running used to be mostly miserable, not just because it was hard, but because it was unfamiliar. While I don’t always love it now, I find comfort in knowing what to expect. Every day in the Age of the Strider offers us countless moments to pay attention, to find our bearings, to lean in and learn as we acclimate to this new reality. As my Dad taught me: Push through the hard, enjoy the good, and, always, look around and notice what there is to see. We are adjusting and learning and growing more than we realize. Make the effort to contextualize your feelings of unfamiliarity with a growing sense of surrender, of expectation, of contentedness and of familiarity.

* During the writing of this essay, my 5 year old, touching me incessantly, told me she “likes my squishy parts,” and then reassured me that I was turning into a Grandma. Meanwhile, at one point, (despite the fact that I started working first), 3 other people started conferences calls or school videos, voices blaring within earshot of me. Unfamiliar is one word for it. Soul killingly frustrating is another. Still, there is comfort and capacity in learning how to ride this strider…

LENT READINGS WEEK 6

To Ponder:

“The future orientation of Christian time reminds us that we are people on the way. It allows us to live in the present as an alternative people, patiently waiting for what is to come, but never giving up on our telos. We are never quite comfortable. We seek justice, practice mercy, and herald the kingdom to come.”                    -Tish Harrison Warren

 “We spend too much time trying to fix the things we don’t like rather than simply reconciling everything to God….But I’ve come to understand that true justice is wrapped up in love…God’s love and justice come together in the redemptive work of Jesus Christ, and we can’t be about one and not the other. They’re inextricably connected.”                                                                                                                                -John Perkins

To Read:

Apr 1 Ps 9:7-14; 17:6-11

Apr 2 Ps 3:1-5; 21:3

Apr 3 Micah 7:18-20

Apr 4 Ps 28:1-2; 40:1-11

Apr 5 Matthew 5:1-12

Apr 6 Ps 102:1-4

Apr 7 Isaiah 54:1-8