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Personal Update

A Fluorescent Bathroom Scooter

“As for you, you whitewash with lies; all of you are worthless physicians. If you would only keep silent, that would be your wisdom!” (Job 13:4-5, NRSV)

I went to the bathroom at work this week, and right as I walked in, there was a fluorescent pink scooter lying in the middle of the tiled floor. Some hip-hop-influenced pop was emanating from one of the stalls, and beneath the dividing wall I could see a pair of brightly colored sneakers. It felt like this guy owned the bathroom. I couldn’t help but smile. He’d turned it into his work of art for a few minutes—and I think the world needs more of that kind of color.

Honestly, universities might be the best places to find art in all of its forms. I had this conversation with Auna after she and her husband came to my vocal recital and we were waylaid by the foyer gallery. There’s still so much weirdness, as people here are reaching out to touch the world in brand new ways at their peak level of creativity before going out to be crushed by the corporate universe. (Not that college life isn’t crushing in its own ways—it just does so in a way that somehow fosters nonconformity, not the other way around.)

I think the most touching pieces of art are the ones that call us to listen—even when that listening is painful. Pictures can be loud and shake us to get our attention, or they can sit still and unassumingly whisper, “I’m here, too.” Somehow they reach us differently than text. They’re more real, more demanding. The “APOS” display by Anna Wright (Instagram: @frizz_biz) was particularly intimate. Listening to her story, I heard my own.

I don’t think being a good speaker makes one a good person, but being a good listener, willing to listen no matter what, does. It’s a shame that we put good speakers up on the podium.

It’s cruel of Auna to be leaving Utah so soon after we’ve become real friends. Good things too often come bundled with bad things, and for some reason, the things that stay with me the longest are always the things that stay with me the shortest. C’est la vie. As she’s so faithful about reminding me, it might be tough, but it must be good for the plot. ∎

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Personal Update

Saying Yes

You can’t try everything before you die, but you might as well die trying.

A couple months ago, I read a lovely little biography/devotional book by Mike Donehey, one of my favorite Christian musicians. One of the suggestions he gave was to just be willing to say yes to everything that comes your way. I think the tie-in to Christian living was about allowing God to use you in the way He needs to, and He can’t do that if you’re not willing to take the opportunities He gives you. I’m a firm believer that, as Paul wrote, “Prove all things; hold fast that which is good” (1 Thess. 5:21). So I decided to give it a shot.

“Do you want to try rolling the sushi?” Why yes—not that I’ve ever rolled a sushi roll in my life before, and it will most certainly not be the most beautifully rolled sushi that has ever existed, but there’s a first time for everything. Should we go to the opera? Sure, let’s send it; I could use a good opera education. Road trip? Absolutely. Give blood? I wonder how that feels. Part-time research job? Sounds like a good idea. Go country dancing? I can at least pretend that I’m coordinated. Listen to jazz for a week? Prepare to get clobbered by tritone substitutions. Discussion group for a new history book? I loved that stuff in high school. Orchestra and local music concerts? Add to cart. Join the mariachi band? I can’t have stage anxiety forever.

I’m not writing this to make myself sound awesome, but because there’s nothing I can recommend more highly to someone trying to make sense of life in the liminal spaces. I can see the difference that trying to say no to fear has made in my life. I notice so much more of the world’s beauty, and that’s why I write this little blog. I don’t think I’ll ever be done. What will happen when I give painting a shot? Frisbee golf? Karaoke? Reading random cases from the law library? Mock swordfighting? Coding in Python?

Of course it’s impossible to say yes to everything—saying yes to an economics book was a hefty reminder that opportunity cost brings everything to a screeching halt—and there are certainly things that one shouldn’t say yes to. But I’ll be the first one to attest that life is so much richer since, when confronted with the unfamiliar, I’ve started making “yes” rather than “no” the first response on my lips. ∎

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Personal Update

No New Tale to Tell

What do eighteenth-century Russian tsars and Brigham Young University have in common? Presenting: the world’s very first beard card (above).

In 1698, Tsar Peter “the Great” launched a series of modernizing reforms, realizing that if Russia were to compete with Western European powers, they needed to cast off every custom that would prevent them from fitting in with their imperial neighbors–down to their old-fashioned facial hair. The beard ban was born. Nobles who wanted to keep their beards could purchase this token as a free pass to bear their hair in public without being forcibly shaved. The inscription on the front says “money taken”; the back features a Russian coat of arms and the year (the token had to be renewed annually–and heaven forbid losing weeks of delicate trimming if you were to forget to renew your expired beard token)!

Though the two eras’ beard restrictions differ in that Russia’s were a progressive step toward modern sensibilities in their own century–met with ire from the paying traditional nobles–while Brigham Young University’s were a conservative response to the aesthetic of anti-establishment 60s and 70s counterculture (and beard cards are granted for health, theatrical, or religious reasons, not to paying customers), the fact that today you can hold in your hands a beard pass with the same practical effect as old Peter the Great’s is a testament that nothing in history seems to be truly new. The great periods of development in history are called “Renaissance” (rebirth), or “Reformation”, or “Restoration”–all attempts to get back to some veiled golden age of the past.

This is why I enjoy old literature. It’s a special connection when something so old still resonates in today’s cultures, as if the author and I both know that we’re tapping into what it means to be human, independent of place or time. When Shakespeare’s Henry IV asks himself why he can’t sleep on his comfortable mattress with all of the thoughts weighing on his head, I know that exact feeling, four hundred years later! (I’d like to see a quiz show where contestants have to determine what era a quote is from. “You have power over your mind, not outside events. There is strength in knowing that.” Advice from a psychology book about maintaining an “internal locus of control”, or ancient Roman philosopher? “The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all; all go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again.” Twentieth-century absurdism, or the Old Testament? Two points to the ancients.)

That last Old Testament quote is drawn from the book of Ecclesiastes, which is keenly aware of this idea that nothing in history is truly new. In ironic fashion, the 80s song “No New Tale to Tell” simply recapitulates Ecclesiastes and seems to add a few stanzas of its own:

All the rivers run into the sea
  Yet the sea is not full
Unto the place from whence the rivers come
  Thither they return again
The thing that hath been
   It is that which shall be
And that which is done
   Is that which shall be done
And there is no new thing
   Under the sun 
                    (Eccl. 1:7, 9)

You cannot go against nature
   Because when you do
Go against nature
   It's part of nature too
Our little lives get complicated
   It's a simple thing
Simple as a flower
   And that's a complicated thing
No new tale to tell
   No new tale to tell
                    (Love and Rockets)

We can learn a lot from those who came before. After all, they lived our very same lives–just in a different place and a different time.