Coworkers, dollar bills, and unconditional generosity

This question doesn't come from the SoulPancake book; it came from a coworker as sort of an off-hand attempt at conversation. But for one reason or another, the question has stuck with me for the past week, and my inability to find an answer has been concerning me. 

"What's your favorite childhood memory?"

I have a lot of wonderful childhood memories -- building a tree house with my dad, family vacations to my grandparent's house in Tennessee, moving my brother into his college dorm -- but choosing a favorite has proved to be a monumental task. I wanted the memory that I deemed my favorite to be something substantial -- something that had an impact on me and lent to the development of my character and identity. 

After a week of trying to figure it out, I decided on this: On my twelfth birthday, my grandmother sent me a birthday card. This was normal --- I was used to getting cards from her on my birthdays, usually with a ten or twenty-dollar bill inside -- but this time, on this birthday, there was a singular dollar bill in my card. Initially, I was confused. Admittedly, a bit disappointed, too. 

For the next few days, I tried to understand why she only sent me one dollar. Did I do something wrong? Did she hear about that Playboy magazine I dug out of the gutter on my street? (True story, ask me later.) Was she disappointed in my grades? Eventually, I asked my mom, and she said, "Daniel, you need to be grateful for that dollar. That's the most she could afford, and she gave it to you."  

In that moment, I learned about the principal of unconditional generosity. The people you love deserve everything you have to give, even if that's a dollar, a nickel, or a nice hug. In recent years, I've found myself exercising this every chance I get -- paying for friend's meals, coffee, or movie tickets.  I do this not for attention or acknowledgement, but for the satisfaction of making someone's day a little better. 

Whether my grandmother knew it or not, she taught me a lesson that day. That dollar bill is long gone now, but whatever cash register, wallet, or tip jar it ended up in, I'll always remember the impact it had on my life. 

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Old age, memory loss, and blank picture frames

Today's question comes from the SoulPancake website.

"Do you fear aging?"

This is a topic I try not to think about, and for that reason I believe it points to a very obvious answer: yes, I'm scared of aging. But who isn't? Growing old means losing the ability to do things that we take for granted every day -- walking, breathing, or simply writing a sentence becomes a laborious task. Not to mention the loss of memory, which scares me most of all.

I believe that our character is shaped by the experiences we have in life. Our memory of those experiences, good or bad, builds the framework of our identity. So the question that emerges is this: when I grow old and if I begin losing my memory, will I begin to lose my identity as well? This prospect terrifies me.

I do believe, however, that any fear, harnessed correctly, can be a very positive thing. Coming to grips with the inevitability of old age can, and will, cause me to treasure the moments I have in my youth. For the most part, I'm healthy -- I can walk, I can drive, I can see someone from middle school and remember their name. Above that, though, I have an unwritten future. (If you start singing that god-awful Natasha Bedingfield song, I'll jump through this screen and slap the shit out of you.)

In my room, sitting on top of my dresser, I have an empty picture frame. Someone once asked me why it was empty, and my response was this: "Most people's rooms are filled with memories of their past -- pictures of the places they've been, trophies they've won, little knickknacks they've bought in their travels. This frame is a representation of my future. It's waiting to be filled with a picture of my graduation from college, my future wife, my children, or if worse comes to worse, a picture of my cats and dogs."

So am I scared of aging? Hell yes, I am. But am I excited to fill life's empty picture frames? You bet your ass.

A big thanks to Katie for recommending this question. You can find her on Twitter, YouTube, or her personal blog.

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Natural rights, John Locke, and inherent goodness

This question comes from pages 182 and 183 of the SoulPancake book. 

"What can you do to make this world a little less screwed up?"

The world is a tough place -- everyone knows that. Over time, we've allowed our religions, beliefs, opinions, and sexuality to cloud the fact that we are ultimately all members of the same species. English philosopher Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679) maintained that, while humans had the natural right to freedom, equality, and to pursue their own self-interest, they had no responsibility to respect others. However, philosopher John Locke (1632-1704) believed that humans did have the responsibility to respect the rights of others. I agree with Johnny Boy.

We, simply by being born, by being a part of this Earth, and by being members of the human species, have natural rights. The right to be treated respectfully, fairly, and justly is not something we should have to earn -- we are entitled to these things in the same way we are entitled to breathe the air around us. Similarly, we also have the natural responsibility to treat other humans according to these rights. Here, we find harmony and peace with other people, and long-lasting friendships are formed.

Recently, I was talking to a friend who believes that humans are inherently evil beings, and that we only make good choices when we consciously choose to go against our evil instinct. I disagree with him on this point. I believe that we are inherently good, and that we only make evil choices when we purposefully decide to avoid the direction our moral compass is actually pointing. While the evil choice may often be the easier one, I don't believe that it's by any means the instinctual one.

Because of my belief in humans' inherent goodness, I also believe that our natural responsibilities are just that -- natural. It is engraved into us to treat others with the respect, cordiality, and fairness they deserve. But this isn't to say that it's an easy task. In the same way that an evil choice may be an easier choice, it's often easier to treat people according to your mood, or even how they treat you. The hard part is honoring another person's natural rights even when they aren't honoring yours, and to demonstrate respect despite the circumstances surrounding you.

We spend most of our lives trying to find the right crowd. We dress a certain way, or follow a certain religion, or take on certain opinions to be accepted by a people group. We spend so much time segregating and tucking ourselves away into specific cubbyholes, that we forget the one thing that unites each and every one of us, regardless of race, religion, sexuality, and opinion: we're all humans. Being such, we owe it to ourselves to make this world a little less screwed up any way we can. So, the next time you're at a coffee shop, buy someone's drink. Drop a dollar in a homeless man's cup. Hold the door for someone. Find a way, any way, to demonstrate your inherent goodness, and watch it spread like a wildfire. Sure, it may sound cliche and sappy, but it's nothing short of the truth.

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God, religion, and the search for truth

Today's question comes from pages 140 and 141 of the SoulPancake book. 

"What do you do when you can't wrap your head around certain teachings in your religion?"

Last night, two friends and I were at a bar chatting. Somehow or another, our conversation drifted into the topic of religion and faith, and I asked my friend Jaxon why he was a Christian. When most Christians answer this question, their response is usually something to the effect of, "Because I have faith that the Bible is true." Jaxon's answer was more thought-out than that, and to someone like me who can't yet latch onto the ambiguous idea of faith, it was much more understandable, too. It went something like this: "I've studied a lot of religions. I studied the Bahá'í faith, the Muslim faith, and a lot of others. The reason I circled back around to Christianity was because, after studying all of those different religions, Christianity was the only one to acknowledged the fact that I was fucked up and that I was going to make mistakes, but also acknowledged that there was something else, something more, to help me."

I’d never heard that kind of explanation before, and it made sense to me. It’s important to know that I grew up in church. Some might say I was "born a Christian." I was raised to believe the fundamental values of Christianity and to accept the Bible as an absolute. In my house, to doubt the words of the Bible was to doubt the words of God, and therefore to doubt God, and that was considered sinful. So for 17 years, I never questioned a thing. I accepted that a man could part a body of water straight down the middle, and that another man could live in the stomach of a whale for three days, and that yet another with superhuman strength could destroy an entire army of men with nothing more than a donkey's jaw-bone. I accepted these things because the threat of Hell hung over my head like a damn raincloud, and I was too terrified to question an “absolute” truth.

But one day, just a week after my seventeenth birthday, I had some sort of epiphany. (A slap in the face is more like it.) I decided that I wouldn't -- couldn't -- devote myself to a set of religious beliefs out of fear. Thus began my indefinite hiatus from church and my search for truth. I still maintain that, should the day come when I no longer fear Christianity but have faith that its teachings are true, I'll rekindle my relationship with God. Until that day, I refuse to follow a religion with the wrong motive. And be assured: fear is absolutely the wrong motive for religious devotion. 

Even so, I still believe in God, but I question many things about the Christian doctrine. People often ask me if I feel like I’m “missing something” by not being in church. The answer to that (right now, anyway) is no. These past two years that I’ve been away from church have been extremely kind to me. I’ve discovered things about myself that I never knew were in place, and my journey to find happiness and peace has been successful. I’m happier and more confident now than I’ve ever been in my life. Before, my religion was part of my identity, and when I couldn’t live up to the standards that Christianity set for me, I became distraught and insecure. When I separated myself from that religion, from my former identity, I was forced to find and completely recreate myself. The person I am today is a directed result of my decision to leave the church and embark on a journey of self-discovery, and what I’ve discovered is substantial.

During our conversation last night, I eventually asked if Jaxon really believed that Jesus was the son of God. “I believe Jesus was a man and I believe that he existed,” he said. “But was he the son of God? I don't know, and that's something I'll always struggle with."

The truth of the matter is that, in every religion, there are teachings that simply cannot be understood. Even if we choose to accept these teachings, we will always struggle. But the important thing to remember is that it's okay to question -- questioning is not a sin. In fact, it often leads to great discovery. 

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Can men and women really be "just friends"?

Today's topic comes from page 80 and 81 of the SoulPancake book, and it's a question that resonates with me in a very real way. The only way I can answer this is by bringing my best friend, Leslie, into the picture. Sorry in advance, Les.

Leslie and I met about 8 years ago -- she was in 7th grade and I was in 6th. These were our awkward, My Chemical Romance, "cut my wrists and black my eyes" days. We had issues back then, there's no denying that, but somehow we've managed to put up with each other for all these years. Of course, it hasn't been easy. We've gotten into more fights than I have the fingers and toes to count, most of them ending in "have a good life, I'm done with you," shortly followed by, "sorry, I didn't mean it, let's be friends again." Imagine the most rocky, imbalanced relationship in your life, stretch that out over 8 years, and you're starting to get the general idea. (If you've been married for more than 8 years, then you already know what it's like. Ha. I'm so funny.)

I don't want to get all mushy, sentimental, and cliche here, but love takes work. I mean, think of love like a car. You've gotta put gas in it, clean it, change the oil, and take it in for tune-ups every now and then. Love, just like a car, takes constant attention -- it has to be worked on and tended to in order for it to keep running. (I'm really, really good at cliches. Get used to it.) Leslie and I have broken down on the side of the road, ran clean out of gas, and watched our engine catch fire multiple times. (I'm still talking about love here. Keep up.) But what both of us have come to realize is how important we are to one another, and that gives us the determination to fix any problems when they arise and to keep on drivin'.

Leslie has a boyfriend now. He's a fantastic fella, and any day now my best friend could walk up to me with a ring on her finger. This excites me beyond belief. Leslie's been through a lot -- more than any human should have to go through -- but she's come out on the other side of it, and she's genuinely happy these days.

Explaining my and Leslie's friendship to people isn't an easy task -- most people can't wrap their head around the idea that two individuals of the opposite gender could be so close and have no attraction to each other whatsoever. And this is where you're just going to have to trust me when I say it: if everyone in the world died a horrible, painful death, and Leslie and I were the only people left to repopulate the planet, the human species would be doomed.

So, while everyone will have their own answer to "can men and women be just friends?", mine can be summed up with a simple, three-letter word: yes.

Love ya, Leslie.

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