Being a man of faith, I've always been inclined to believe -- or at the very least, HOPE -- that I've been assigned a squadron of angels to walk alongside me as I plot my way through this often perilous existence. But I have to admit there are times when I descend into particularly deep valleys that seem so daunting even the angels themselves would rather just not put forth the effort of navigating them. It can seem as if they'll just use those wings to fly to the other side, yodeling back that if I can make it across to them, they'll be ready to resume their tasks. Of course, I know this isn't the case, because, even as supernatural beings, angels (as I perceive them) don't possess the ability to deviate off plan. They are unwaveringly bound to their charges. At the same time, though, there's a certain cruelty in the fact that the angels are resigned to an invisible state: cruel for both the angels themselves and for the all too often ungrateful humans issued into their care. It's this invisibility that makes me doubt, and I'm sure that must be absolutely maddening to the poor creatures. But sometimes we as humans NEED the angels to reveal themselves. We need to see. We need to feel. We need to hear. It's just the nature of the insecurity we all innately possess.
Right now is one of those times.
Most people who know me also know that I've lived for years with chronic and often severe depression. A couple years ago -- almost to the day -- I finally got the help that I needed to bring it under control, and it's been, for the most part, smooth sailing ever since. Actually, I should clarify that by saying it HAD been smooth sailing. It turns out that there are still times when the assistance of pharmaceuticals, psychotherapy and a rock solid support network turn out to be no match for the human brain and the dark places it sometimes decides you need to visit.
Starting back around the beginning of October, I felt myself starting to veer off towards one of those dark places. I couldn't understand why this was happening. After all, everything was going my way: I was happy in a relationship with someone I loved (and still do) very much, working at a not bad job (although with a less than desirable schedule), and finally starting to achieve at least the footings for some degree of balance in my life. With all these factors in my corner along with my treatment regimen, how could it be that I was finding myself being steered in such a melancholy direction? I couldn't answer that question, which only exacerbated the problem because not having that answer troubled me to no end. All I did know was that it was starting to happen, and I felt utterly powerless to stop it.
It was only a matter of time before the descent started to manifest itself in the form of moodswings and fits of rage along with the quickly diminishing desire to pursue even the most mundane of everyday tasks. I knew I was alienating one person in particular -- the LAST person I needed to be alienating at the time -- and, again, felt powerless to do anything about it. This only increased my insecurity which, in turn, caused me to lash out that much more. That's the nature of this illness -- and, yes, it IS an illness: it robs you of everything. It steals your joy. It steals your passion. It steals your judgement. It steals your mind. It steals your life. And, in doing so, it makes you hurt not only yourself, but also those people around you and particularly those you love most.
Needless to say, it was only a matter of time before the person I really needed to count on couldn't take the instability, or, moreover, couldn't take this new and ugly person he suddenly found himself living with. So he left. And who can blame him? No one should be subjected to a life with Jeckyll and Hyde.
Yes, I was hurt and angry at first, which, of course, caused me to plunge deeper into the cesspool of despair I had unwillingly entered. I lashed out harder, even further alienating him. In my mind, the one person I thought I could count on to see me through this thing didn't love me enough to stick around. Again, that was the depression thinking for me. I know this now, because this person is still present in my life when, in all honesty, he should've been done with me weeks ago. The only explanation for that is love. The fact that I can now recognize this signals to me that I might be starting my climb back up towards the light. Now, I can't help but wonder if this is the work of an angel.
But the fact remains that my depression robbed me of my relationship, and I am mourning it accordingly. A friend reminded me recently that to NOT be mourning the break-up would be cause for concern, but added that I must be steadfast in not letting it hinder my recovery. These words brought me comfort, and the fact is not lost on me that this, too, resembles the handiwork of angels.
There is one problem with where this is going, however. I've said more than once that the thing that leaves me feeling most empty during times like these is that the depression also steals God. As if everything else weren't enough, this thing has to rob me of my faith as well? Just this morning, I served at the altar at church. Afterwards, I expressed to someone that I felt a complete absence of God during the mass. I can promise you that I can't think of a single more distressing feeling than that one. So, feeling completely defeated and isolated, I headed home to slip under the covers in hopes that just maybe when I awoke, I'd realize that the loneliness was a lie.
It was on that trip home that I received a text message from that very special someone I discussed earlier. I had just let him know how I felt, and how lonely it was to feel deserted by God.
The text message said: "God loves you. And know that I send angels to you every single day."
When I received the message, in my clouded state, I somewhat insolently brushed it off as nonsense and continued on. But as I grew nearer to my house, the words started speaking to me. And I began to reflect on all the people with whom I'd had contact while at church: all these people whom I love and who love me; the people who offered encouragement or just a hug; the people who are determined that I'm going to have furniture in my empty apartment by week's end; and the person who had sent the message about the angels.
By the time I lay down and was about to drift off to sleep, I heard a shuffle. But my half-hearted investigation revealed nothing. All I knew was that I felt calm. There was a peace about me that I hadn't known in what had begun to feel like an eternity. And then I knew.
God was there. God is here.
And so are the angels. I had been encountering angels all day . . . maybe even weeks. I just didn't have the clarity of vision to recognize them. Angels DO reveal themselves. They reveal themselves in the persons of those we love. They reveal themselves through unexpected gifts. They reveal themselves through text messages.
I'm surrounded by angels. I know this now.
I'm not trying to pretend I'm cured of my depression, because I know that's not the case. Nor am I going to go as far as to say I won't again (maybe even very soon) forget the angels are here. But that's the beauty of angels: even though I may be ungrateful or even flatly deny them altogether, they don't go anywhere except the places I go.
I'm so thankful to know that I'm not fighting this thing alone. This brings me great comfort -- at least for now. I'm so thankful these angels have enlisted the help of more than just a few of my fellow humans, most of whom know who they are but a few probably don't.
So, I'll end this babbling by saying that I'm going to go foward with my head raised trying to keep the focus on emerging from the darkness.
All I ask of these beautiful people who surround me everyday is this: The next time you hear me asking where the angels are, just simply reply: "You're looking at one."
Peace.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Monday, August 16, 2010
Loving
What is the meaning of the word, "loving"? This seems like a simple enough question. However, the entire context in which the question is framed changes with the simple act of capitalizing the letter L -- an act that transforms the word from a mere dictionary entry into an epic love story of Shakespearean proportions: the tale of Richard and Mildred Loving.
The gist of where I'm going with this can be summed up in the two sentences Mildred Loving used to open an address she gave back in 2007: "When my late husband, Richard, and I got married in Washington, D.C. in 1958, it wasn't to make a political statement or start a fight. We were in love, and we wanted to be married."
The Lovings' story has been on my mind for the past several days, and I, no matter how hard I try, cannot shake the feeling that it's just about to have another round in the spotlight.
Last week, while I was vacationing in South Florida, I happened to catch a snippet of CNN's "State of the Union," in which Candy Crowley solicited comment from Governor Bob McDonnell (R-Virginia) regarding a federal judge's decision earlier in the week to overturn California's controversial law (known as Prop 8) banning same-sex marriage in that state. Governor McDonnell stated emphatically that he did not see fit that a court of activist judges should overturn the will of the voters of California. Upon hearing this, I immediately found myself troubled by the irony embedded in this statement. Not only were these words coming from the lips of someone who holds an office requiring him to protect his people, but they were coming from the lips of the governor of the Commonwealth of Virginia: the very setting of the story of Richard and Mildred Loving.
As it turns out, when Richard Loving and Mildred Jeter decided to marry in 1958, being law-abiding citizens, they left their home in Virginia and travelled to Washington, D.C. to obtain a license and ceremony. Virginia law in those days prohibited marriage between people of different races, and Richard was a white man while Mildred was African-American.
Mildred put it this way in her 2007 address:
"We didn't get married in Washington because we WANTED to marry there. We did it there because the government wouldn't allow us to marry back home in Virginia where we grew up, where we met, where we fell in love, and where we wanted to be together and build our family."
At any rate, upon returning to Virginia, the couple promptly was arrested, tried, convicted, and sentenced to one year in jail. The judge in the case agreed to suspend the sentence on the condition that the Lovings leave the commonwealth and not return for at least 25 years. The judge handed down his ruling with these words: "Almighty God created the races white, black, yellow, malay and red, and he placed them on separate continents. And but for the interference with his arrangment there would be no cause for such marriages. The fact that he separated the races shows that he did not intend for the races to mix."
To make a long story short, the Lovings took their case all the way to the Supreme Court, where they won. And, just like that, with a decision by what today would be called "activist judges," all antimiscegenation laws across the United States became null and void. From then on, all consenting adults, or so it seemed at the time, would be free to marry whomever they happened to love, regardless of race; and although the majority in many parts of the United States at the time fully agreed with and supported the trial judge's opinion and ruling, the high court performed the task with which it is charged: it upheld the Constitution's guarantee that the will of the majority does not suppress the rights of the minority. This was not a court being "activist." This was a court merely doing its job.
Yes, there still exist some folks who hold interracial marriage to be immoral and contrary to divine plans, but I think it is safe to say that the consensus these days is that the "will of the people" back in 1958 regarding interracial marriage was, in fact, WRONG. I will go on to argue that even those who disagree with interracial marriage CAN agree that two people of different races marrying one another has no bearing whatsoever on any marriages beyond their particular union.
Now, let's fastforward some 50 years to 2010, where U.S. District Chief Judge Vaughn R. Walker has just overturned California voters' decision to outlaw same-sex marriages. People are shouting, "Activist judges!" Some even are going so far as to call Judge Walker's sexuality into question, arguing that rumors of his homosexuality make him unfit to decide this case. Of course, one must step back and rationalize that such arguments also hold that African-Americans are unfit to decide race-related civil rights cases, and even, in theory, imply that heterosexuals are unfit to decide any sexual orientation cases due to being inherently biased towards heterosexuality. But in cases where people's fundamental beliefs -- be they right or wrong -- are in question, sound rationale often falls by the wayside.
Nevertheless, Judge Walker stated in his opinion that the California law "fails to advance any rational basis in singling out gay men and lesbians for denial of a marriage license. Indeed, the evidence shows Proposition 8 does nothing more than enshrine in the California Constitution the notion that opposite-sex couples are superior to same-sex couples."
So, basically, what the judge has done is echo the Supreme Court's ruling in the Loving case and applied it equally to sexual orientation. Does this make Judge Walker an "activist judge"? No. In fact, it establishes him as a rational arbiter relying on the basis of precedent to safeguard the rights of a minority group against the will of an ill-informed majority. And, thus, he has upheld the Constitution of the United States.
So this takes me back to Governor McDonnell of Virginia and his assertion that the will of the people should always be the trump in matters of civil rights. It seems sadly ironic that the good governor knows so little of his own state's history. How is it that it doesn't occur to him that, in matters of civil rights, the will of the people is almost always going to require a little nudge from the courts or a courageous legislature? (Think LBJ's Congress in 1964.) Contrary to what some people would like to put forth, the will of the people is not always right and just. Governor McDonnell only needs to reference his own state's history books to be reminded of this.
Perhaps Mildred Loving says it best herself:
"My generation was bitterly divided over something that should have been so clear and right. The majority believed what the judge said . . . and that government should discriminate against people in love."
Fortunately, she goes on to say:
"But I have lived long enough now to see big changes. The older generation's fears and prejudices have given way, and today's young people realize that if someone loves someone they have a right to marry."
The Loving case established that all Americans should have the right to marry without regard to race, sex, or sexual orientation. This is not to say religious bodies should be forced to perform ceremonies. That would infringe upon another one of our Constitutional guarantees. But, everyone should have access to the civil side of marriage, and to deny a couple a marriage license based upon sexual orientation is no more right in 2010 than it was to deny a license based upon race in 1958.
Mildred Loving died in 2008, but she and her husband, Richard, left behind a legacy the importance of which we are just once again beginning to realize. A year before her death, Mildred finished her address celebrating the 40th anniversary of the case that bears her name.
"I am still not a political person, but I am proud that Richard's and my name is on a court case that can help reinforce the love, the commitment, the fairness, and the family that so many people -- black or white, young or old, gay or straight -- seek in life. I support the freedom to marry for all. That's what Loving -- and loving -- are all about."
And with Mildred Loving's own words, I can attest here in 2010 that Loving, whether spelled with a capital L or a lower-case one, still resonates as loudly as ever.
The gist of where I'm going with this can be summed up in the two sentences Mildred Loving used to open an address she gave back in 2007: "When my late husband, Richard, and I got married in Washington, D.C. in 1958, it wasn't to make a political statement or start a fight. We were in love, and we wanted to be married."
The Lovings' story has been on my mind for the past several days, and I, no matter how hard I try, cannot shake the feeling that it's just about to have another round in the spotlight.
Last week, while I was vacationing in South Florida, I happened to catch a snippet of CNN's "State of the Union," in which Candy Crowley solicited comment from Governor Bob McDonnell (R-Virginia) regarding a federal judge's decision earlier in the week to overturn California's controversial law (known as Prop 8) banning same-sex marriage in that state. Governor McDonnell stated emphatically that he did not see fit that a court of activist judges should overturn the will of the voters of California. Upon hearing this, I immediately found myself troubled by the irony embedded in this statement. Not only were these words coming from the lips of someone who holds an office requiring him to protect his people, but they were coming from the lips of the governor of the Commonwealth of Virginia: the very setting of the story of Richard and Mildred Loving.
As it turns out, when Richard Loving and Mildred Jeter decided to marry in 1958, being law-abiding citizens, they left their home in Virginia and travelled to Washington, D.C. to obtain a license and ceremony. Virginia law in those days prohibited marriage between people of different races, and Richard was a white man while Mildred was African-American.
Mildred put it this way in her 2007 address:
"We didn't get married in Washington because we WANTED to marry there. We did it there because the government wouldn't allow us to marry back home in Virginia where we grew up, where we met, where we fell in love, and where we wanted to be together and build our family."
At any rate, upon returning to Virginia, the couple promptly was arrested, tried, convicted, and sentenced to one year in jail. The judge in the case agreed to suspend the sentence on the condition that the Lovings leave the commonwealth and not return for at least 25 years. The judge handed down his ruling with these words: "Almighty God created the races white, black, yellow, malay and red, and he placed them on separate continents. And but for the interference with his arrangment there would be no cause for such marriages. The fact that he separated the races shows that he did not intend for the races to mix."
To make a long story short, the Lovings took their case all the way to the Supreme Court, where they won. And, just like that, with a decision by what today would be called "activist judges," all antimiscegenation laws across the United States became null and void. From then on, all consenting adults, or so it seemed at the time, would be free to marry whomever they happened to love, regardless of race; and although the majority in many parts of the United States at the time fully agreed with and supported the trial judge's opinion and ruling, the high court performed the task with which it is charged: it upheld the Constitution's guarantee that the will of the majority does not suppress the rights of the minority. This was not a court being "activist." This was a court merely doing its job.
Yes, there still exist some folks who hold interracial marriage to be immoral and contrary to divine plans, but I think it is safe to say that the consensus these days is that the "will of the people" back in 1958 regarding interracial marriage was, in fact, WRONG. I will go on to argue that even those who disagree with interracial marriage CAN agree that two people of different races marrying one another has no bearing whatsoever on any marriages beyond their particular union.
Now, let's fastforward some 50 years to 2010, where U.S. District Chief Judge Vaughn R. Walker has just overturned California voters' decision to outlaw same-sex marriages. People are shouting, "Activist judges!" Some even are going so far as to call Judge Walker's sexuality into question, arguing that rumors of his homosexuality make him unfit to decide this case. Of course, one must step back and rationalize that such arguments also hold that African-Americans are unfit to decide race-related civil rights cases, and even, in theory, imply that heterosexuals are unfit to decide any sexual orientation cases due to being inherently biased towards heterosexuality. But in cases where people's fundamental beliefs -- be they right or wrong -- are in question, sound rationale often falls by the wayside.
Nevertheless, Judge Walker stated in his opinion that the California law "fails to advance any rational basis in singling out gay men and lesbians for denial of a marriage license. Indeed, the evidence shows Proposition 8 does nothing more than enshrine in the California Constitution the notion that opposite-sex couples are superior to same-sex couples."
So, basically, what the judge has done is echo the Supreme Court's ruling in the Loving case and applied it equally to sexual orientation. Does this make Judge Walker an "activist judge"? No. In fact, it establishes him as a rational arbiter relying on the basis of precedent to safeguard the rights of a minority group against the will of an ill-informed majority. And, thus, he has upheld the Constitution of the United States.
So this takes me back to Governor McDonnell of Virginia and his assertion that the will of the people should always be the trump in matters of civil rights. It seems sadly ironic that the good governor knows so little of his own state's history. How is it that it doesn't occur to him that, in matters of civil rights, the will of the people is almost always going to require a little nudge from the courts or a courageous legislature? (Think LBJ's Congress in 1964.) Contrary to what some people would like to put forth, the will of the people is not always right and just. Governor McDonnell only needs to reference his own state's history books to be reminded of this.
Perhaps Mildred Loving says it best herself:
"My generation was bitterly divided over something that should have been so clear and right. The majority believed what the judge said . . . and that government should discriminate against people in love."
Fortunately, she goes on to say:
"But I have lived long enough now to see big changes. The older generation's fears and prejudices have given way, and today's young people realize that if someone loves someone they have a right to marry."
The Loving case established that all Americans should have the right to marry without regard to race, sex, or sexual orientation. This is not to say religious bodies should be forced to perform ceremonies. That would infringe upon another one of our Constitutional guarantees. But, everyone should have access to the civil side of marriage, and to deny a couple a marriage license based upon sexual orientation is no more right in 2010 than it was to deny a license based upon race in 1958.
Mildred Loving died in 2008, but she and her husband, Richard, left behind a legacy the importance of which we are just once again beginning to realize. A year before her death, Mildred finished her address celebrating the 40th anniversary of the case that bears her name.
"I am still not a political person, but I am proud that Richard's and my name is on a court case that can help reinforce the love, the commitment, the fairness, and the family that so many people -- black or white, young or old, gay or straight -- seek in life. I support the freedom to marry for all. That's what Loving -- and loving -- are all about."
And with Mildred Loving's own words, I can attest here in 2010 that Loving, whether spelled with a capital L or a lower-case one, still resonates as loudly as ever.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
So, Now What?
OK. So, here I am. I'm glad you found me. Come on in, kick your shoes off, and sit for a spell.
I'm supposing I now have to entertain you in some sort of fashion, and, while that is indeed my goal, I'm finding myself at a bit of a loss for words. Any of you out there who know me probably find this to be hardly believable, if not downright shocking. But, it does happen from time to time.
Fortunately, this rare occurrence of having nothing to say happens to coincide with my first entry, so I'll just use this opportunity to give you an overview of what you can expect going forward.
As I say in my profile, I'm just an average white guy cruising through an existence that would be pretty mundane. I say "would be" because it all gets a tad complicated by the fact that I work at night. This statement of fact normally would be followed by something like, "and I sleep during the day." At least this is what one would think. However, people seem to think that my working at night completely frees up my days for being at their beckon call to help with this, organize that, and completely engineer the other. It's to the point where it almost feels at times like I'm actually at work when I'm not on the job. This is all well and good, because I'm that guy who likes to feel needed and relishes in knowing people think I'm the one for the job, BUT, on the other hand, it leaves me physically and mentally exhausted. I can't really blame anyone other than myself, though, because I am the epitome of the Yes Man. I'm working on that. Perhaps actually recording my thoughts and musings here will help me sort it out. It, without a doubt, will color some of what you'll read here in my little corner of the World Wide Web.
Speaking of color, I also mention in my profile that there's something to be said for the perspective a guy gains from growing up in North Carolina, and then, after a series of flukes, finding himself living the life of a pseudo-Texan in Austin. Living here makes for some fascinating observation -- partly due to Austin being one of those cities people come to for dreamchasing and partly due to the city being at its own crossroads of trying to revel in its uber-laidback bohemian history while searching for acceptable methods to embrace its newfound status as a nouveau-trendy hotspot. So, here in Austin, we find ourselves to be a population of soul searchers living in a city that also happens to be searching for its own soul. Trust me when I say I'll be having a lot to say about what it means to be a guy in transition living in a city in transition.
Finally, as I welcome you into this brain of mine, I want to invite you to just sit back, take it all in, and savor my words. I'm fancying myself at the moment to be not a wordsmith, but, rather, more of a wordCHEF -- achieving what a good chef does with his food: sitting on that very fulcrum point of feeling mighty satisfied while still wanting just a little bit more. So, with all this said, take your place at the table and see what happens when life's pantry hands this chef a dash of Southwestern Spice to sprinkle over his already healthy serving of Southern Charm.
And, remember: it's Kirk as in Captain, Royal as in the Queen.
I'm supposing I now have to entertain you in some sort of fashion, and, while that is indeed my goal, I'm finding myself at a bit of a loss for words. Any of you out there who know me probably find this to be hardly believable, if not downright shocking. But, it does happen from time to time.
Fortunately, this rare occurrence of having nothing to say happens to coincide with my first entry, so I'll just use this opportunity to give you an overview of what you can expect going forward.
As I say in my profile, I'm just an average white guy cruising through an existence that would be pretty mundane. I say "would be" because it all gets a tad complicated by the fact that I work at night. This statement of fact normally would be followed by something like, "and I sleep during the day." At least this is what one would think. However, people seem to think that my working at night completely frees up my days for being at their beckon call to help with this, organize that, and completely engineer the other. It's to the point where it almost feels at times like I'm actually at work when I'm not on the job. This is all well and good, because I'm that guy who likes to feel needed and relishes in knowing people think I'm the one for the job, BUT, on the other hand, it leaves me physically and mentally exhausted. I can't really blame anyone other than myself, though, because I am the epitome of the Yes Man. I'm working on that. Perhaps actually recording my thoughts and musings here will help me sort it out. It, without a doubt, will color some of what you'll read here in my little corner of the World Wide Web.
Speaking of color, I also mention in my profile that there's something to be said for the perspective a guy gains from growing up in North Carolina, and then, after a series of flukes, finding himself living the life of a pseudo-Texan in Austin. Living here makes for some fascinating observation -- partly due to Austin being one of those cities people come to for dreamchasing and partly due to the city being at its own crossroads of trying to revel in its uber-laidback bohemian history while searching for acceptable methods to embrace its newfound status as a nouveau-trendy hotspot. So, here in Austin, we find ourselves to be a population of soul searchers living in a city that also happens to be searching for its own soul. Trust me when I say I'll be having a lot to say about what it means to be a guy in transition living in a city in transition.
Finally, as I welcome you into this brain of mine, I want to invite you to just sit back, take it all in, and savor my words. I'm fancying myself at the moment to be not a wordsmith, but, rather, more of a wordCHEF -- achieving what a good chef does with his food: sitting on that very fulcrum point of feeling mighty satisfied while still wanting just a little bit more. So, with all this said, take your place at the table and see what happens when life's pantry hands this chef a dash of Southwestern Spice to sprinkle over his already healthy serving of Southern Charm.
And, remember: it's Kirk as in Captain, Royal as in the Queen.
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