CARE ABOUT OTHERS

CARE ABOUT OTHERS     From my book - Have I Told You Today That I Love You?

Your relationship with others will be as varied as the people you encounter and will be determined by many factors, not the least of which will be your own personality and psychological style.  But regardless of who and what you are, there are certain basic tenets that I would urge you to follow.

Be respectful of others, regardless of their position in our socio-economic conscious society.  Be your real self with both the room maid and the hotel manager.

Be tolerant of ideas, beliefs, and behavior that differ from yours; no one has a monopoly on the truth.

With grace forgive the weaknesses of others and do not judge what you may perceive to be their shortcomings.

Forgive first offenses.  Overlook minor slights.

Enable and nurture; be one who helps other achieve their own selfhood.  Act in such a way that others will feel better for knowing you.

Be honest toward others.  Do not present yourself to be other than who you are.  And do not deceive or use others to achieve your own way or goals.

Be gracious and humble about your own accomplishments and success and be mindful of those blessings you have been given.  You did nothing to be born into a loving and supportive family and to have the economic advantages so many others lack.  Do not be so quick to take credit for what you perceive are you own accomplishments, more often than not there were many forces not of your own doing, that helped shape them.

Do not take credit for God’s grace.

THE HUMAN SPIRIT

The human spirit, that numinous and mysterious force that exists within us, so pervasive in determining the entire range of human behavior and thought, and yet too elusive to be measured or quantified by any scientific method or exercise.

It cannot be seen, touched, or heard, only experienced. 

It is this spirit that enables us to find the resolve, the strength, and the will, to overcome horrific events or experiences, and to navigate this journey called life.

It enables us to be moved emotionally by great art and music, to love and to care for one another, to share deeply in the happiness and grief of others, to nurture dreams and aspirations for ourselves and for others, to imagine our own souls, and to imagine God.

The human spirit is God’s foundation; He is imagined and experienced out of this spirit.  He is in the human spirit.  He is the human spirit.  Without us, He cannot be, and without the human spirit, we cannot be what we are and what we hope to be.

My search for understanding has taken me on a maze-like path, moving in one direction and another, retreating at a dead end, and choosing still another path.  Remarkably, in spite of the tortuous route, I am always left feeling one step closer to my goal.

DESTINY

Buried somewhere in the pages of my journal is a quote that reads something like this: never was a man so unafraid of his own destiny.  I don’t know if I can fully describe the incredible impact those few words had on me.  At the time I was struggling with depression, confronting a growing force pulling my life into a new and totally unexpected and frightening direction.

Until that moment I had always considered destiny to be the purview of great historical figures accomplishing grand deeds, real or fictional.  Destiny was reserved for these men and women, and not intended for those of us living our mundane lives far from the spotlight of such greatness.  I suddenly realized that notion was wrong; we all have our own personal destiny, and seeing my struggle in that light enabled me to move forward.  It validated the feelings and desires that were causing so much stress and tension in my life and affirmed my commitment to the journey that lie ahead.  I had my own destiny to claim.

I believe that somewhere, deep in our conscious and unconscious mind, there exists a “center” that defines who we are.  It provides the basic material from which we create ourselves and to a large extent determines our personality traits and basic psychological temperament that direct our behavior.  This center contains the seeds of what we can become, depending on the circumstances of our life.  I think of it as the soul, a mystical entity detached from anything physical, in spite of the arguments from the neuroscientists.  It is a concept that helps me to understand my life and guides my behavior.  This is where my destiny was born, and once recognized and acknowledged, I had the opportunity to act on it or ignore it.

If you are uncomfortable with the idea of a soul, think of this “place” as our psyche, or center, or perhaps the human spirit.  Theists can insert God somewhere in this process.  It doesn’t matter what it is called or why or how it exists.  That basic core of our humanness is there for each of us.

MEDICINE & ART

More than once in a quiet moment (and in some not so quiet moments) I’ve found myself wondering how I’ve managed to end up so far from where I started.  What is the connection between medicine and art that has allowed me to pursue both with dogged determination? After fourteen years of preparation, I spent 10 years in private practice, twelve years focused primarily on art while working part time in emergency medicine, and nine years back in private practice, before leaving medicine completely for art. Thinking about how I’ve divided my life between these two callings, I’m convinced they must share a common bond of some sort that has competed for my attention, powerful enough to evoke a major disruption in what was once a rather ordered and fulfilling life.

Their differences are easy to identify.  Art is a solitary endeavor. Most of my days are spent alone in the studio where I have complete control over the pace and tenor of my work. I have the luxury of designing each day to fit my mood and ambition.   This is in stark contrast to medicine where there is little to no control over the tone and pace of days that are subject to the demands of the patient schedule and the unpredictability of medical emergencies.  My work in the studio is done in solitude.  In the medical office and the Emergency room, the “work” of the physician is more public, done in the presence of others, often under quiet, but intense observation (the patient, patient’s family, and often medical staff).

Another difference relates to the focus and tone of the work.  The physician’s work is primarily mental, evaluating the patient’s symptoms, assessing their emotional status, and recommending a plan of treatment.  All of the effort is directed externally, to the problem at hand.  The primary focus is the patient.  The artist’s work is basically in direct opposition.  While there is a cerebral component to the work – knowledge of basic tenants of composition, color, etc. – the artist’s work is generated from within, in response to creative impulses that cannot always be understood, or controlled.  His only responsibility is to himself and his work. Unlike the physician, the artist’s work is entirely self-centered.

It was only after my work in the Emergency Room that I appreciated still another significant difference between the two professions.  The constant exposure to the pain, suffering, and fears of patients and family, especially in an Emergency Room setting, requires the staff of providers to become emotionally hardened to protect their psyche and allow them to function amidst so much unpleasantness.  It becomes necessary to close out the world, while still maintaining a deep measure of compassion.  This is in stark contrast to the artist, who strives to remain open to ideas, inspiration, and imagination as catalysts to his work.

So what do medicine and art share?  The artist and the physician each work alone.  The artist labors in the studio, directed by subjective, creative forces arising from within.  Only she can decide on the composition, the mood, and the intent of the work in progress.  No one else can do that for her.  Similarly, the physician is equally alone in the work he must do.  Although it may be in a more public setting with patients, family, and staff present, the real work is done alone, assessing the patient’s complaint, initiating a treatment plan and counseling the patient. Although consultation with colleagues is common, it remains an individual enterprise.  I remember the words of Dr. Leonard Lang, the chairman of the Department of Medicine during my residency.  He would remind us, “You can’t practice medicine by committee”.  The same can be said for creating art.

After struggling through this narrative, am I any closer to finding the link between two seemingly conflicting calls?  Perhaps I am.  The first half of my life was dominated by the reason and logic of science, and the second half by intuition and imagination.  Thus I have had the good fortune to be able to exercise both sides of my brain.  But the real link that enabled me to answer both calls was the opportunity for independence provided by both professions.  Although only art allowed me to design my own days, both allowed me to design my own life.

I Called His Name

The following is an excerpt from my book TRANSITIONS, available at the Artist Guild of Paducah's gallery at 115 Market Square in Paducah.

I looked,

I called His name, again and again, I called,

I talked to others

I read, I listened.

And I called His name, alone, and I called with others.

I called in darkness and in stillness

I called in celebration, with noise and music.

I read, I reasoned, I argued.

I was angry, I was lazy, I was frustrated.

I pleaded with Him, I derided Him.

I refused to give in,

and I called his name still.

I called from a small room.

a crowded church,

a personal retreat.

I called him through four seasons.

Once He answered.

MATERIALIZATION?

  

I don’t know what else to call it.

 

Why it has taken me this long – 74 years – to see myself so clearly is beyond comprehension.  While most of my “ah ha moments” occur in the proximity of my morning shower, I can’t recall when this one poked me in the head. It happened about a week ago.

I cannot let things simply be what they are.  I have this unrelenting need to act on things, to make them more than an experience or knowledge.

Ideas, thoughts, or feelings must be put into words, spoken, written, or both, and more often than not, they must be shared, quietly and personally through conversation, or publicly through writing (blogs, social media, etc.).

In my encounters with the world around me the same phenomenon occurs.  When a particular scene, natural or man made, inspires me, I am driven to re-create it on paper or canvas, directly or via a photograph.  Living with the experience and memory is not enough for me.  I have to make it into something tangible that I can see on demand, and, as is usually the case, share with others.

This is what has been driving me for the second half of my life.

PATIENCE MEETS MY PARENTS

Love can slap your head and knock you silly when you least expect it, and it does so at a time of its own choosing, regardless of your personal circumstances.  It certainly did so with me when I met a young nursing student named Patience during one of my shifts in the ER.  My life at that time was dark, and her radiance gave it light and hope.  After a very short courtship – phone calls, one day-long date, and a walk in the park – I knew we would be spending the rest of our lives together.  So it was only a matter of time that we would be driving the 30 miles from Wilmington Delaware to Landisville New Jersey for her to meet my parents.

When my father’s health prevented him from working, my parents decided to sell the farm and build a small home on a nearby wooded property they owned.  It was perfect for them. It had a large basement where my mother could cook and can (Italian-Americans often had a second kitchen in the basement.), and my father could make his wine, and with enough cleared land for a garden.  My father had two passions, wine making and gardening, both of which he pursued until one year before his death at age 82.

On the day of the big meet we pulled into their drive in my wild and wooly ’65 Mustang hardtop, stopping just short of the garage, which was always open.

Family and friends usually entered through the garage because it opened into the kitchen-dining area, where all the entertaining took place.  This day would be no exception.

Patience, whose 8^th great grandfather was Miles Standish, was a stranger to Italian-American culture and understandably was slightly apprehensive.  The first thing she noticed as we entered the garage were large, dark, moldy pieces of something…resembling hams… hanging from the garage beams.  I’m not sure she was reassured when I told her that was prosciutto my father was making.  It looked like nothing she had seen before, and certainly not something meant to be eaten. We did not have prosciutto that day, but we were having manicotti, one of my mom’s specialties, She asked Patience if she ever had “mana gought”, which is the way we pronounced manicotti.  Of course Patience said no, she had never had mana gought; when the food arrived at the table she immediately said, “oh, you mean manicotti” which sounded strange to our ears and brought polite smiles to our faces.

It did not take very long for the unfamiliar to become familiar, and Patience immediately became family.  Years later, when my parents died, mom in 1992 and dad in 1995, Patience was with me at the bedside holding their hands.  I cannot imagine getting through their respective illnesses without her and I thank God for her presence in our lives.

STANDING ON THEIR SHOULDERS

They had little to give but themselves, which they gave freely and abundantly.  Josephine, who never knew her father, at age eleven had to leave her home, quit school, and move into an apartment with three older brothers to assume all household duties.  Spartaco, known to all as Duke, lost his mother when he was eight years old. The youngest of four brothers, he left school after the eighth grade to work on the family farm, while his brothers and 3 older sisters completed high school and college or business school.  Life on the small farm for my parents was defined by unrelenting hard work, financial insecurity, and more than their share of  personal disappointments and illnesses.  Comfort and happiness were found in their large, extended family and friends.

It took forty years of living for me to fully appreciate all that these two remarkable people have given to me.

 Not a day goes by that I don’t think of my parents.  (My mother died in December, 1991, and my father in the autumn of 1995.)  I don’t know if this is unusual for someone my age, if it is because I was an only child, or if it’s because I am such a sentimental softy.  I suspect the real reason is because they were remarkable people, and that they gave me so much.  Ironically, in spite of all the writing I do, writing about them is very difficult for me.  Perhaps because I’m afraid I will not do them the justice they deserve.

I believe that I am the person I am because of my parents. Whatever I have accomplished of worth, and may yet accomplish, is the result of their gifts to me. 

The greatest of these gifts was a sense of self worth and self-esteem, which have allowed me to choose some of the difficult paths I have followed in my life.  I believe there is no greater gift parents can give to their children than a strong sense of their own self worth.

My parents taught me about love; they taught me about tolerance and forgiveness, and they taught me about humility.  They showed me that a person of worth treats everyone with the same respect and warmth, and that behavior toward others is determined by their humanity and not by their social position or importance.

They never spoke about these beliefs; they simply lived them because that is who they were.  Pretension was foreign to them.

I believe my life is a reflection of these two remarkable people, and I want it to be worthy of them.  My greatest responsibilities have been to live a life honoring their gifts and to pass these gifts on to my children and loved ones. 

After 78 years I’m still standing on their shoulders.

IT IS WHAT IT IS

Writing about the presence of so much pain and suffering in the world, a friend asked in his blog post, “… what the hell do we do with REALITY?  What do we do with these Job-like questions and this Job-like anguish we feel in the midst of this REALITY? Like Rilke, I live these questions awaiting the answers that do not readily come.” 

The anguish and the questions are timeless, weighing on the human mind since its emergence into its present level of consciousness. From the very beginning man has turned to God in an attempt to find purpose and meaning in the world and in their lives. Beliefs in an “Almighty” have evolved along with the rest of civilization, but the basic tenets of a transcendent deity has persisted, and today millions of men and women believe in the presence of a loving God in their attempt to understand why there is so much pain and suffering in the world.

Nature has no purpose; it is morally neutral.  Ours is a world of beautiful vistas and exquisite sunsets, as well as swamps, deadly diseases, and natural catastrophes.   Life has no divine purpose other than the instinct for survival.  All life fulfills a role determined by evolution.  Human beings, sitting at the pinnacle of biological evolution, are complex creatures, capable of love and hate, generosity and greed, and good and evil.  History reveals the incredible range of human behavior.

But, humans have the distinct capacity to question, to think abstractly, and to imagine.  We can imagine a world without pain, a world filled with love and not evil, and a world where justice prevails. We are cursed with the ability to imagine a better world, one that does not exist.  We recognize our frailties and helplessness in the face of this world and turn to a loving God for comfort and answers.  We look to Him for the justice that we so desperately need.  But for many, this very belief raises questions and anguish – how to reconcile the pain and suffering in a world created by a loving deity.

We cannot change the ways of the world, and I don’t know how much we can change human behavior. I think the best we can do is to live our lives encouraging, loving, and teaching one another to the extent we can, using whatever skills and/or resources we have.  History tells us we have made some progress, but there is so much further to go. 

I have faith in man’s potential for goodness.  I have faith in people like my friend who has prompted this narrative with his own questions and anguish.  The anguish never goes away, but the questions become how do we make the world better, rather than why is it the way it is.

HAPPINESS & WORK

 From time to time someone will ask me if I am happy.  The easy answer of course is yes. Saying no would require an explanation that no one would be interest in hearing.

When everything is going well in my world, I usually don’t think of myself as “happy”; it is too general a word to convey what is important to me.  In fact no single word or term serves that purpose.  Some that come close are: engagement, purpose, & meaning. And of these, engagement works the best.  However, when things go south, and I am angry, discouraged, or depressed, I readily describe myself as unhappy, rather than “un-engaged”.  Go Figure.

Try to create this image in your mind.  Imagine a sailboat on a very windy day - its sails billowed taunt with wind, and the keel buried deep in the water - as it moves swiftly across the surface, harnessing the forces of nature. All the elements are working, and the boat is engaged in doing what it is meant to do.

This is what I strive for, to be engaged in doing the work I am meant to do, work that gives me a sense of contentment, as well as purpose and meaning.  So isn’t that happiness?  Perhaps, but I avoid that description because engagement doesn’t necessarily mean serenity, joy, and peace of mind.   This work is often accompanied by anxiety, stress, and a roller coaster of emotional states, from elation to despair.

Let me define what I mean by “work”, a word I use frequently to describe, in a broad sense, what we do to give our lives meaning and purpose.  It is work that we feel called to do. It chooses us; we don’t choose it.  This is the work that replenishes the energy it consumes, work that may leave us exhausted, but with a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment.  In my years of medicine, creating art, and writing, I have been engaged in this good work.  In each of these endeavors I have experienced the fullest range of emotions, from extreme despair to joy and satisfaction, and I remain grateful for the experience.

OH SO BUSY

 

To a casual observer I may appear to have an ideal life.  Free of any nine to five commitments I can design my own day, and I have a wonderful studio where I can paint, write, and nap, all at my own pace.  Admittedly it does appear to be somewhat ideal, but appearances can be deceptive, and sadly my life is far from ideal.  In spite of my usual rosy, upbeat outlook on life, I suffer from several quietly debilitating maladies.

Perhaps the worst of them is a severe and unrelenting case of the Protestant Work Ethic, rather ironic given my secular upbringing.  Retirement is impossible when one feels the constant need to be productive, either actively doing or mentally planning something.  Doing neither, which would be a total waste of time, results in anxiety and/or guilt.

Unfortunately I also am afflicted with an equally severe case of “Procrastinationism”.  I am a wizard at creating excuses to avoid doing what I know I must do, and eventually will do.  This directly conflicts with the Protestant Work Ethic, and creates havoc with my state of mind.

 And there is more; at some point in my life I acquired the unavoidable habit of rumination, also referred to as contemplation, musing, and pondering.  I spend endless hours in quiet introspection, reading, journaling, and occasionally thinking about why I’m not doing the work I should be doing.

These three afflictions working against one another make for a very uncomfortable mix.  It is easy for me to imagine all of the work I would like to be doing, but it is not easy doing what I think I want to do. This dilemma is best reflected in a recent studio newsletter of mine.

“You would not believe how busy I am.  I am so busy not doing all the things I have to do that there is no time for me to do them.  There are currently four works in progress, two watercolors and two acrylics, and avoiding them leaves me no time for all the other stuff I think I should be doing instead.  It is not easy juggling this workload, and honestly, I think a lesser man could not do it.

Adding to my difficulties is the writing I’ve been trying to do between the times I am not spending on the paintings.  I am overwhelmed by all that I have not written these past few weeks, and I know that it will all have to be revised once it is written.  But being the tiger that I am, I soldier on, undeterred by all of this.  I could just sit in my room all day and work in my head but that is not who I am.  I insist on going into the studio every day where I have arranged space for me to write, and not do the work there.  The key to productivity is to remain busy and avoid the deadly trap of death by contemplation - over-thinking everything I’m thinking about while I’m thinking about it.

I am what I am, and it’s not always easy.”

Just a Bump on the Road

Actually the bump was in my abdominal wall, and no, it was not a well-developed “abs” muscle (although I can understand why one would think so).  It was a rather mundane, boring umbilical hernia, probably the result of my overly strenuous working out, or less likely from my expanding abdominal girth.  In either case it was a nuisance and not a problem, until it became red, warm, and painful.  Because of my medical background I immediately recognized that this was no ordinary umbilical hernia, and that major surgical intervention was indicated.  Sensing grave danger my tigerness immediately kicked in, and my first instinct was to protect my sweet wife from undue worry about my condition, so I refrained from running to her crying in pain.  Instead I took a wooden spoon from the kitchen and sat quietly with it clamped in my mouth to help manage my reaction to the pain.  Unfortunately she saw me since I was sitting directly across from, and bless her heart she laughed at me, knowing that levity would help.  She is very considerate that way.  And like any good nurse she told the doctor what to do.   And like any good doctor, I listened to the nurse and lay on my back on our bed.  The bed was more convenient than the back yard that she suggested.  The relief was considerable, but I knew it was temporary and definitive measures were needed.  But where - Mayo Clinic, Duke, Vanderbilt?  I was searching the Internet for the leading medical centers in the repair of umbilical hernias when it dawned on me that the best surgeon I knew, Dr. Kevin Stigall was right here in Paducah.

I consulted with the good surgeon, and he explained to me what the surgery would entail. Being insightful and wise he down played the gravity of the situation and said I might be able to go home the same day of the surgery and not have to spend 3 days in the surgical ICU.  But I could see the concern in his eyes.  Clearly this was no ordinary hernia.  He checked his calendar and suggested a date; I’m sure he wanted a time when back up teams of surgeons and cardiologists would be available in case they were needed.  He did not come out and say this directly, but I could sense that was what he was thinking.

Yesterday morning we arrived at the hospital at 6 a.m. to sign in and begin the prep.  I knew I had to be strong for Patience, but I wasn’t sure I could carry it off, especially when I had to take all my cloths off and put on the gown IN FRONT OF HER. Since the top of my head is not very far from my feet the gown reached down to the floor and I looked like Yoda from Star Wars..  I did not cry when the nurse started the IV in my arm, or when Patience had to leave the room.  The nurse said she was giving me something to relax so my sobbing wouldn’t make the surgery more difficult.  The next thing I knew I awoke with this huge bandage on my belly, at least 2, maybe even 2.5 inches wide.  I was breathing fine, and my vital signs were stable; clearly I had dodged a bullet thanks to the skill of the fine Dr. Stigall.  We were back home by 4 p.m. where I would begin the long arduous recovery under my wife’s stern but loving care.  When it comes to healing I’m a tiger, and I expect to return to my usual routine by the end of the year – but it could be sooner, perhaps a week, if Patience has any say in the matter.

From TRANSITIONS a journey in words

NOW

I have been standing – waiting – waiting

Waiting to move closer to the edge

Slowly – imperceptibly – moving toward the brink

Slowly – imperceptibly – removing myself from those around me

The path wanders, my journey falters, appearing to cease

But always – always moving closer to the edge

Where I must step up to the brink and declare my faith

And the willingness to stand alone – and face the darkness

1/19/78

From my book - TRANSITIONS

I AM NO ONE HERE

I call my name

And no one hears

The song began so long ago

I heard it once

And did not know

How clear the clouded dreams

Seen only by the blinded heart

Or so it seems

Soft and gently across my soul

Outrageous winds

Continually roll

We claim the mystery that is ours

As despair retreats

Before silent tears of joyous hours

1984

WHAT ARE YOU AFRAID OF?

I’m trying to understand the exteme conservative mind, and after considerable reflection the conclusion I reach is that it is driven by a combination of fear and insecurity.  Almost all popular conservative policies and ideas have a negative connotation.  They aspire to deny or take something away from others.  They do not want women to have the right to choose in regards to abortion.  They do not want to allow gay men and women the right to marry.  They not only want to restrict welfare and food stamps, but they want to demonize and punish the recipients.  They are against the science of global warming, and they dislike unions.  They refuse to allow Muslims into our country. They are afraid, almost obsessed, of people getting something they don’t deserve.  They would rather deny help to many, so the few do not get undeserved help.  This fear renders them incapable of offering forgiveness, i.e. amnesty, so they support policies that would tear apart families and punish children, policies devoid of any compassion or caring for fellow human beings.   They are willing break up families in their eagerness to deport illegal immigrants.  One cannot avoid hearing the harshness in the voices offering policies that demean so many citizens of this country, while they benefit the wealthy and the powerful.  There is meanness to their tone and name calling, blaming the poor for being poor, and the needy for being needy. In their minds, people are poor because they are lazy, and if everyone adopted Ayn Rand’s attitude there would be no poor people.

 They not only strive to cut funding to education, but they ridicule the educated, and mock science.  Their America seems to consist only of their “base”, and their extremism eclipses any meaningful presentation or discussion of the full compliment of conservative ideas and policies.  

Together, these positions suggest a very narrow worldview that readily embraces a rigid, fundamental and authoritarian type of faith.  “Fiscal responsibility” trumps compassion.  Extreme conservatives appear to be fearful of losing something they value; wealth, position, or prestige.  At the same time, they are fearful that others may get something they do not deserve (think welfare recipients).

Liberalism’s openness to change frightens conservatives who cling to the comfort and security of the familiar.  I believe they are afraid of a new world and new ideas that takes them out of their comfort zone.  They need the security of the past, a past that has been kind to them, if not the rest of the citizenry.  And they hide their fear and insecurity behind the giant screens of, Christian fundamentalism, the evils of “big government”, and the myth of the self-made man.

Taxes have been demonized, stripped of all the civic services they allow our government to provide, because government itself is evil.  This promotes their real agenda, enhancement of the establishment and the moneyed corporations, by preventing much needed government regulations to protect us from the unscrupulous actions of too big to fail banks and industries.  (Unfortunately their “liberal” colleagues often join them, as they kiss the asses of their cash-giving supporters.)  They want a 19^th century government to serve us in the 21^st century.

This extreme thinking not only goes far beyond classic conservative thinking, it threatens our country with its “my way or no way” attitude.  Valuable conservative policies and ideas are lost amidst all the inflammatory rhetoric.  We are not a country of conservatives, or liberals.  We are a country of conservatives and liberals, and to succeed we must find a way to respectfully serve both.

Extremism, conservative or progressive is understandable, and even healthy, but only when accompanied by a willingness to compromise.

RED V. BLUE AS I SEE IT

I think this; you think that.  She sees this; he sees that.  They believe this; but you believe that.  We think, see, and believe in such contradictory manners that our country seems to be severely fractured along cultural, political, and religious lines.  What accounts for such conflicting opinions among people with seemingly similar backgrounds and educational levels?  Nature, nurturing, and experience seem to share a role in how we establish our opinions as adults. 

Someone raised in a family with strongly held beliefs, liberal or conservative, is more likely than not to share those beliefs as an adult.

Then there is our DNA.  We are born with certain basic “mind sets” or psychological profiles that play a role in determining our worldview.  Introversion and extroversion are probably the most well known examples of this.  (And there are many more?)  I would like to propose two polar mindsets that are at work here: fear and insecurity opposed by hope and trust.

These are traits buried deep within our psyche where they quietly exert their influence on us.  They are not feelings or concerns that we are consciously aware of in our daily lives, yet they determine many of our life choices.  I find it helpful to look at many of our contemporary social and political conflicts within this framework.  I have listed in separate categories, but they all share these fundamental differences.

Absolute v Contradiction & Relativity

Fear and insecurity can be relieved by beliefs in absolute, infallible truths that cannot and should not be questioned.  They provide the comfort and security of a foundation that erases conflict, doubt, and contradiction.  The appropriate authority provides the answers to any question.  The authority can be a father, a man of the cloth, a sacred text, or a political prescription that points the way.

This is in contrast to those who are suspicious of authority and continually question it’s edicts.  They prefer to explore endless options in an attempt to gain insight and understanding.  They see gray instead of black and white, and are more likely to recognize nuances that preclude simple answers.

Simplicity v complexity

Some see the answer to current social and economic problems in very simple terms, and have no need to get involved in issues and notions that only complicate matters. 

Opposing them are those that want to expand the search for answers to questions they believe demand more than a simplistic response.  As is so often the case, each extreme shares part of the truth, but sadly they cannot see it, or they refuse to see it. 

The individual v Community

Here the virtues and desires of the rugged individual come face to face with the need to coexist with a growing and diverse community.  Our liberties as individuals, more than ever before, have to be weighed against our responsibilities to the community and the common good.  The 21^st century bears little resemblance to its predecessors, and some of the liberties of the frontiersman are no longer practical today.  This polarization can be seen in conflicting views of the roles of government and major corporations, states rights, and how the Supreme Court interprets the constitution.

The Past v the Future

History offers us facts, describing events, recording dates, and documenting people and cultures.  It also provides us with fodder for myths, and the opportunity to remember times that were never quite like we remember them.  The “good old days” were not so good for some, and outright bad of others.  Whatever was in the past was in a country and society that no longer exists.  There are valuable lessons to be learned from history, but some feel more attention should focused on what lies ahead.  The world is rapidly changing; bringing us problems we have never faced before, problems that past experience alone cannot resolve.  America in the 21^st century bears little resemblance to 18^th century America. Change can be frightening.  There is comfort and security in the familiar, even if the familiar is associated with some unpleasantness.   For some, it is easier to deal with the known than face the unknown.  To be open to change, and to embrace new ideas and new ways of interpreting the world, requires trust and confidence, and a willingness to take risks.  It leans heavily on a strong sense of hope and optimism.

I have described these traits in a broad and general manner to make a point.  In fact they are not so clearly defined, and many individuals share some from both ends of the pole.  And I make no judgment regarding them.  My point, no, my passion, is the need for us to see the middle and to be willing to listen to one another and be willing to compromise.  We cannot succeed as a democracy without it.

What does it mean to ba an American?

Many Americans believe we are a nation blessed by God, and subscribe to the notion of American Exceptionalism.  They argue that we were founded on Christian principles, and consider us to be a Christian nation, ignoring the language of the US Constitution reads. 

If we are indeed, a nation under the God of Abraham, rooted in the principles of the Old and New Testaments, then we must adhere to the concepts of love and compassion, both as a nation and as individual citizens.  Neither love nor compassion is mentioned in the constitution, but arguments can be made for their inference.  They are easily embraced as abstract notions, until we are faced with the risks and responsibilities associated with them.   A case in point – the Syrian refugees, men, women, and children fleeing their country for fear of their lives.  They are not running away from an occasional terrorist or deranged individual with an assault rifle. They are escaping the military devastation of their homes and communities. In February the NY Times reported: “at least 470,000 Syrians had died as a result of the war, almost twice the 250,000 counted a year and a half ago by the United Nations.”

Over 4 million Syrians have fled their country, and their destinations reported by CNN last September are as follows:

Turkey: 1.9 million, Lebanon: 1.1 million, Jordan: 629,000, Iraq: 249,000,Egypt: 132,000, Germany: 98,700, Sweden: 64,700, France: 6,700, United Kingdom: 7,000, Denmark: Hungary, 11,300, Australia: 12,000 resettlements, and the United     States of America, the country blessed by God, and founded on Christian beliefs - 1,500 resettlements.

And why have we responded so shamefully to this humanitarian crisis?  Because we are afraid of the risk of having terrorists sneak into our country.  Yes, it is possible that one or more terrorist could slip by our screening process, and could eventually plot an act of terror against some of us, somewhere, in this vast country of ours. But no terrorists can destroy our country. The only people who can do that are you and I  by allowing our fear and anxiety to escalate to the point that we behave in ways that refute everything that America stands for.

America has survived the 9/11 attacks, and we can survive more if necessary.  Terrorists can damage our sense of security, but not our will and our moral courage.  Lives can tragically be lost, but that happens here every day in our homes, highways, streets, and work places, and we go on.  Of course we must be vigilant, and act to protect ourselves, but we need to keep the threats and the risks we face in perspective.

We recognize the men and women in our military, and our first responders as heroes because of their courage and willingness to take risks for our benefit.  They do all they can to minimize their risks, but the risks are never completely eradicated.  They place themselves in danger for what they believe in. But as citizens and politicians, we are unwilling to do the same. We refuse to help the families whose lives have been upended by war because we cower in fear at the possibility of a terrorist entering our country.  It is shameful.

We have allowed fear to override compassion.  If we are unwilling to accept these risks and the responsibilities, we are not the country we like to think we are.  Donald Trump is diminishing our country.