yourwhy-blog

[yourwhy-blog]

Why I don't like customer service

by my friend Abigail Morrison — find more of her musings here.

So, since starting a retail job, I’ve been thinking a lot about customer service. I remember the last time I had a job where I dealt with customers directly, I had a really terrible attitude, so I was eager to start afresh and put into practice many of the things I’d thought to have already or now wanted to learn, particularly to be less judgmental, more generous with my time, and over all more loving. I’ll admit it was easy at first, because I was learning new things, I felt as though I was genuinely helping others, the customers were all nice, and because overall, as a beginning cashier, my duties were fairly light.

As time has gone on however, I’ve started to sense a shift. I’m fighting it for sure, which in itself is a sign of growth, but I’ll be honest in that there are a few things fighting back.For one, I can be super jealous for my time (even though it’s not really my time anyway and I’m getting paid to be there. Sorry God, I’m working on it!) so being in a setting where I do roughly the same thing week after week and find myself picking up the same items left around the store over and over again instead of being free to write or do the other things I’d rather do (apparently the self-employed independently wealthy lifestyle appeals to me) can feel like being an extra cog just spinning around in a pointless, giant machine. Secondly, having more responsibilities means I don’t have as much time to spare to (ironically) help a customer plan out a project or find a product if I’m going to get everything done. Third, when you have people around you who are negative in the work place, even if it’s just a few, it can be really easy to find those attitudes and habits slipping into you (for the record, I really like my coworkers, so nothing bad on them at all here) just because it’s around.

In any case, when I started noticing those first pangs of resentment, I started to question why. I think my first clue was when they started asking us to say “Thank you for shopping at _______” at the end of every transaction, and things have grown from there.

I think, ultimately, the problem is, we think of customers as our “them.”

Now, you may be thinking how this makes customers into “them,” but what I mean is that the whole attitude of customer service puts up walls that keep us apart. I’m not saying there shouldn’t be boundaries of course, and I think that for some people those rules are a good starting place (who knows, maybe if they thank customers enough for shopping they’ll start to actually be grateful for their shopping), but I think more often those kinds of things put us into robot mode instead of people mode. You know, a fake smile, laughing at everything, the banter or service formulas. We retreat into our own hearts and minds because we’ve reduced human interaction to such a basic and shallow level that we don’t even need to pay attention during. Does that seem like service to you? More importantly, does it scare you? Phrasing it like this, it kind of scares me, and I think maybe it should.

There are other walls too. Anyone who’s ever worked in retail can tell you stories about customers. “They” leave stuff around the store. “They” are rude. “They” ask stupid questions, “they” bring in screaming kids and “they” don’t act like you’re human. But, under a given set of circumstances, couldn’t you do (or more likely, haven’t you done) the same thing? I know I’ve had times where I’ve run into a store to grab one quick thing right before they close. I’ve had trouble finding things, left things in a general area rather than the correct spot and almost certainly been rude at some point. As a customer I’ve probably fallen into the same robot interaction trap cashiers do because my mind’s been on other things. What is it about the fact that they just happen to be doing it in my store with me as the cashier that makes them any different? Sometimes when people talk about customers, it’s like they’re this bumbling sub-human race whose only goal is to wreck the store. “Those people” are humans too though and while yes, some of them might do things we consider rude, it’s their flawed humanity at the root, not their role as customer. By simply bundling them under that label, we allow ourselves a chance for distance, distance that goes too far, I think, when that’s not really the point at all.

The point is to serve them (like all humans), to better their lives so to speak, which brings me to my last point.

I’ve talked about how customer service can dehumanize people, turn them into dollar signs or stumbling fools, but what it can also do, is put them up on a pedestal. If customers are people, then no, they’re not always right.

Respect for others, discipline, and boundaries are all things that are good for us, things which if not maintained require correction. I’m not saying we should go around calling customers out on everything or be rude or anything–that same love and respect we desire should be at the heart of our own actions–but I sometimes wonder if certain aspects of customer service culture prevent social accountability, a sort of pass for shoppers to be rude or unreasonably angry because “they” are always right. Their actions always excusable because they have the right of way. I’ve been lucky to be free for the most part from squeaky wheel people myself, though there have been a few, and when they come up, I sometimes wonder, just how much better would it be for you if someone told you you’re being rude? If someone questioned your actions? Part of this is because they usually make me angry or sad and the natural instinct is to fight back, but part of it is also because, even though I understand they may have a larger life context that is causing the problem, that doesn’t give them excuse to treat someone else poorly. I don’t believe true service has any place for letting people get away with things. If it did I’d never be corrected at dance, counselors would always simply agree and Jesus would never have rebuked or corrected the flawed thinking of his disciples.

I guess the places I feel have the best customer service are the places I’ve felt least like a customer. I’m more comfortable as a human, not a pot of money, fool or queen. I am still sorting a lot of this out though. I’d really like to know what you think. Are there more walls that you see? Do you think I take things too far? Where have you experienced the best customer service? What do you think marks the worst?

Thanks for sticking with me. I know it’s been a long ride.

Love you!

P.S. While I do recognize a lot of these attitudes in myself, I am not trying to say that all of those in customer service positions do. I’m sure there are many people out there who really do care about their customers as equally I am sure there are many who really don’t. This is just a reflection of some of the things I’ve experienced, not meant to be representative of anyone else at my company or otherwise.

[yourwhy-blog]

Why truth, why toast, & why you should be there on May 30th

In past blog posts, I've made reference to something called the "love brunch," a gathering I hosted around Valentine's Day 2013.  Guests were invited to bring a song or other work of art that embodied love to them, & we talked about it over french toast & mimosas. (Click here to listen in on part of it.)

At the end of this month, the brunch is coming back!  But this time, we'll be talking about truth. Learn why:

WHY TRUTH 

Truth (with a capital T) has been an interest of mine since middle school, when I started reading C.S. Lewis's Mere Christianity & thinking more critically about my beliefs.  The first chapter, which I've read & reread & read again, discusses the idea of moral absolutes—the existence of a concrete right/wrong.  

Many people don't buy Lewis's arguments, but one thing I admire about the chapter is the author's emphasis on "if…then" statements.  "If X is true, then Y."  (His logic is actually, "If we do Y, we're implying that we believe X.")

This is an important thing to think about, if not the most important thing.  Anyone who has soul searched has discovered inconsistencies between their behavior & their beliefs; why is that, & what does it say about us? And particularly as artists—writers, musicians, dancers, filmmakers—what happens when our work doesn't line up with the things we say we believe, or when our lifestyle doesn't match our work?  

These are questions I'm excited to explore with you on May 30th!  

WHY FRENCH TOAST

Because breakfast food is all I know how to cook. :-)

THE DETAILS

Get the details & RVSP to the public Facebook event here.

Guests are asked to bring a work of art, original or not, that exemplifies a truth they resonate with—or maybe one they don't resonate with & want to talk about anyway.  Also, please bring a brunch dish to share if you can! Can't wait to see you there.

Yours (truthfully),

Alma

[yourwhy-blog]

Why Lorde should be singing for me

Before you say anything, know that I'm a fan. Not being much of a radio junkie, I arrived unfashionably late to the Lorde party; I heard "Royals" for the first time last October when casually flipping through stations. I remember exactly where I was when it happened, too, because I was so mega-impressed & so mega-jealous (even more so when I found out she was only 16) that I pulled over to the roadside, grabbed my phone & pleaded with Google to tell me who this girl was. That's a "why" I don't even have to explain. "Royals" is a perfect song off a dynamite album—musically & lyrically sophisticated enough to win over hipsters & Top 40 fiends alike. The girl is going places—she already is places—& I'm excited for her. I'm excited for us, too, at the prospect of airwaves that are more open to artists with Lorde's wit & creativity. But…you've seen her on stage, right? Again, again, I'm a fan. But you've seen her on stage, right? You've seen the strained facial expressions and trademark hand spasms that lead the singer herself to admit that she "look[s] like Gollum" when she performs. Responses to her live shows are mixed, as we can tell from this YouTube comment exchange that took place on Selena Gomez's rendition of "Royals". Selena's video features a lot more smiling, a lot more hand on hip, even a mimed steering wheel when she comes to the word "Cadillac." And some people like it: But some people don't: I'm not here to talk people out of their preferences. I actually want to suggest—& bear with me—that both girls are being selfish. Selfish? I have to give Lorde credit for throwing out whatever textbook most pop stars get their gestures from. Unlike Selena, who defaults to movements she's seen hundreds of other singers use, Lorde defaults to her body's natural rhythm. But from what I can tell, they're both defaulting. And that means that neither girl has taken the time to sit down & ask herself, "What exactly am I saying in this song, & how can I best communicate it?" So what are they sitting down to ask themselves? Well, nothing, probably. But as a singer myself I can guess at what they're doing. I know the feeling of getting up on stage without having thought things though—gestures, banter, note choice, song selection, whatever. And truthfully, when that happens, it's because I don't care about my audience. Maybe the gig is minor & I say, "screw it." Or maybe it's major but I "don't have time" to put in the prep work or am too proud to switch things up—instead deciding to give my supporters an inferior product because I'm too lazy, stressed or insecure to shoot higher. I'm being selfish; I'm putting myself above my listener. It shouldn't be that hard to fit "selfish" & "Lorde" into the same sentence, right? After all, this is the girl whose Twitter bio is a Conor Oberst lyric that reads, "No, I am not singing for you." This is the girl who, when told by a New York photographer to "pop [her] hip out" & "try to look cute," told him,

I'm #1 in the this country not because I flirt and wink and all that sh—, but because I've done exactly what I want to do. (source)

But that's not the attitude at fault here; in fact, these quotes only reinforce images of her as a performer who values genuineness & rejects gimmick. If it weren't evident enough from her actual lyrics, Lorde says in interview after interview that she's frustrated with the current state of pop music because the audience can't relate:

I feel like there aren't that many young people in pop music who are actually talking about what it means to be a young person. … Pop music doesn't have to be stupid. And alternative music doesn't have to be boring. You can mix the two together & make something cool that people will like, because people have a brain. You can combine saying something clever & saying something in a highly accessible way. (source)

"In a highly accessible way." Lorde does care about accessibility, deeply. Then why all the twitching? I've got a few theories, nerves being at the top of the list & fear of change being second. Or maybe I'm wrong & it's actually a calculated part of what she wants to embody; who knows? This is Lorde's why to answer. But I do hope that some day, if not today, the "why" behind her gestures is us—that she is singing, stepping, waving, blinking, whatever for the sake of communicating her message. Alma

[yourwhy-blog]

Why is God so distant?

by my friend Adam Rostad — check him out here.

Hey people. Up until the end of last winter, I hated the cold and the snow. This winter I have a new appreciation for it though. This is something I wrote last winter. Some of you may have seen it, and some of you definitely haven't. Just thought I'd share it with you.

Why does God seem so distant?

Recently I've been pondering why God seems so distant sometimes. Growing up I had heard plenty of camp/convention speakers talk about this subject, and the general feeling I got from them was, 'It's not God that is distant from you, it is you that is distant from God.' So recently, when a friend was struggling with this feeling I shared with them what I had always been taught. I said, 'Maybe you're the one that is distant.' And after that conversation, God began working in my heart.

If you were the primary snow shoveler at your home, you will agree with me that this winter was a long one. At first when the snow came it was nice. It was something fresh, something new. But then after a while it got old. We got tired of it. We just wanted some warm weather. A few weeks ago we had a day that was 45 degrees all day. It was beautifully, sunny. A great day all around. The next day, there was a blizzard.

The day of that blizzard, I was sitting in a coffee shop in Chicago, sipping hot cider and reading a book. I could not help but notice the sound of whirling wind, and the sight of my car being buried under a few inches of snow. At first I was not happy. I thought about the previous day and how nice it had been and I started to get a bad attitude.

The more I thought about the snow, the more I longed for the next nice day. I started anticipating the next day that I could wear shorts and sandals. When I could drive with my windows down. Waiting with expectation. And that's when I had the coolest moment with God, that I think I have ever had. It was like He was sitting across the table from me in the coffee shop, explaining why He is so distant sometimes.

"Nice day we're having isn't it?"

Oblivious to what was happening I said, "Not really. Wait, when did you get here?"

"I've been here for a while now, few thousand years, but who's counting? You don't enjoy this weather?"

Looking outside at the accumulating snow, I tried to put a good spin on my bad attitude, "It's not that I don't enjoy it, it's just that...I'd rather have some warm weather. Especially after a day like yesterday where we got a taste of Spring."

"So you have an anticipation for Spring? It's something you're expecting to show up soon now?"

Catching on, "I guess you might say that."

"I can see that you're starting to understand where I'm going with this, so I'll come right out with it. Everything you think you know about why I'm distant from my creation, is wrong. Do you really think that you can put any distance between us? You are mistaken my friend. The way you feel about Spring, the expectant waiting you feel, the anticipation...that's what I want you to feel about me. Sometimes, you get so used to me being around. You take me for granted. So, I pull away sometimes, so that maybe you'll feel that longing, and seek me out."

"YOU pull away from us?" I was stunned. "I'm sorry, but I'm having a hard time with this. I can't help but feel a little abandoned if it's you who pulls away from me."

"But you'd be alright if it was you pulling away from your creator?"

"No..."

"Your view is skewed, but you're human, so I'll forgive you. Don't look at it as abandonment, look at it from my point of view, as a father. You don't have kids yet (author's side note: thank you Lord) but, as a father, one of the greatest joys is playing hide and seek with your child. You're not abandoning them when you hide, you're trying to get them to seek you out. It feels good when your child has the desire to find you. It brings you joy, and in turn brings the child joy. That is what I want.

"You guys seem to forget that this is a relationship. It's two way thing. It's not all about you. I want to feel wanted. I want to feel joy. Remember, I am a jealous God. I want to be what you seek with everything you have."

And then He was gone. Not gone, gone. But the conversation ended. And I was left to ponder the information He had given me.

As I think about the camp speakers of my past, I don't blame them for putting the spin on this that they did. They were going for revival. Trying to get the youth to 'see their wicked ways,' so that we would turn to Jesus. And a lot of times that works. I've seen many a heart changed through that. But, when that's all we see when we feel distant from God, we miss out on so much. We miss that the reason behind the distance, is love.

It really is about seeking God. God wants our desire to be him. So maybe sometimes when we get to comfortable with where we are, He pulls away. So that we might seek Him out with everything we have. And He promises that if that is what we do, we will find him. How awesome is that? And maybe when the snow comes next year, you'll look at it a little bit differently.

"But even there, if you seek God, your God, you'll be able to find him if you're serious, looking for him with your whole heart and soul." —Deuteronomy 4:29, The Message

[yourwhy-blog]

Why you can't kiss away the bruises

by my friend Olivia Boyd — find more of her musings here & follow her on Tumblr.

I never thought I'd be a very good doctor. Neither science nor math has ever been my forte, and facing life-or-death situations daily would be apt to have me hiding in a closet in an effort to avoid making decisions. I can't staple up bleeding head wounds or set broken bones. I'm more or less okay with that. Trade a twisted ankle for a broken heart, however, and the story is quite different. Last year my best friend suffered through a bad case of depression. It went undiagnosed until much later, so neither of us knew that's what we were dealing with until we were both thoroughly tied up in confusion, bitterness, and despair. I was confused and upset and trying to keep my own head above water in the middle of a dreary and worry-ridden winter. My reaction was a study in "absolutely positively the opposite of helpful." When confronted with this fact, I scrambled to stitch up the wounds I'd widened, apologizing and resolving to be more supportive and better at listening. Soon, I was second guessing every word and every silence, terrified my foot would fall through what was already so fragile and bring everything crashing down with one wrong step. I was desperate to help heal the hurt, unconsciously punching holes everywhere I went. The farther down the rabbit hole we both fell, the more the crushed I became by the self-prescribed label of "inadequate." If only I could be understanding enough, supportive enough, comforting enough, everything would be okay. I was supposed to be the one that picked her up in the middle of the night to get ice cream when she needed to get out of the house. I was supposed to be the one with whom she went on long walks when the words piled up and she just needed someone to lie down with her and listen. I was supposed to be the one who could distract her with silly stories and observations when she needed it. I was supposed to be the one that held her when there were no words left anymore, and who could give her space when necessary. Instead, I was digging a grave deep and wide enough for the both of us. Eventually my guilt reached critical mass. I didn't stop caring, but I stopped trying. I was exhausted. I was bled dry from the futile fight against someone else's bitterness, cynicism, and hopelessness. I was tired of drowning in the idea that I was and could never be good enough. I knew something had to change. I pulled back, thinking we both just needed time to clear our heads and reevaluate. It was at that point that I unintentionally delivered the final blow that cut deeper than I ever could have anticipated. I have since learned that I have trouble understanding pain. Part of it might be my determination to will away my own dark moods, because today is going to be a good day whether it wants to be or not, gosh darnit. The other part is my tendency to run and pick up the pieces without thinking, bandaids in hand. Somehow, I think enough late night conversations and conciliatory baked goods will make it all better. But pain runs so much deeper than that. It takes root in your insides, wraps itself around your bones, and slowly drains the light out of you. Thinking you can cut it out of someone is like trying to bail out a sinking ship with a tea spoon. I remember sitting bent over on my bedroom floor, asking God to make things right again, for the wisdom and the strength to be better. I knew I had to look to Him, that He was the only solution. And yet, between my ribs sat this urgent need to speed up the healing process. And healing takes time. As an artist, I have a tendency to brainstorm; I'm constantly looking for solutions, jumping back to the drawing board when the latest idea isn't working. No doubt it can be helpful when you've got a deadline looming, but it makes me pretty lousy at waiting on and listening for God. I knew He was the answer the way you know summer mornings will come when you are standing in subzero temperatures in the dead of night. Some might call this an example of faith—hope in things yet unseen—but really I think I was leaning on the idea of God more than the actual Man Himself. Recently I was at a conference, and got smacked in the face with this little nugget of truth: "The root of idolatry is forgetting God." Even in our quest to be like Him, we can forget Him. I have learned that it is possible to make idols out of virtues. I became so concerned with stitching up the pain that I accepted it as my own personal mission, not really understanding the meaning of the phrase "He works through us." I was so caught up in putting another person's needs above my own that I put them above God Himself. I became so desperate to be somebody's everything that I forgot that title belongs to Someone else. I knew of God. But at the bottom of that rabbit hole, I didn't really know Him. Even in our efforts to do good we are apt to drive the knife farther into our chest and those of the ones we love. If that's not a testament to how much we need Him, I don't know what is. It's not enough to say, "Hey, I know a guy who can fix that." It's not enough to simply commit yourself to the idea of living like Him and to the things He stands for. It is only His very real presence that saves anything. It is only His living, breathing being in the beat of our hearts, His existence as the One we come home to, that heals. My story has no neat and tidy end. There is still much to be restored, much pain to be healed, and no doubt waiting to be done. But I am hopeful. I don't know when or how, but I know He will bind what's been broken and kiss away the bruises where I never could. He created every single star in the universe and every atom in our bodies, and He loves us too much to leave us at the bottom of the holes we dig.

[yourwhy-blog]

Why I've been laying low

Hey, friends! You may not have noticed, but it's been a couple months since I cranked out a new What's Your Why. As much as I want to attribute the hiatus to recent responsibilities & undertakings (like…I spent the fall touring with singer Kwesi K!), a quick "I've been busy" doesn't quite capture the truth. Business & exhaustion did play a role, yeah—but there's something else at play that's caused me to hush: Everyone's talking. Everyone's talking all at once, & I've begun to second guess the value of my own voice in the conversation. You guys are on Facebook—you see it. Article after article (about feminism, cultural appropriation, Bill Nye vs. Ken Ham), status after status (about the "polar vortex," the CTA, your latest fitness goal), event after event (because everyone & their brother is playing the Tonic Room tonight). The sheer amount of information cycling through my newsfeed has begun to make me nauseous. I still visit Facebook on a shamefully frequent basis, but I find myself dreading it a little more each time. It's all so freaking loud. And me, I hate loud. It's not that I'm quiet or timid, but—much to the chagrin of every sound man I've worked with—my voice gets masked very easily in a noisy room. The effort required to be heard above the din makes me cranky, such that by the time I actually get my message across I've put myself in a bad mood & soured the air. So I try to hold off until things quiet down, & this is exactly what I've been doing with WYW. The problem? Things are only getting louder. The newsfeed clutter increases as my Facebook friends multiply, & the friends I already have are becoming more impassioned about their latest cause, courtesy of some viral Huffington Post or Buzzfeed article. And telling people to shut up just adds to the clutter, so what's a girl to do? Well, I've considered closing my mouth, shelving this project. But I'm as passionate about whys as you are about racism & Vine videos, so I don't see why I should be the one to back down. Alternatively I could yell, demand more attention; but I already know it would only leave me bitter & serve to obstruct vulnerable dialogue. So instead I've decided to invite you into a quieter corner of the room where I'll continue to share my thoughts & questions no matter who's listening—&, as always, ask you to do the same if you're comfortable. I've been laying low because I've been waiting for silence. But I've come to understand that, in the Age of the Newsfeed, silence is something to be fought for rather than stumbled upon. Peace (& quiet), Alma Shout out to Marcus Broderick Fidel Montgomery, who unknowingly reminded me these last few weeks that I do actually have something to say. :-)

[yourwhy-blog]

How a temporary Adele obsession taught me why I need to be more mindful about the art I'm consuming.

A talk I gave at my high school on October 10.

[yourwhy-blog]

The above audio is an interview between my brother Aaron & one of his professors at Penn State University.  It's intended to supplement the writing below, in which he explains how he came to study economics & why he might consider academia as a career path.

Introductions first: my name’s Aaron Cook, I’m a first-year Ph.D. student in the applied economics program at Penn State University. As a fan of this blog myself, I’m grateful for the chance to contribute something here, and I’ll try to keep this from being too massive a drop-off in quality.

In the thick of day-to-day coursework, I don’t often get a chance to reflect more broadly on why I’m in this particular field, or even why I’m still in school at all. In some ways, this has been the plan all along. During my first year of college I became interested in economics after taking introductory macro- and microeconomics, and I think it was in that first year when I knew I’d probably be going to graduate school. I recall a particular moment, checking my email at a computer kiosk in the hallway of a campus building, when it occurred to me that there are people who get paid to come up with solutions to important, real-world problems, and I reasoned that if I stayed in school long enough, I might someday get to be one of those people.

While the desire to do something both intellectually stimulating and policy-relevant has guided my academic plan, what’s gotten me to State College, PA has been a series of small, not particularly well-reasoned decisions. After two years at a local community college, I transferred to the University of Wisconsin for my junior year because it was close to home and chose to major in Agricultural & Applied Economics because the description sounded interesting. I finished my bachelor’s degree there and after sending out applications to four master’s programs, Purdue University was the only one to respond with a funding offer, which I accepted. Finishing up the master’s program with the option to transition into the Ph.D. track at Purdue or transfer to a similar program at Penn State, I opted for a change of scenery and moved to Pennsylvania.

At some point during this process, I sort of informally defined academia as my long-term goal. Why? I might actually be able to trace this back to a particular conversation I had with a professor at Wisconsin. He was my undergraduate adviser at the time, Dan Bromley. An older gentleman, he has had a long and very distinguished career in agricultural economics both as a teacher and researcher. On this particular fall afternoon in 2008, I met with him in his office, perhaps to talk about scheduling classes or something of that nature. During the course of our interaction he brought up the fact that he had been in Washington D.C. the previous week giving a presentation at the World Bank and he also mentioned off-hand that he does some advising for the government of Sudan. I thought to myself, “Hang on, your work impacts the decisions of national governments and multi-billion dollar agencies?!” I remember walking out of his office feeling excited and energized, imagining myself one day being in his position. It was inspiring to see a man who had become an expert in his field go on to use that expertise to influence policy-makers around the world.

I recently had another interaction of this sort with Professor David Abler, a faculty member in the applied economics department here at Penn State. I had the opportunity to interview Dave as part of an assignment for one of my courses this semester. I greatly enjoyed sitting down with him to reflect on his career, his process, working with students and colleagues, etc. The audio of our conversation has been included with this post and I encourage readers to listen in (approximately 15 minutes). While some of what we discuss is not specifically targeted to a general audience, I feel there’s a lot that can be learned from a guy whose been excelling at his job for almost 30 years. If I end up with the opportunity to start a career in academia, the chance to follow in the footsteps of someone like Dave Abler will have been one reason why.

[yourwhy-blog]

I know that this video ("Why Louis C.K. hates cell phones") went viral weeks ago & in that respect is kind of old news, but I've been thinking a lot about the subject lately—not only since I saw the video, but for the last several years.  

I have a hard time reconciling the incredible beauty/convenience of technology with the fact that it seems to be hollowing out many of our personal relationships.  I'm for sure not the guiltiest of the social network-crazed, but there come times when I'm at an event or with friends & I become antsy to break the mood, whip out my cell phone & Facebook about it.  And then when I Facebook about it, I'm antsy to see how many people will put their "Alma is cool" vote in the ballot box by clicking "like" on it.  

Take for example the Pictures of Hipsters Taking Pictures of Food blog.  I'm sure some people have valid reasons for taking pictures of their dinner before they eat it…but it often seems sometimes that we'd rather take pictures of our food than eat it.  And that's pathetic.

[yourwhy-blog]

Why Jesus Says Your Works Are Shit

by my friend Angela Steadman

Okay, so maybe Jesus didn't say the word shit. Paul did. In Philippians 3:8b he says that he counts all things as shit in order that he may gain Christ. Yes, I know your Bible says rubbish or something like that, but the correct translation is shit. But you are correct, Jesus did not say shit. (...or did He? If we believe that Paul wrote under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit who is One with Jesus then....nuff said.)  Now on to the heart of the matter.

Which of his works does Paul count as shit? Well, all...yes. But, if you look at verses 3-4 Paul says that he refuses to put confidence in his works, then proceeds to list all the reasons why he should have been the one to pen "Stuntin' is a Habit" way before David Banner did. Paul was powerful. He was born into the right family and did the right things...good things. Yet, these are the things that he counts as shit.

Well, shit. Why, Paul? Why?

In verses 8 and 9 he tells us that it is in order that he may "gain Christ and be found in Him."  In counting his good works a shit, Paul gains Oneness with God Himself. I'm not going to pretend that I understand this mystery (to be found in God...???). I do hope to spend my whole life, and then some, experiencing this. What I do know is that a core implication of this Oneness is receiving the very righteousness of God as his own. That is, because of Jesus' death, because He placed our sin on Himself, all are invited to have His perfection placed on them. You see, while Paul may have had the right to stunt, he was cognizant that, although compared to most of the people around him he kind of a big deal, compared to his Creator, the One with no wrong, that was far from the case.

In fact, by comparison to the all perfect works of God, his good works were indeed shit. For this reason, by having faith in Christ, he chose Oneness with God over his good works.

The logic is as follows: why settle for boasting in your few good works when Jesus gave you all the good works? Like, all of them. In His death Jesus made us spotless. In our good works we make ourselves feel okay until the next time we screw up again. Then we feel like...shit...again. Here's the way Jesus flipped the script though: He invites us to look at that time you didn't curse out homegirl for taking your good parking spot while you were in a rush and, instead of doing a Jay Z and getting the dirt of your shoulders for your patience, you let that remind you that Jesus did a Destiny's Child for you and Catered 2 U to the point where, from His POV, ain't no dirt on your shoulders anyhow.

The last comment I want to make is on the words "in order" and their implications. Paul says he counts his works as shit in order that he may gain Christ and be found in Him. "In order" implies a necessary stepping stone to get from once place to the another. If that stone is absent, movement will not occur. It implies an either-or. Either Paul was going count his works as shit and Jesus as his treasure or...vice versa.

This is true for us today. Either we will recognize that our good works have nothing on the the perfection of God and accept Oneness with Him by faith, or we will count that Oneness as shit. May we join Paul and count our good works as shit that we may gain Christ and be found in Him.

[yourwhy-blog]

Click the above title to read Kate Morin's take on online dating.

I initially wrote a post this week about why I'm offended by ChristianMingle's tagline ("Find God's Match For You")—but in doing research I found myself more interested in the overall trends in online dating.  I'd be super interested to hear about it from someone who's tried!

[yourwhy-blog]

Why I'm moving out of my dream apartment

My most recent (& final) year of college was my best on every meaningful level.  While my grades weren't flawless, my growth as an artist, friend, spirit and mind is something I'll look back upon with a smile.  It was also an extremely comfortable—& I think necessary—period of my life in the sense that my living situation was a dream come true.

I moved into my little studio last September.  I love nearly everything about my apartment: the murphy bed, the tiny stove, the walk-in closet, the furnishings, the paint and trim.  The vintage building itself is beautiful & quirky, complete with a rickety gated elevator & a view overlooking the elevated train.  Most importantly, it offers solitude; it's a space entirely my own.

But a few weeks ago, I made what felt like an impulsive decision not to renew my lease—furthermore, to trade my little Lakeview studio for a nine-bedroom house on the south side. 

The "why" here is clearly not preference, at least not the preference of comfort.  What won me over about this new place, a Christian community house off 61st & Drexel, was the realization that there was another reason, beyond superficial beauty & even neighborhood safety concerns, that I didn't want to move.  Check out the email I sent to my friend LeAnn (who currently lives at the house) after I'd made up my mind:

When considering the idea, I went through a mental pros/cons list as most people would.  I love my current physical space, so I'd miss it.  And I love living close to certain friends on the north side.  But I was startled by some of the cons that I was too embarrassed to even grant space on the list—how living with other Christians would mean that someone might ask me where I'd been the previous night, or confront me about the clothes I leave the house in, or ask me if I'd prayed about the decisions I was making.  I don't want any of those things…I like thinking I can trust myself.  But the fact that I felt my lifestyle might be threatened by moving was as clear as a sign as any that more accountability would be a good idea.

As backward as it seems, I'm moving because I don't want to move.  I don't want more spiritual accountability.  I want to do whatever I want whenever I want & never be called out on it.  But at the same time, I know that if I've made the decision to follow Christ, I need to be all-in.  God in his wisdom has designed community to help me out with that, & it's time I took him up on the offer. Alma

[yourwhy-blog]

Click the above title to read Christy Chan's take on "the cultural roots of ballsy aunties & uncles."  

My friend Wendy shared this with me about a month ago.  Check it out!  Interesting thoughts & beautiful illustrations.

[yourwhy-blog]

The art of two cents: criticism, deconstructed

I’m funny when it comes to criticism.  

On the one hand, I’m quick to defend its victims: you hate on the guy who hesitated too long at the stop sign, I make an excuse for him.  You speculate that that couple’s relationship is superficial, I might tell you to go easy.

On the other hand, I’ve got to be one of the top 5 most critical people I know.  Not only am I “my own worst critic," but odds are that I’m your worst critic too.  ;)  You make a grammatical error, hit a wrong note, use a superfluous hand gesture, suggest an impractical idea…I probably notice. No mercy.

The natural twist to this is that I don’t take advice well—half the time because I’m genuinely convinced my way is best and the other half because admitting that it isn’t is scary & uncomfortable.

The following passage from Gretchen Rubin’s The Happiness Project shed some light on both my sick need to criticize & my terrible fear of it:

Why was it so deliciously satisfying to criticize? Being critical made me feel more sophisticated and intelligent—and in fact, studies show that people who are critical are often perceived to be more discerning. In one study, for example, people judged the writers of negative book reviews as more expert and competent than the writers of positive reviews, even when the content of both reviews was deemed to be of high quality. Another study showed that people tend to think that someone who criticizes them is smarter than they are.

(Read more)

The idea that critical people come off as experts but might not actually be experts hadn’t really occurred to me.  I just assumed that every time John Doe pipes up to cut down my ideologies & methods & style it was because he’d been around the block enough times to offer something better.

Then I thought about it—and realized that when I myself put on the critic’s hat, my biggest fear is that someone more intelligent than me will overhear & call me out, exposing my ideas as nothing but hot air—more importantly, exposing my intentions as malicious, centered around what makes me look smart & not what brings the most benefit to the listener.  

Because that is the goal of constructive critique, yeah?  To benefit the listener? 

Somewhere along the way, I lost that.  Choosing words became about instilling fear in the room—the same fear I felt when someone tore down my ideas—and not about offering something of value.

We need criticism; we need tough love; we need people to say things that are hard to hear.  But we need to keep our intentions in check as we go about it, because what’s hard to hear can quickly become all too easy to say & all too impossible to take back.

Alma

Photo credit: Taylor Frontier

[yourwhy-blog]

You may or may not have gathered this from the way I personally dress: I have pretty loose views on showing skin (as discussed here). I try to be respectful towards whatever cultural group I am with, but all things being equal my policy is to make myself comfortable—in summer, that could mean miniskirts and crop tops to beat the heat.

In this talk, however, Jessica Rey speaks to the possibility of modesty not being quite so relative as she explains why she started her swimsuit line.

"Brain scans revealed that when men are shown pictures of scantily clad women, the region of the brain associated with tools, such as screwdrivers & hammers, lit up. Some men showed zero brain activity in the medial pre-frontal cortex, which is the part of the brain that lights up when one ponders another's thoughts, feelings and intentions."

All for now,

Alma 

[yourwhy-blog]

Why I'm grateful for Taylor Swift

Taylor Swift takes a lot of flak for a lot of reasons.  Google her name and let the results speak for themselves:

They say that her songwriting is too predictable, too anti-feminist.  Her voice is too thin, too inconsistent in concert.  She's too skinny, too tall, wears too much makeup.  That surprised look on her face every time she wins an award? Too phony.

I'm not a Taylor Swift fan, but I'll admit that out of curiosity (maybe jealousy as well?) I've done more than my share of research on her rise to fame.  And, regardless of how I feel about her music and her voice, she consistently impresses me with comments like this: 

I definitely think about a million people when I’m getting dressed in the morning, and that’s just part of my life now.  I think it’s my responsibility to know it and to be conscious of it. It would be really easy to say, 'I’m 21 now, I do what I want. You raise your kids!' But it’s not the truth of it. The truth of it is, every singer out there with songs on the radio is raising the next generation. (Click here to see the interview.)

Here's where you could point out that if Taylor Swift is raising the next gen, we're going to end up with a lot of bitter, boy-crazy relationship addicts who don't take responsibility for their problems. And yeah, there's something to that; one of the many reasons I don't like her songs is because they usually feature her as the victim.

But the fact that she even acknowledges the power she has over young people, and the fact that she's willing to change anything about her lifestyle to accommodate that, puts her head and shoulders above other celebrities her age.  I'm absolutely certain that more than a handful of young girls have kept themselves out of trouble because they thought to themselves before the fact, "Taylor Swift said that she doesn't feel the need to ___ or ___, so why should I?"

Entertainers have a disproportionate amount of influence.  Maybe it's not fair to them, but that's just how it is—so I don't think it's unreasonable to expect that they be disproportionately careful in everything they say and do.  There are certainly things I opt not to say in some of my music because I know I have young, impressionable listeners who might not understand where I'm coming from; they might interpret what I say as a green light to do XYZ even if that wasn't my original intent.

Let not many of you become teachers, my brethren, knowing that as such we will incur a stricter judgment. For we all stumble in many ways. (James 3:1)

We all hold power over people in some sphere of our lives.  Are you aware of yours?  Why (or why not) do you choose to change you behavior accordingly?

[yourwhy-blog]

I've heard a lot of justifications for & arguments against curse words; this one stuck with me.

I've come to find out, though—especially in college—that not swearing can have the same undesirable effect that Caulfield contemplates here: some people will be less inclined to listen to you, maybe less inclined to talk to you at all, because they feel you're uptight & unapproachable.

Of course, there's a lot more to an uptight reputation than just your vocabulary.  But what do you think?  Are there good reasons to swear or not swear?