A Call for Your Help and Your Thoughts

I need your help. This past week, I met with someone who works in Residence Life at a major university here in Philadelphia. She does a lot of work revolving around leadership, diversity, and social justice. She's asked me to speak to the students at this school involved in the Greek Life community (fraternities and sororities) and possibly athletes as well regarding sexual assault and sexual harassment.

Why are we doing this? Because the lifestyle associated with fraternities and sororities makes it much easier for sexual assault to occur. Because girls who are involved in Greek Life are much more likely to experience rape than the normal student body. Because at this particular school, there have been dozens of reported cases of sexual assault in the last couple of years alone.

The reasons go on and on and on. It's an issue that has to be addressed. But we have a huge challenge ahead of us--how do we get through to a bunch of students who don't necessarily want to hear the message or who don't understand their role in preventing sexual assault and harassment?

It's a challenge I welcome and cherish. I'm grateful to have it.

This is where I need you. I'd love to have as much help and perspective as possible as I think through my approach.

I want to throw out a question as an initial catalyst to get your thoughts and stories. The question is this:

If you had the chance to say anything to students (particularly those in the Greek Life community) regarding sexual assault/harassment, what would you say?

Maybe you have a story--an experience that might reach someone. Maybe you have some advice based on what you've gone through or seen. Maybe you know someone who has experienced some terrible things because of a lack of awareness about these issues. Maybe you're involved in Greek Life now or have been at some point and can offer some thoughts.

If you do, if you have anything, I would love to hear from you.

Email your story or thoughts to speak@climbingatree.com. 

You can also find me on Facebook and send me a message.

I understand some of your stories may be sensitive and difficult. I promise that I'll protect your privacy and identity if it's a story I can use with the students. Additionally, if you'd like to send me your story or thoughts but don't want me to share it with anybody and would like me to simply hear it, please still send it. I'm welcome to any and all perspectives and information that can help me attack this challenge. It all helps.

Thanks, everybody. I appreciate the support.

10 Reasons Why Guys Without Beards Are Awesome

This is discrimination, I thought.

Last week, I had clicked on a link some people were sharing. As I read the article, I couldn't help but feel like I was inferior in some way because of my genes. Some emotions I felt: Anger. Shame. Jealousy. Hunger. (Those other emotions really get a guy's appetite going.)

The article was called "7 Obvious Reasons You Need to Date a Guy with a Beard."

In it, the author makes a case for the power of a man's beard. She says things like, "(A girl) knows that even a decent five o’ clock shadow can transform any dork into a rugged, mountain-climbing hunk." And "There’s a reason why Allie went back to Noah in The Notebook — and we all know it was his beard."

I took offense to this. I still do. I'm pretty upset by it, and you'd be able to tell if you were here with me in person because there's no beard on my face to mask the reddening of my skin.

As my bearded friends love to remind me, I'll never be able to match their manliness because I can't grow a beard. My five o'clock shadow starts to come in about...two days after I shave.

Well.

I've made my own list in response. This is:

THE TOP TEN REASONS WHY GUYS WITHOUT BEARDS ARE AWESOME

1. Guys without beards have nothing to hide. Especially their beautiful faces.

2. Guys without beards don't have chunks of last week's potato salad still hanging around their chins.

3. You'll never have to ask yourself, "Is this person normal, or is he the next Una-bomber?" when you see a guy without a beard.

4. You won't feel like you're bushwhacking through Mirkwood Forest when you kiss a guy without a beard.

5. Guys without beards are smarter, stronger, and faster than guys with beards. That's science.

6. Guys without beards can teleport through time and

Okay, fine. I can't think of ten reasons.

Beards are awesome, we all know it, and I want one.

Ladies, go find your bearded Ryan Gosling. The rest of us beardless guys will just have to settle to date Sarah Michelle Gellar in Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathons.

If you'll excuse me, I have work to do, because I have to pay for the $80,000 I spend on razors every year.

(Fun fact for beardless guys: If a bearded guy is holding a young child, tell the kid to pull on the fun thing hanging off that guy's face. It'll make you feel better for at least a minute.)

 

***

 Feature photo ©2014 Mark Tighe | Flickr

Time Is On Our Side

On most days, I view time as my enemy: everything I do is a race against it, an effort to slow it down or reverse it.

That's most days. But not today.

Today, I want to slow down. I don't want to fight the ticks of the clock's hands. I don't want to try to paddle against its current.

Sometimes, we work and fight and try and work some more for whatever it is we want in life, but the last ingredient we need to bring it all together is time.

This is for those of you who have done all you can do, or are doing all you can do, and now need to let time do its thing.

Some of us, we need time to heal...

...time for our bones to set.

...time for our tissue and tendons to thread back together.

...time for our ears to stop ringing from words fired from the chamber of a gun.

...time for our hearts to find the rhythm of love and trust again.

Some of us, we need time to forget...

....forget the shame that clings to our skin like August humidity.

...forget our old ways, our little destructive habits.

...forget the hands, the lips that bruised us.

...forget the hands, the lips that once loved us.

...forget the hot, burning sting of our disappointments.

Some of us, we need time to remember...

...remember what it's like to be free from our addictions, our regrets, our darkness.

...remember what makes us come alive.

...remember the notes and the melodies of the songs that make us sing.

...remember what's worth the risk and the sacrifice.

...remember why we loved in the first place.

Some of us, how we need the time...

...time to outrun our fears.

...time to find our way out of the fog.

...time to stumble into hope again.

...time to dust off our dreams.

...time for the stars to come into focus.

...time for the sun to finally show its face again.

Let's allow time to do the work we can't do, to carry us beyond our limitations, expand our near-sightedness, and erode our stubborn vices.

Time doesn't always have to be our enemy. Time can heal, and time can reveal.

Time is on our side.

***

Feature photo ©2010 Sean MacEntee | Flickr

My Most Important Work

I'm having a realization as I stare at my iPhone's calendar, full of dots that represent meetings, events, obligations, get-togethers, classes, and appointments.

It's a slightly scratchy feeling that gnaws at the spots I can't reach with my arms as I buzz through my days. Days sucked dry with all the waking, walking the dog, ironing, packing lunches and changes of clothes, eating, commuting, teaching, emailing, texting, social media-ing, eating, reading, studying, working out, driving, class-ing, grocery shopping, laundry-ing, and...more eating.

That feeling, I know, originates from my to-do list (my to- do lists, more accurately) and crawls around my skin and at just the right moment, when I've stopped to catch my breath or close my heavy eyelids, I hear it say:

You can't get all of this done.

The worst part?

It's right.

If anyone is need of some space, some margin--it's me. I like to keep telling myself that it's because of grad school, that this is just a season that will be over at some point. However valid or not that reasoning is, the fact remains that I can't, and I won't, get everything done.

As much as that bothers me, as much as I hate the feeling of incomplete tasks and the cackling jeers of unchecked items on my to-do lists, I've come to a place of calm in my chaos. It's not resignation; it's more like fog lights that cut through the morning mist enough to allow me to see just enough to move forward. In this season of plenty-to-do, there's one question I've been asking myself and using as my north star:

What is my most important work?

It's a crucial question for me. For a while now, I've been privileged to not have to deal with the problem of not having work. Instead, I have the challenge of never-ending work. The piles of tasks I have seem to regenerate faster than the rate at which I make them disappear, and a line has formed out the door.

Rather than tackle these tasks the way a restaurant kitchen would handle its food tickets--one at a time, in chronological order--I've spent a lot of time asking myself what's most important, and devote my energy to that first. Why? Because when this season of life is over for me--in six months, a year, two years, or whenever--I don't want to look back and realize that I neglected what actually mattered.

So what is my most important work?

It's taken me years of working through trials and errors, getting lost, chasing the wind, disappointments, heartbreak, selfishness, pride, foolish ambitions, blind optimism and reeling cynicism, sky-high triumphs and rock-bottom failures, abundance and near-poverty, company and loneliness--to realize that my most important work is people.

Achievement can be great. Accolades can be great. Awards and accomplishments and all that jazz can be great.

But God forbid that a student comes into my class in September, leaves in June, and never hears me say, "Good job." Never hears me say, "I believe in you." Never knows what it feels like to have someone who is rooting for them.

God forbid that I lead a group of people and they never know that I am for them. That I care more about who they are than what they can do for me.

God forbid that I arrive in one piece at the end of this season of plenty-to-do and a friend has slowly fallen apart and hasn't heard me once ask, "What is going on with you? What challenges do you have right now? How can I help?"

God forbid that I waste my words trying to promote myself, or criticizing people, or spreading cynicism, when I've been given such power to bring light and hope in what I say and write.

God forbid that I reach some goal of mine, pay off my debts, build my platform, publish my work, improve my students' test scores, speak about some important topic, play some decent music, but have the people who are important to me not know what it's like to experience my love for them.

What a tragedy I'd have on my hands.

What a shame it would be to have missed the forest for the trees.

How long it's taken me to realize what my important work is...and how sad it would be for me to neglect it, knowing what I know.

In this season of plenty-to-do, I will undoubtedly make mistakes. I will allow certain tasks to slip through the cracks. I will disappoint someone at some point. All of this will grieve me to some extent.

But it's nothing compared to the grief I'll feel if I look back and my most important work hasn't been done.

Cutting through the chaos, shining through the fog, singing a melody over the noise, are the beating hearts of the people I care about and am privileged to have in my life.

They are my work.

You are my work.

I hope I get that job done.

What about you? What's your most important work?

Feature photo ©2014 Ingrid Eulenfan | Flickr

#LiveTogether: (Not So) Great Expectations

We're continuing the #LiveTogether series, in which we take a look at the highs and lows and in-betweens of doing life with people.

I'm excited for today's post--it's from my good friend, Sarah Gurley. Enjoy!

***

When I was four years old, my dad found me crying on the floor of my bedroom, buried by my dolls and a palpable sense of anxiety.

“Why are you crying?” his concerned voice asked.

My pre-school self tearfully responded, “Because I don’t know who I’m going to marry.”

At four years old, it was silly. Juvenile. Innocent.

But then 23 rolled around, and I had yet to experience a real romantic relationship. I’m not talking about holding hands at lunch, or circle “yes” or “no” notes; make-out buddies or a date here and there. No. A real relationship. A partner. Someone you can depend on. An automatic plus-one to the prom. A “you hang up first” wave of nausea for anyone unfortunate enough to be within earshot.

I saw it perpetually happening to my roommates and friends. College was the absolute worst place for someone grappling with singleness. While everyone eagerly coupled up around me, I stood firm on my island of solitude. Who needs a man, anyway? I’ve got my ambition and body pillow, dang it.

I moved to South Korea after college graduation to seek adventure. After all, I made it out of college without a significant nibble on my romantic fishing lure--why not move halfway around the world and ride out this single wave while I’m young? I packed away my yearning for romance, locked it in a box and left it under my childhood twin bed. Let it collect dust; see if I care. I was headed to the Land of the Morning Calm where I most assuredly would not find a romantic interest.

But the unthinkable greeted me upon my arrival. I met someone. As soon as my feet found the sweltering Korean ground, a fetching, blonde-haired New Yorker started to show interest. Not just casual interest either. We’re talking Ethan Embry in “Can’t Hardly Wait”, ridiculously in like with me. So I did what any relationship amateur would do. I jumped in feet first.

But there was a problem.

After that day my dad found me in my bucket of self-pity tears, I spent the next 19 years racking up expectations and ideals for whoever would eventually fill the role of significant other in my life. Everything from appearance and talents to personality type and disposition were accounted for.

This poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

I finally found an eligible male who was head-over-heels for me, and three weeks into our relationship, I dumped him over a plate of Korean dumplings (the irony in our food choice was not lost on me). One may ask why on earth would I break up with a guy who was kind, compassionate, caring, handsome and all-around wonderful?

Simple: he didn’t fit the bill.

I started my collection of expectations before I even hit puberty. And without a significant relationship in my past to give me a healthy dose of reality, those expectations ballooned. What started as an innocent “that would be nice”  multiplied into countless dealbreakers. I didn’t have to give a reason for the breakup other than, “He’s just not what I’m looking for.”

This guy in Korea didn’t have the right profession. He was a teacher. I wanted a pastor. He wasn’t super musical. I wanted someone to write songs with. He was blonde. I wanted a guy with dark hair. He was super athletic. I wanted someone less…hunky. (Editor's note from Paul: All of the nerds of the world are thinking, "Where was I when you were single??") Sure, he had everything else I was looking for but to my novice and nitpicking heart, what he lacked drowned out the whispers of his outstanding qualities.

We parted ways.

Then, something curious happened. My mom, whose opinion I esteem more than just about anyone’s, told me I was being a self-centered, unrealistic, hypocritical idiot (not in so many words, but that was her gist).

She didn’t want my unrealistic expectations and ideals inhibiting me from experiencing life to the fullest. We can’t all marry Ryan Gosling, sigh.

We’re always going to find something in our significant other that doesn’t quite fit the bill; nobody is perfect. But life isn’t comprised of rigid puzzle pieces needing to fit together just so. If that were the case, we’d spend 50% of our time looking for that specific person and the other 50% stressing over whether or not we already missed him/her. But have you ever put together a worn-out, old puzzle that has eroded and chipped pieces? What was once a beautiful landscape is faded and filled with gaps. When the pieces no longer fit perfectly, what’s the use? It’s not worth the effort so you just throw the puzzle away.

What I didn’t realize was that by racking up all those expectations, I was setting myself up for a temporary, throw-away puzzle of a relationship. Even if he fit my 23-year-old self, would we still fit together at 33? 57? 81? By going in with a checklist of qualities, I was preventing myself from experiencing the wonderful unpredictability of love.

I took a few months to rid myself of my unyielding plans and expectations. I threw my puzzle pieces away and instead embraced moldable clay. Where one piece pushes, the other can give way to allow for the new formation. A beautiful, flexible push and pull where chips and gaps are simply rubbed away.

One day, the guy came back around and asked if I wouldn’t mind giving it a go again. He hadn’t changed during that time apart. He was still a semi-musical, hunky, athletic, blonde teacher. But after sloughing off my own expectations and preparing myself to jump in sans deal breakers, I found myself falling in love with this unsuspecting gentleman in a far-away land.

A wedding, two adorable children and seven years later, he’s still creatively exceeding my original expectations each and every day.

***

Sarah is a travel-addict who leads worship and teaches bible at a private boarding school in Western New York. When not reading age-inappropriate YA novels or searching couch cushions for lost binkies, she spends time with her hunky husband and two daughters. You can check out her book reviews and mom rants at Paperbacks & Pacifiers. 

Feature photo ©2011 Aric Cortes | Flickr