People have been entirely frustrating as of late. I feel very judged. This might be because I feel I have been acting inadequately, and maybe it's because they're really being judgmental, but it really shouldn't be bothering me. People make assumptions about the intentions of others all the time, especially when they think they have some particular insight into the person's mind, and they're often wrong because they try to make the complexity of the human mind simple. And it's just not.
That's only vaguely related to what I wanted to write about, but these things just fall out of my head sometimes and have to land somewhere. Sometimes I think people shouldn't write about what they don't know. Actually, I think that most of the time. Amateur writers, including myself, often try to write about something they know nothing of--a short story about a kidnapped crack addict with a tragic past trying to beat the odds in Cancun. They, we, confuse art with complexity. The familiar doesn't seem complex to us because we're used to it.
Because of this, I end up writing about things I know for sure something about. My childhood experiences or personal observations cannot be disputed because they're mine and I'm the authority. But when writing begins to inch up on the margin of familiarity and leak out of the edges of the known plane, it gets dangerous. There is a risk of talking out of your proverbial hind end.
On the other hand, writing is how I figure out my thought process. I think things I'm unaware I'm thinking until I begin writing how I feel and it somehow organizes itself on the page. It's how I come to understand me. So if I don't write about things I don't know about, how will I ever form an opinion?
I was thinking about all of this during one of my classes. We were discussing a movie that dealt with a lot moral, ethical, and heavily religious themes. I do have opinions on these things, but for the same reasons I'm sometimes hesitant to write about them, I'm hesitant to speak of them in class. For one, my opinions are sure to be controversial for the setting; and two, I'm afraid of venturing into an area that I'm not capable of knowledgeably discussing.
But as the professor offered up valid and intriguing questions, I felt the familiar and usually squashed urge to answer. I kept squashing. But one other student kept offering up slightly-off-the-mark and thoughtless answers. The professor, not wanting to completely shut down his lone participant in the discussion, was helpless to correct his logical errors and simply asked "does anyone disagree?"
I disagreed. And I said so. And I prefaced my remark with, "not being a particularly religious person..." There was an uncomfortable shift in the room, but nobody said anything, and the professor ran with my actually-relevant-to-the-topic comments. I felt much better after I'd let my opinion be heard, and it was received positively.
I didn't think about this anymore until today, in another class with a different professor. He is an intelligent man and generally looked up to among my peers. But while I was first in his class a few years ago, some of my respect was withheld because he wore a cross around his neck. While I know I shouldn't judge people based on religious beliefs because the last thing I want is for people to judge me based on my lack of them, I can't help but think they are somehow deficient in logic and reason if they cling to a deity. This is especially the case if they are considered part of academia.
More recently, I noticed that his neck was now jewelry free. Assuming he'd abandoned his religion was a bit extreme, I figured, and I just guessed that the necklace had simply broken or gotten old or something.
But today in class, he made a statement that was music to my ears: "The older I get, the more I think like John Lennon: maybe we'd all be better off without religion."
There is something remarkably equalizing when an authority figure reveals that he had gone through a similar struggle you had, even much later in life than you had it. I felt like I had in class before when I spoke up--vindicated and relieved.
But that brought about a new worry. Why did I need the approval of these professors to feel vindicated, to be proud of my beliefs? I am sure they are what I believe in, so why do I always try to bury them? I will definitely defend them and admit to them if asked directly, but I never offer the information voluntarily. What good does it do to be ashamed? I'm just succumbing to the pressures I hate to think even exist.
Perhaps I should edit down this post into at least one coherent theme, since I have them running every which way. But I'm not going to. It demonstrates the very practice of my realizing my thoughts as I type them. All in the course of writing this blog post, I have complained about being judged, judged others, assumed others were judging me, and complained about the very idea of being judgmental. All in a day's work, I suppose.
I agree with my professor, as we all get older, we should all be more like John Lennon. John Lennon wasn't afraid to admit to his beliefs--he sang them over and over. Instead of being indignant, he tried to inspire change through his musical talents. Sure, he was judged so harshly somebody saw it fit to murder him. I still think we should all strive for that sort of confidence and peace and certainty.
You just might think I'm a dreamer, but I bet I'm not the only one.
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