Reminding Myself Every Day
It’s hard these days to not think about the good and the bad in people. The polarization of political views is inextricably caught up in a series of values that cut very deep into all of our consciousness. Regardless of which way you lean, it is clear your angle of lean has increased a great deal of late. You may not have changed your beliefs at all, but the chances are that you have deepened your conviction to those beliefs and perhaps hardened your stance and willingness to entertain much leeway in them. Just as with the nature of those beliefs, some of that is good and some of that is bad. I think its fair that we all wish there was less polarization and more common ground. Our radicalized and reactionary thinking is dangerous to our peaceful coexistence and portends a time of great unrest not just in our country, but in our world.
What tends to come along with hardening views is iconography. If we feel strongly, we tend to want others to know how we feel. We seem to like wearing it on our sleeve. When I was in high school living in Rome, I was a displaced American who wanted quite assuredly to be an American. Since someone of my size had a hard time passing himself off as Italian, I wanted to be recognized as an American. I did it in two ways. I wore a green army jacket purchased at the Porta Portese Flea Market to which I had hand-sewn an American Flag on the left shoulder. It was a strange affectation since then, as it is today, such a display says redneck and was held together by “love it or leave it” sentiments. The combination of my anti-war, peace-loving, liberal sentiments were non-sequitur to the adornment of a flag, and especially so on a surplus U.S. Army jacket. My long-haired look and pork chop sideburns combined with my natural baby face seemed far more oriented toward Kumbaya than skinheads and jackboots. And then there was my AGV motorcycle helmet, which I painted silver with the black block letters for USA emblazoned across the front over my forehead. You see, I was a skier and Robert Redford made a ski movie called Downhill Racer in 1969 and I thought it was the bomb. The US Ski Team that year wore those style of helmet. While Hendricks and Baez were rolling in the mud at Woodstock, clean-cut Redford was plying the international racing circuit. I was certainly confused at 16, but I was nothing if not solidly patriotic to my country.
Whether its a fist raised in defiance or a Confederate Flag, we surround ourselves with reminders of who we are and what we stand for. I have a t-shirt that just says RESIST. It was to represent the stand against separating families at the border, but I came to like it because it declared me to be “in the game” resisting God-knows-what, but resisting nonetheless. When you walk into my house, the first thing you see is a lovely mosaic rendering of California with a conquistador on horseback walking toward the Alcala Mission in the distance. I did not commission this rendering of Conquistador Juan Bautista de Anza, it was done by my nephew Jason out of a love for history. But it does adorn my threshold and is perhaps no more than a historical reference, but a decidedly imperialistic one symbolizing European conquest of the Californian Native American tribes from Yuma up to San Gabriel and eventually up to San Francisco. I also have miniature clay and resin replicas of all 21 of the California Missions even though, were I to stop and think, I might find them too much a symbol of dominance and aggression.
Not all my icons are so conquest-driven. I have a stone and metal statue of a grazing bison, a large framed photograph of the Anisazi cliff dwelling called White House set into a cliff in Canyon de Chelly, three typico colorful and primitive Mexican paintings, a stretched round tapestry of a golden Indian (as in subcontinent) village and a colorful, large Turkish bowl that screams Asia-Minor. These are all reminders of past travels and cultural diversity that adds tremendous texture to our lives, all in a positive way. They and my other artifacts and antiquities that surround me remind me every day that we live in a very diverse world where there are cultural aspects that are worthy of respect and awe as we live out our comfortable American lives in retirement. We use our icons to declare to visitors where we have been, for sure, but we also use them to remind ourselves of who we are. I spend far more time looking at and admiring the prized icons of my life than anyone else does. It may be somewhat because I live here and simply have more time for such pondering or perhaps the same thing that drew me to collect, keep and display them draws me to them still, but I think it is more.
I wrote a story recently about my Jerry Anderson bronze statue called Quicksand. I explained how special it was to me as a reminder of my favorite business school professor/dean and as a helping-hand sentiment. Those are the reasons I like it, but as I sit here in my living room, I realize that I spend an inordinate amount of time staring at it vacuously almost every day. It sits in the middle of a large polished and rugged tree trunk table that grows up from the floor in a most organic-feeling way, suspended as it were in thin air like a small island in the sky. I cannot help but notice it and be subconsciously aware of all that it says. It is a strongly stated sentiment that lending a helping hand to others is the most import thing we can do in life. And the more that person needs our help and the more that they are different than us, the more import it is to do just that. The conviction towards selflessness is a strong belief that permeates all religions and exists because of the importance of community.
By looking at this icon every day and mindlessly internalizing the message that it broadcasts, I am kneading my soul into the shape humanity requires. When people ask why statues of Confederate soldiers must come down just like Confederate Flags must stop flying, it is not about the soundbite of cancel culture, it is about forcing ourselves to think better thoughts as a means of improving ourselves organically. I know this works on me even though I have no clue how it could ever be measured except perhaps with a Rorschach Test. I am sure that if I looked at bad images every day, bad thoughts would occupy my mind more and either drive me crazy with despair or drive me crazy with obsession.
I very consciously want to be a better and better person every day. My wonderful step-father, Irving Jenkins, rest his soul, whenever asked how he was, would simply say “better and better!” I noted that as a very positive life choice that spoke of a perspective of continuous self-improvement. I am glad to have the Jerry Anderson statue and all the other things I like to contemplate because they are the best way for me to always be reminding myself every day that I must get better and better, however I can.