Dear Man/Dear Woman: A Noteworthy Conversation … October 29th, 2016

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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Man: I just saw this guy that was really pissed off.

 

Woman: What was the problem?

 

Man: Well, he held the door open for this lady and she waltzed through without smiling or saying thank you, so he called her the “b word.”

 

Woman: You mean “bitch?”

 

Man: I don’t like to say that word.

 

Woman: Unless you get angry enough, right?

 

Man: That’s not fair.

 

Woman: You know what’s not fair? When men or women do kindness to one another and attach onto it the notion that they are performing this graciousness because the other party is inferior.

 

Man: I don’t know what you mean.

 

Woman: It’s the difference between being considerate and condescending.

 

Man: Give me an example.

 

Woman: It’s like that guy you saw. He held the door open because he looks at women as weaker vessels who need to be treated carefully and given space.

 

Man: What’s wrong with that?

 

Woman: It’s coming from his head. It shows that he thinks females are not as capable as he is. The same thing’s true if he buys his girlfriend flowers. She may not like flowers. But she’s supposed to like flowers because it’s built into our system that men can manipulate women with flowers. Or guys who buy women drinks at a bar. They figure by putting ten or fifteen dollars into an investment, they can purchase her time and affection.

 

Man: I don’t get it. So what should a guy do to show that he’s honoring women?

 

Woman: Stop honoring us and start accepting us. For instance, it’s all right for a woman to hold a door for a man.

 

Man: Maybe. But it feels weird.

 

Woman: Why? Because women can’t open a door?

 

Man: No, that’s not what I’m saying. Tension exists between men and women, so any piece of courtesy should be revered as helpful.

 

Woman: Wow. That sounds weird. The truth of the matter is, it’s not considerate if you think you’re going to get something off of it by doing it. Then it becomes condescending. It’s like giving two dollars to a homeless person and then chatting with your friend about how you didn’t think he or she appreciated it enough. What are homeless people supposed to do? Jump up and down? Quote scriptures? Hug you around the neck? Speak in tongues?

 

Man: No, just be grateful.

 

Woman: So how grateful should they be for two dollars? What are you expecting? What do you need to happen when you hold the door open for a woman? Must she admire you and think you’re a knight in shining armor? Or is it just a door? There’s nothing wrong with being mannerly if it is your manner. But if you’re being mannerly to try to control other people it’s condescending. And that goes for women, too–women who think men are incapable of sharing their feelings, so they check out their emails to find out what they’re thinking. Equally as despicable.

 

Man: So what do you think we should do?

 

Woman: I would rather you be rude to me and have it be natural than have you think you’re my superior simply because you opened a door for me. That’s not considerate. It’s condescending.

 

Man: Give me another example.

 

Woman: Chick movies. I’ve heard you say that one. There’s no such thing as a chick movie. There are good movies and bad movies. For instance, girls went to see Star Wars and Silence of the Lambs. And boys like to watch date movies like Love Actually when they allow themselves to escape their silliness of fear.

 

Man: You have to admit, there are things that women like and things that men like.

 

Woman: I will not admit that. Just like I won’t say that all black people like watermelon, all Mexicans make tortillas and all Chinese people like to sit around and do math problems. It’s condescending under the guise of considerate.

 

Man: So what do you think men and women should do when interacting?

 

Woman: Practice being natural until it’s natural, and until then, keep practicing. Alternate who opens doors for each other. Let me buy you a drink. How about this time I carry the extra bag of groceries instead of you. It won’t kill me, believe me. And for the record, it would be all right if you came to me and said, “We need to talk.” I don’t have to be the initiator every time. We’re all so afraid of breaking our stereotypes that we’ve stopped dancing to the same tune.

 

Man: So let me get this straight. It’s considerate if it’s in the flow and I don’t feel superior to you or magnanimous by doing it.

 

Woman: Yes–and once we get into the flow, we’re going to stop worrying about manipulating one another, relax in our own skin and find out exactly how much we have in common.

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PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant

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Crossroads … May 28, 2012

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I was looking for a space

Within this earthly place

To wisely put my face

And gently make my case

To the surrounding human race.

Who isn’t?

But where does one begin?

Well, for me, it was school—more out of legality than desire. I showed up, did my mediocre best, and found after time that they did offer answers—but rarely to MY burning questions.

Graduating from that experience, I decided to take my little dab of talent and portfolio of songs and go to the bar to perform. Seemed right. They always needed music. They always wanted some troubadour to perform while the patrons enjoyed the fellowship of the dimly lit room. But every time I tried to sing one of my songs—or worse, speak between selections with a thought or two—I  was told by the management that the patrons wanted to hear Proud Mary and Mustang Sally—not one of my made-up ditties.  I was also informed that this was a drinking establishment, and people came here to escape their daily concerns, not rehash them. It became obvious that the bar was not for me. It was a venue to drink, not think.

It may sound unlikely, but for a brief season I thought maybe politics and public service was an opportunity for me to share my ideals and talents. But I soon discovered that supporting the party and making sure it was provided with adequate favors was the goal rather than the pursuit of truth. I was not discouraged.

There were still many possibilities dancing in the distance—such as the corporate world. I scoured the countryside for an organization that would have a product beneficial for the common good, and then I joined up with great enthusiasm, to change the world around me, one product at a time. But alas, I discovered that the business world was not about constantly improving the quality and increasing the value of the products, but rather, getting rid of the present inventory, even if it wasn’t as good as what we could do. Yes, the business world was tell and sell—and I was quickly unable to maintain the top of my game for its bottom line.

Then I thought maybe I could find a market for my music if I scheduled events in concert halls, where the audience would gather for the sole purpose of hearing my material. A brilliant thought. But always remember, there are two things that stand in the way of great ideas—weariness and apathy. They resemble each other in body language, but weariness usually comes after someone who is overly zealous encounters the indifference of the world around him. Concerts were scheduled, but no one came because no one knew my name. And those who did come always preferred that I play, not say.

First fruits of discouragement were beginning to etch across my features. I did have the wisdom to know that the greatest enemy of creativity was cynicism, so refusing to be jaded, I went to my local Chamber of Commerce and decided to get behind its efforts, to instill pride in its citizens. At first it was great fun. I felt a part of something. And then, as life does, the obvious need for change within our little burg became evident, and as people often do, the fear of such a maneuver is avoided at all costs. The Chamber of Commerce is a wonderful place to visit as long as you’re willing to repeat the mantra: “Our city is pretty.” But if you see where energy could be used to produce greater results, you could quickly become an annoyance to anyone who is determined to chant.

I will not lie to you. By this time I was so disappointed that I was flirting with giving up. I escaped into my own home and family. There was nobility to it—a sense that I was establishing my own personal Garden of Eden, with my own off-spring, giving something of quality to the world around me as I boldly proclaimed, in the spirit of Joshua: “As for me and my house, we shall serve the Lord.” Although I experienced many beautiful moments and was able to nurture fine souls, the world around me continued to age and wrinkle in its own boredom and I realized that our little personal utopia, built on top of a hill, was more or less just a “fuss about us.”

But infused from the success and the jubilance of being with my family, and having launched little ships onto the sea of possibility, I packed up my belongings and I headed off to find the last great possibility. I arrived there yesterday, in Grand Junction, Colorado—at Crossroads.

It’s a church. People there don’t drink, so there’s nothing to inebriate them, to keep them from thinking. They have a school that they hold on Sunday, but you’re still allowed to ask questions if the right answers have not been provided. Politics are discouraged, although, because they do have a board, there is an ongoing danger of too many votes. It’s not a concert hall, so you are allowed to play your music and still explain why it’s important to you. It’s not a business, even though they do collect money. It’s not exactly a Chamber of Commerce, where they insist that their particular conclave of believers is always the prettiest in town. And it is certainly not a home, because everybody who attends already has one of those.

It’s not perfect. Honestly, it’s not even close. But what it is, is a place that is so ill-defined by human terms that God still has a chance to offer an opinion. It is a building where people sit as far to the rear as possible but still have arrived with an opening in their hearts that proclaims, “We want more.”

What an apt name for that church I visited yesterday—Crossroads. Because that’s exactly what the church should be—a place where people gather without fear, without too much agenda, without a drink in their hands, without needing to vote, without requiring a certain level of beauty, without believing they have all the answers, and without making too much of a fuss about themselves—just allowing an hour to refresh the brain cells which have been bombarded by repetition.

I have tried all the doors into the household of humanity. Many are locked.  Some are doggedly guarded. Others, quite frankly, are rusted shut. Yet I found a stained-glass window in the back of the house that was left open and I’ve wiggled through it.

It’s called the church. It is a crossroads. And what is a crossroads, you might ask? It is a place to sit in the middle of an overly positive and terribly negative world and start believing, thinking and working … for something better.

 

The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity