Nancy's Musings

There's a really funny scene from Labyrinth (1986)   where Sarah meets a sleepy old philosopher who, for the price of some jewelry, gives her the following advice: "The way forward is sometimes the way back." He's not actually wrong, but like most philosophers, he's not actually helpful, either. (See Chidi Anagonye from The Good Place  for a similar opinion.) And I can't believe I never noticed (or forgot) that he's sitting on a chair made of books! Anyway, that advice isn't helpful to me right now either; nor is it likely to be helpful to you. But it's a great image to start explaining an idea I had. I had an absolute trainwreck of a teaching day yesterday. There were technical difficulties, and I made a couple of thoughtless comments, and the conversations kind of escaped my control. I'm still writhing from the mortified agony of it, and am terrified that this will be the thing that makes teaching impossible. I've been struggling...

Today my Sunday School teacher asked us for examples of lies that Satan has told us. Of course, many of us have that instinct to jump to the nearest nonsense that we easily see through - the temptations and enticings from which we already have immunity, or at least strength. But that's a mote and beam problem. Those are somebody else's lies. What if we look inside ourselves to the lies that we have had to overcome? All of us have confronted and beaten lies. Sometimes we confront the same lie over and over again throughout our lives. Sometimes we recognize it immediately for what it is and still fall prey, and sometimes it's sneakier. I'm going to describe a few of the beams that have appeared in my eyes. You can gloat, if you like, about how much smarter you are. I give you permission. But I do not advise it. Avoid the fate of the man at our street preach who pointed and laughed at us while we were singing, and promptly ran straight into a lamppost. The lie I talk...

There's an old argument I sometimes have with my dearest gardener friend (who just had a birthday) about the difference between a weed and a volunteer. Prosaic wisdom says that there is no discernable difference in the plant itself, but that a volunteer is a weed you want, and a weed is a volunteer you don't. In other words, the difference between a weed and a volunteer is you. I think it gets a little more complicated, and lest I lose you, dear reader, let me assure you that I DO mean this as a metaphor for people and social situations. Everything's a metaphor. A volunteer becomes a weed when it requires more effort than it's worth (to you) to contain or remove, or when it threatens your other plants. A weed is not usually merely a single flower growing spontaneously, but an army of some invasive species. Dandelions, for instance, are attractive, useful, and edible, but very few people appreciate these things about them when they take over your yard (which they ...

Communication is such a weird issue. It's like boundaries (and certainly related to them) in that everybody has different needs and expectations, and they have to be negotiated individually by situation and relationship. For instance, I love writing letters, but one of my best friends is allergic to paper. I only wrote very sparingly (not at all, these days), and I try to be careful. As I've been sick, and because I'm alone for the holiday, I have been thinking about communication. Like when you're really, really hungry and you make a shopping list. Communication can be divided into three different kinds: synchronous, asynchronous, and a weird, middle ground where all the negotiations happen. Synchronous communication is like talking in person, talking on the phone, video calls, help chats, or anytime an awkward pause would be clearly identified by all (neurotypical) parties as awkward. Asynchronous communication includes things like writing letters, writing emails, M...

Dating I'm going to pause for a moment to note that today is Fast Sunday, a monthly holy time for members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, in which we not only abstain from food and donate to our hunger and poverty fund, but try to draw closer to Jesus and sanctify our time by studying scripture, praying, and meditating. And so naturally, I'm thinking about dating. I am very sorry if my thought detract from your spiritual concentration. I have a theory about what it looks like when a person is really ready to date. It's not even really a theory: more of a hypothesis. I hypothesize three important things that signal that a person is ready to date. I personally think that you should date anyway, whether you're ready or not, because it's fun, and eventually you'll be ready. But just in case you're wondering why it isn't working out: why you aren't getting closer to the people you are...

I am usually very empathetic. But recently, after reading a heartfelt, articulate, and vulnerable post on Facebook, among my first thoughts was, "I'm not like that." It made me begin to wonder about the relationship between empathy and identification. I was not identifying with my friend, even though I felt strong sympathy. Was this a personal failing that might be hurtful in the future? I worry about this. She's fine with or without my attention. She's strong and brilliant, and we're not close enough for my objectivity to be damaging, and so I'm taking this opportunity to look inside myself. On any particular subject, I can divide the world roughly into people who agree or disagree with my opinions. I can divide them into people who have or believe the same information I do, and people who don't. I can divide people into those who have had similar experiences, and those who haven't. It's easy to have empathy for people who are us , but do ...

I know: we're reading the New Testament. I'm such a throwback. I survived the Isaiah chapters only to run straight into this piece of prophecy about the latter days. I'm struggling as I map our current political schism onto the descriptions I read in this chapter partly because I'm reluctant to reverse my thinking about principles that I value strongly, and partly because I think reading it at too material a level is a trap. The Book of Mormon isn't known for its traps, but human thinking is. If we saunter quickly past the verses about pandering churches and religious contention, and some really really important points about wealth and pride, we come to verse sixteen: "Wo unto them that turn aside the just for a thing of naught and revile against that which is good, and say that it is of no worth!" And what I hear is, "wo unto them that get it wrong." There's no overt accusation that people are doing this on purpose - that they (we?) ...