Laila Ibrahim's Blog, page 2
February 24, 2016
NOOOO!!! Not To Kill a Mockingbird!
For decades I’ve included To Kill a Mockingbird on my list of favorite books. It’s right up there with the Harry Potter series, Ender’s Game, and The Color Purple in my mind and heart. I believed it was powerful anti-racist story written to help people see the injustice of racism in our society.
Last summer I re-read it. And a few weeks after I finished it, my whole family watched the classic movie.
As the credits rolled I was stunned and heartsick. I saw an entirely different theme in the story than I had so many years before. The primary message I heard from To Kill a Mockingbird is poor white people are racist and cause great harm to upstanding blacks. Educated, wealthy, white people are doing their very best to protect black people from the abuse of white trash, but they just can’t.
In To Kill a Mockingbird, the judge, the police officer, and the lawyer are heroes, working for justice. In reality, those are the categories of people who systematically created financial, educational, legal, and social barriers to disenfranchise black people. Poor, uneducated, white people didn’t create the systems of injustice that we’ve all inherited. That was done by the most privileged people in society so they could keep power and create wealth for themselves.
I don’t doubt that Harper Lee set out to write a story to show the injustice of racism, just as I did when I wrote Yellow Crocus. Like her, I wrote it from my own context and time. Like her, my perspective was imperfect. But then again, whose isn’t? If we wait for perfect, we’d never do anything.
Last summer I re-read it. And a few weeks after I finished it, my whole family watched the classic movie.
As the credits rolled I was stunned and heartsick. I saw an entirely different theme in the story than I had so many years before. The primary message I heard from To Kill a Mockingbird is poor white people are racist and cause great harm to upstanding blacks. Educated, wealthy, white people are doing their very best to protect black people from the abuse of white trash, but they just can’t.
In To Kill a Mockingbird, the judge, the police officer, and the lawyer are heroes, working for justice. In reality, those are the categories of people who systematically created financial, educational, legal, and social barriers to disenfranchise black people. Poor, uneducated, white people didn’t create the systems of injustice that we’ve all inherited. That was done by the most privileged people in society so they could keep power and create wealth for themselves.
I don’t doubt that Harper Lee set out to write a story to show the injustice of racism, just as I did when I wrote Yellow Crocus. Like her, I wrote it from my own context and time. Like her, my perspective was imperfect. But then again, whose isn’t? If we wait for perfect, we’d never do anything.
February 17, 2016
Live in the now...and yet
I’m enough of a Buddhist to know that NOW is the most important time of all. Living mindfully in the moment is a blessing each time I get in that state of mind.
And yet...I find that I live by two questions that have nothing to do with the present. Whenever I contemplate how I’m doing in my life I ask:
If I were given one year to live, what changes would I make in my life right now?; andAm I taking care of business in case I live to 100? (it used to be 80, but some people live CRAZY long these days.)
Question one gives me an urgency about creating art and making time to travel. And it makes me less concerned with the messes I make around the house on a day-to-day basis.
Question two inspires me to take an honest account of our family’s finances and my personal physical fitness. And it motivates me to do deep clearing-out of drawers and closets so I don’t store garbage for years on end.
Both questions lead me to make time for the people dear to me, and to deepen my spiritual practices.
So I live in the now, and in the theoretical year from now and 50 years from now all at the same time. Sometimes it’s dizzying, but for me the multiple views are well worth it.
And yet...I find that I live by two questions that have nothing to do with the present. Whenever I contemplate how I’m doing in my life I ask:
If I were given one year to live, what changes would I make in my life right now?; andAm I taking care of business in case I live to 100? (it used to be 80, but some people live CRAZY long these days.)
Question one gives me an urgency about creating art and making time to travel. And it makes me less concerned with the messes I make around the house on a day-to-day basis.
Question two inspires me to take an honest account of our family’s finances and my personal physical fitness. And it motivates me to do deep clearing-out of drawers and closets so I don’t store garbage for years on end.
Both questions lead me to make time for the people dear to me, and to deepen my spiritual practices.
So I live in the now, and in the theoretical year from now and 50 years from now all at the same time. Sometimes it’s dizzying, but for me the multiple views are well worth it.
February 10, 2016
Done is better than perfect
I have Facebook to thank for a neat and tidy motto: Done is better than perfect. I’ve practiced this philosophy for years. I regularly tell people to strive for “B” work because you can get so much more done in your life--with more joy and ease--if you let go of it being perfect.
However, at this particular moment I’m having a hard time believing this philosophy. I just turned in my ‘done but not perfect’ manuscript for my second novel, Living Right, and I feel a little nauseated. I think I’m ready for it to be in the world. I really don’t have any changes to make. But could I have done more to make it a better story? I’m afraid that I and all the editors are missing something obvious. I know it’s not a perfect story, but is it good enough?!
I turned it in, so obviously I’ve decided that it is. I will just have to accept the fact that the leap of faith that goes with putting art into the world is going to make my stomach drop.
However, at this particular moment I’m having a hard time believing this philosophy. I just turned in my ‘done but not perfect’ manuscript for my second novel, Living Right, and I feel a little nauseated. I think I’m ready for it to be in the world. I really don’t have any changes to make. But could I have done more to make it a better story? I’m afraid that I and all the editors are missing something obvious. I know it’s not a perfect story, but is it good enough?!
I turned it in, so obviously I’ve decided that it is. I will just have to accept the fact that the leap of faith that goes with putting art into the world is going to make my stomach drop.
February 3, 2016
Perspective. Wow!
I took a drawing class last semester to try a new and interesting challenge. It was both humbling and affirming. I learned a lot and became a better drawer. Who knew?
Towards the end of the course we had a lesson on perspective. Drawing perspective is a very precise, technical process used to represent physical space accurately. It involves rulers and throwing out what you know about the world. You draw a diagonal line to represent something you know is a straight line because that is the way our brains know how that straight line fits into a scene. Most of us figured out in elementary school how draw a box this way, but in a more complicated way it’s what we use to represent city scenes and rooms. I’m more comfortable with abstract art and pretty colors. Rulers, straight lines, and measuring are not my thing. Precision? Not so much. But I opened myself up to the process, confident I would learn something.
The professor explained the process while simultaneously drawing. She stared straight ahead, picking a spot in the scene to be her vanishing point. She drew as she talked and explained how to do it, looking forward out the window. Then she looked away from the scene she was drawing and talked to us a bit. She returned her gaze to the horizon, tried to finish her drawing, and then gave up because it just wouldn’t come together correctly. She looked at us and said, “I must have moved to the left or right a bit. Then I looked back, I was looking at the scene from a different perspective, so the lines I started with stopped working.”
I literally gasped and asked, “You just move the tiniest bit and your perspective is totally new?!” She nodded. “Wow! That’s a great metaphor for life too!” I exclaimed.
In one way it’s such an obvious observation, but in another it was mind blowing. There are literally a gazillion-million perspectives. Maybe an infinite number. And if you shift, even a tiny bit, you can see a new one. At every moment a new perspective is possible. Wow!
Towards the end of the course we had a lesson on perspective. Drawing perspective is a very precise, technical process used to represent physical space accurately. It involves rulers and throwing out what you know about the world. You draw a diagonal line to represent something you know is a straight line because that is the way our brains know how that straight line fits into a scene. Most of us figured out in elementary school how draw a box this way, but in a more complicated way it’s what we use to represent city scenes and rooms. I’m more comfortable with abstract art and pretty colors. Rulers, straight lines, and measuring are not my thing. Precision? Not so much. But I opened myself up to the process, confident I would learn something.
The professor explained the process while simultaneously drawing. She stared straight ahead, picking a spot in the scene to be her vanishing point. She drew as she talked and explained how to do it, looking forward out the window. Then she looked away from the scene she was drawing and talked to us a bit. She returned her gaze to the horizon, tried to finish her drawing, and then gave up because it just wouldn’t come together correctly. She looked at us and said, “I must have moved to the left or right a bit. Then I looked back, I was looking at the scene from a different perspective, so the lines I started with stopped working.”
I literally gasped and asked, “You just move the tiniest bit and your perspective is totally new?!” She nodded. “Wow! That’s a great metaphor for life too!” I exclaimed.
In one way it’s such an obvious observation, but in another it was mind blowing. There are literally a gazillion-million perspectives. Maybe an infinite number. And if you shift, even a tiny bit, you can see a new one. At every moment a new perspective is possible. Wow!
January 13, 2016
What am I? Off-white.
I’ve been asked this question for as long as I can remember: What are you? Before I understood its implications, I learned to answer it: My father is from Egypt; my mother of French-Canadian and Irish descent was raised in Indiana. It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I realized most people aren’t asked that particular question when they first meet someone. The fact that I don’t fit into any of the neat racial and cultural categories is apparently written all over my face.
As an adult I’ve been asked how I identify racially, and after years of thought I’ve settled on replying off white, which usually gets a chuckle. It is funny. And it also feels like the truest answer. I’m grateful to have found it. Off white contains the reality that my mother was white and my father wasn’t; my mother had white privilege and my father did not.
I’m still not sure what all the implications are for my mixed heritage, but I believe it gave me a worldview that seems to be shared by other people who live between cultures in some way or another. I’m grateful for the ways it forced me, starting from a young age, to see things from different viewpoints. Perspective taking continues to be welcome challenge and joy in my life.
As an adult I’ve been asked how I identify racially, and after years of thought I’ve settled on replying off white, which usually gets a chuckle. It is funny. And it also feels like the truest answer. I’m grateful to have found it. Off white contains the reality that my mother was white and my father wasn’t; my mother had white privilege and my father did not.
I’m still not sure what all the implications are for my mixed heritage, but I believe it gave me a worldview that seems to be shared by other people who live between cultures in some way or another. I’m grateful for the ways it forced me, starting from a young age, to see things from different viewpoints. Perspective taking continues to be welcome challenge and joy in my life.
January 8, 2016
Love and Justice with Joy and Ease
My faith calls me to be an agent for love and justice in the world. With so much need for both of them I’m easily overwhelmed. Increasing love and justice for me, my loved ones, and total strangers is a daunting task. It’s hard to mark and measure. So I’ve decided to make myself a chart to note some of the times when I’m living out my values. When I think about it I imagine that in some areas I do them nearly every day but I rarely give myself credit—and I’m sure I miss the boat entirely in others. This chart will be a way to give myself credit for overlooked acts, while inspiring me to live out my values in other more difficult areas. For example I’ve never even thought about how to increase justice for myself before!
I’ll give this tool a try to see if it brings me more joy and ease as I work to be an agent for love and justice in 2016.
Here an example of the chart with goals for this month:
I’ll give this tool a try to see if it brings me more joy and ease as I work to be an agent for love and justice in 2016.
Here an example of the chart with goals for this month:
December 30, 2015
Now the Work of Christmas Begins
Now the Work of Christmas Begins
by Howard Thurman
When the song of the angels is stilled,
when the star in the sky is gone,
when the kings and princes are home,
when the shepherds are back with their flocks,
the work of Christmas begins:
to find the lost,
to heal the broken,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among the people,
to make music in the heart.
by Howard Thurman
When the song of the angels is stilled,
when the star in the sky is gone,
when the kings and princes are home,
when the shepherds are back with their flocks,
the work of Christmas begins:
to find the lost,
to heal the broken,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among the people,
to make music in the heart.
December 23, 2015
Shortcuts to meaning
I wanted to write something profound and original today. But I realized I didn’t have to add that to my holiday madness. Instead I could take a shortcut by offering my favorite holiday readings from church. I had to remind myself that this shortcut isn’t cheating. In fact, it’s a way for me to take up the challenge of this season by actually doing less.
For So the Children Come
by Sophia Lyon Fahs
For so the children come
And so they have been coming.
Always in the same way they come
born of the seed of man and woman.
No angels herald their beginnings.
No prophets predict their future courses.
No wisemen see a star to show where to find the babe
that will save humankind.
Yet each night a child is born is a holy night,
Fathers and mothers —
sitting beside their children's cribs
feel glory in the sight of a new life beginning.
They ask, "Where and how will this new life end?
Or will it ever end?"
Each night a child is born is a holy night —
A time for singing,
A time for wondering,
A time for worshipping.
For So the Children Come
by Sophia Lyon Fahs
For so the children come
And so they have been coming.
Always in the same way they come
born of the seed of man and woman.
No angels herald their beginnings.
No prophets predict their future courses.
No wisemen see a star to show where to find the babe
that will save humankind.
Yet each night a child is born is a holy night,
Fathers and mothers —
sitting beside their children's cribs
feel glory in the sight of a new life beginning.
They ask, "Where and how will this new life end?
Or will it ever end?"
Each night a child is born is a holy night —
A time for singing,
A time for wondering,
A time for worshipping.
December 16, 2015
Comforting the Stranger
Last week I was rushing through my day when I noticed a young woman with tears running down her face leaning back against a marble post. I gave her my best look of sympathy as I hurried by. In a flash so many thoughts rushed through my head: Poor honey, I hope she’s okay. What if she really needs help? Is it my place to offer support? What if she wants to be left alone? But what if she really needs help?
My doubts were compounded by the racial and generational differences between us. And then I thought, This is an opportunity to practice what I preach about crossing artificial boundaries. I stopped and turned back around. She watched me walk towards her.
I tentatively asked, “Do you need help?”
“I feel like my chest is going to explode,” she stammered out.
“Take some deep breaths.” I’m a firm believer that deep breathing can solve many problems. We inhaled together a few times.
“Can I take your pulse?” I asked, more as a way to offer physical contact than to offer medical advice.
She offered her arm. I reached for her outstretched hand with both of mine. She squeezed my left hand as I rested my right fingers on her wrist.
“Maybe I’m having a panic attack?” she wondered.
“Have you had them before?”
She shook her head.
“Did you hear something or see something upsetting before this started?”
“I just met with my professor about my grade.” She closed her eyes tight.
“That would do it,” I agreed.
We stood there for a few minutes, holding hands and breathing together. Eventually she nodded, “It’s getting better.”
I asked, “Have you eaten anything today?”
She shook her head.
“Have you had anything to drink?”
No again.
“Do you have money to buy yourself something to eat and drink?”
She nodded.
“Do you have more classes or are you going home now?”
“Home.”
“How do you go home?”
“BART.”
“Will you be okay going on BART by yourself after you’ve had something to eat and drink?”
She nodded.
“Can I give you hug?”
Her body visibly relaxed even more, “Yes.”
We hugged for much longer than most strangers would. As a doula I got used to a lot of physical contact with virtual strangers. I was willing to stay with her as long as she wanted.
When she broke away, I squeezed her hand, let her know that I’ve been there too after talking to professors.
“Thank you,” she said softly before I walked away.
I don’t know her name, how to be in touch, or the end of this particular story. I assume she got home. I’ve thought of her often over the days since. I wish her well and I’m grateful she was open to letting a stranger comfort her, however limited that comfort might have been. I hope she remembers it as tenderly as I do.
My doubts were compounded by the racial and generational differences between us. And then I thought, This is an opportunity to practice what I preach about crossing artificial boundaries. I stopped and turned back around. She watched me walk towards her.
I tentatively asked, “Do you need help?”
“I feel like my chest is going to explode,” she stammered out.
“Take some deep breaths.” I’m a firm believer that deep breathing can solve many problems. We inhaled together a few times.
“Can I take your pulse?” I asked, more as a way to offer physical contact than to offer medical advice.
She offered her arm. I reached for her outstretched hand with both of mine. She squeezed my left hand as I rested my right fingers on her wrist.
“Maybe I’m having a panic attack?” she wondered.
“Have you had them before?”
She shook her head.
“Did you hear something or see something upsetting before this started?”
“I just met with my professor about my grade.” She closed her eyes tight.
“That would do it,” I agreed.
We stood there for a few minutes, holding hands and breathing together. Eventually she nodded, “It’s getting better.”
I asked, “Have you eaten anything today?”
She shook her head.
“Have you had anything to drink?”
No again.
“Do you have money to buy yourself something to eat and drink?”
She nodded.
“Do you have more classes or are you going home now?”
“Home.”
“How do you go home?”
“BART.”
“Will you be okay going on BART by yourself after you’ve had something to eat and drink?”
She nodded.
“Can I give you hug?”
Her body visibly relaxed even more, “Yes.”
We hugged for much longer than most strangers would. As a doula I got used to a lot of physical contact with virtual strangers. I was willing to stay with her as long as she wanted.
When she broke away, I squeezed her hand, let her know that I’ve been there too after talking to professors.
“Thank you,” she said softly before I walked away.
I don’t know her name, how to be in touch, or the end of this particular story. I assume she got home. I’ve thought of her often over the days since. I wish her well and I’m grateful she was open to letting a stranger comfort her, however limited that comfort might have been. I hope she remembers it as tenderly as I do.
December 9, 2015
Happy Holidays: Welcome to emotional whiplash
“What do you do to celebrate the holidays?” I asked a group of children. Hands shot up in the air and the answers flowed quickly:
“I see my grandparents.”
“We decorate for Christmas on the day after Thanksgiving.”
“My whole family goes to get the Christmas Tree and we drink hot chocolate at the lot.”
“We go to my neighbors and stay up until midnight.”
“We have a special meal with chicken.”
“We go to church at night.”
“My mother and I go to tea, just the two of us.”
“We go skiing.”
“We light candles on the menorah each night.”
Children, and adults, remember how the holidays feel far more than any gifts they receive. The holidays are at once exciting, fun, disappointing, poignant, calm, spacious, frantic, self-centered, and generous. Phew! No wonder I have emotional whiplash this time of year. I strive to be thoughtful about how I want the holiday season to feel for my family. I want to let go of the traditions that no longer serve us, and hold on to the ones that do. As the years have gone by we’ve created new traditions that are in line with our changing selves and our values. This time of darkness is a great time to practice generosity, gratitude, service, and self-reflection in contrast to the over-consumption and consumerism preached by so much media. May your holidays be filled with moments where you actually notice and feel the grace and joy.
“I see my grandparents.”
“We decorate for Christmas on the day after Thanksgiving.”
“My whole family goes to get the Christmas Tree and we drink hot chocolate at the lot.”
“We go to my neighbors and stay up until midnight.”
“We have a special meal with chicken.”
“We go to church at night.”
“My mother and I go to tea, just the two of us.”
“We go skiing.”
“We light candles on the menorah each night.”
Children, and adults, remember how the holidays feel far more than any gifts they receive. The holidays are at once exciting, fun, disappointing, poignant, calm, spacious, frantic, self-centered, and generous. Phew! No wonder I have emotional whiplash this time of year. I strive to be thoughtful about how I want the holiday season to feel for my family. I want to let go of the traditions that no longer serve us, and hold on to the ones that do. As the years have gone by we’ve created new traditions that are in line with our changing selves and our values. This time of darkness is a great time to practice generosity, gratitude, service, and self-reflection in contrast to the over-consumption and consumerism preached by so much media. May your holidays be filled with moments where you actually notice and feel the grace and joy.
