It has been a long time coming, and I have avoided the conversation all together until now, but I think it is finally time for me to breech the subject of my religion. Recently, we started our first accupressure class in massage school, which is largely based on the principles of Taoism - yin and yang. It got my mind wandering about life in general and how people work the fundamentals of religion into things that best support their way of life.
In a weird way, I think a person's religious beliefs say much more about the person than their political affiliation or race would. Faith is something we own, but religion is something (in most cases) we choose.
I grew up Southern Baptist in a rather small, Southern town located in the midst of a rural, swampy area of hard-working, middle class (or lower) Americans. I will venture to say, for them, they chose their faith through a religion based on their neighbors...their community. It was rare that any non-work related function didn't center around the church or happen with other church members. It was almost expected that you were to be at church on Wednesdays and Sundays. There was a level of expectation that you silently followed or you were otherwise excluded. Sort of like Club Med for poor Southern Baptists - just without the body scrubs, and with chicken bog instead of chicken fricassee.
When I moved to Germany as a student, my eyes opened wider than my sockets would allow. There, religion represented a group of people with similar faith beliefs. You found Catholics, Protestants, Jews and Muslims cohabitating. People were at church not by social force, but because there was a message. So, I began to listen to the messages. In this new world of enlightenment, I began to realize that to me, religion and my faith were far less about a man walking on water, or a bush burning on a mountainside. It was about taking care of yourself and others while respecting each other along the way. Religions just sliced it different ways.
Later on, when my parents died, I searched and searched for that "community" that my childhood church had offered me. I had no parents, no parental figures, and for the first time, I was very, very lonely. My church at the time never once lifted a receiver to reach out to me. My childhood church had long since abandoned me. It all finally clicked...
I gave the better part of my life singing, making music, giving money and generally supporting "church". The one and only time I needed an ear or a hug, that same "church" abandoned me. But two weeks later, I got a letter in the mail explaining my duty to tithe.
I'm sorry, but fuck you.
Ever since that day, I quit "church." I have restructured what "faith" means to me, and re-examined what I think started the whole mess we're in now. Do you really think Jesus wanted his body strung on crosses across big buildings all over the world, being exploited for donations to keep those same buildings open? Maybe so.
Maybe he just wanted us to hear what he had to say: Be nice. The rest, pretty much is what "religion" has told us we needed to know... The same religion that took my talent and money, abandoned me in my time of need, and then asked for more. Very Christian.
This post isn't to judge your religion, you faith or beliefs. I understand religion means something different to us all, and speaks to each of our needs differently. I just felt it necessary to reflect on how religion spoke (or didn't) to me.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Mind Yo' Own Freakin' Business
Well, my pets ... my dreams of starting my own business is coming (very, very slowly) to fruition. The swirling ideas are pulling together in my head, and the resulting vision is pretty darn palpable!
It's scary to think that the fate of my financial life and overall livelihood is dependent on some of those very fickle, unruly and generally ungrateful people I rant about in my blog. But, I have a vision, even for the morons, and it will succeed.
My family is full of entrepreneurs and go-getters, but the one person that has most influenced me is my late grandfather Hayes (most everyone called him C.R. or Rudy). Back in the day, the story goes that he was an icebox salesman -- the kind of icebox that you put ice in rather than plug it in. When the refrigerator made its debut, instead of depressing himself with the other Henny Pennies, he decided to moonlight as a refrigerator salesman and market to all his existing icebox customers. The overwhelming success of this move set him and his fledgling family up fairly comfortably - although I wouldn't call it well-off by any stretch.
WWII was thrown in the mix, too, and after he was discharged, he took the money he'd saved and, with my grandmother, opened up my hometown's first drive-in diner -- the E&R Drive-In. It was there that my mother, a teenaged curb hop on roller skates, met my father, and the result - two children later - was yours truly.
The success of the E&R brought a good deal of prosperity and notoriety to my grandfather. He soon began to dabble in other endeavors before finally resting on large-scale real estate. As my grandmother aged, and her seven children took their toll on her, he felt the need for a more lucrative and sustainable income. The real estate business took off very well and Hayes & Hayes Realty is what set the legacy up for the whole family, well beyond his years.
I recount all this story only to say that my grandfather's entrepreneurial spirit speaks to me deeply. He never knew anything BUT owning his own business and forging his own way. I feel such a connection with that spirit that I feel no matter what I choose to do, I cannot and will not fail.
This is something I need to do folks.
It's scary to think that the fate of my financial life and overall livelihood is dependent on some of those very fickle, unruly and generally ungrateful people I rant about in my blog. But, I have a vision, even for the morons, and it will succeed.
My family is full of entrepreneurs and go-getters, but the one person that has most influenced me is my late grandfather Hayes (most everyone called him C.R. or Rudy). Back in the day, the story goes that he was an icebox salesman -- the kind of icebox that you put ice in rather than plug it in. When the refrigerator made its debut, instead of depressing himself with the other Henny Pennies, he decided to moonlight as a refrigerator salesman and market to all his existing icebox customers. The overwhelming success of this move set him and his fledgling family up fairly comfortably - although I wouldn't call it well-off by any stretch.
WWII was thrown in the mix, too, and after he was discharged, he took the money he'd saved and, with my grandmother, opened up my hometown's first drive-in diner -- the E&R Drive-In. It was there that my mother, a teenaged curb hop on roller skates, met my father, and the result - two children later - was yours truly.
The success of the E&R brought a good deal of prosperity and notoriety to my grandfather. He soon began to dabble in other endeavors before finally resting on large-scale real estate. As my grandmother aged, and her seven children took their toll on her, he felt the need for a more lucrative and sustainable income. The real estate business took off very well and Hayes & Hayes Realty is what set the legacy up for the whole family, well beyond his years.
I recount all this story only to say that my grandfather's entrepreneurial spirit speaks to me deeply. He never knew anything BUT owning his own business and forging his own way. I feel such a connection with that spirit that I feel no matter what I choose to do, I cannot and will not fail.
This is something I need to do folks.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Unqualified Qualifier
Well, dearies, it has been way too long since my last post. I wish it were because I was on some amazing adventure or due to some romantic tragedy, but, alas, it was because my life had little to report to the masses. I went on a couple of dates and reunited with a couple friends from my past, but beyond that, nada. Except...
About a month ago, I applied for the federal position of the contracted job that I am doing now. For those of you who have gone through the process, you'll sympathize that what they ask you to provide as a candidate, and what is actually useful to the hiring manager are worlds apart. Everyone was expecting that I apply, and in fact were looking for my resume. As HR produced the list of eligible candidates, I was, to everyone's surprise, not on the list.
How is it that I work (successfully) in a position for two years, only to find out that some lady in HR didn't feel my resume was a good match for that exact same position? That incident begs a larger question...
It is sort of an inside joke that Federal workers are often unqualified for their jobs (that is a very general statement, mind you). So why would I not find it surprising that 1) the person to be hired into this position would be unqualified, and 2) the HR person responsible for finding qualified candidates is actually qualified to find these candidates? Just a question.
So, now I am going to embark on this elaborate string of phone calls to inside folk to remedy all this. But, why does it all have to be such an ordeal? What would have made this all very straight forward would be to have a qualifier in the job posting: all unqualified candidates need apply. That would save everyone so much trouble!
About a month ago, I applied for the federal position of the contracted job that I am doing now. For those of you who have gone through the process, you'll sympathize that what they ask you to provide as a candidate, and what is actually useful to the hiring manager are worlds apart. Everyone was expecting that I apply, and in fact were looking for my resume. As HR produced the list of eligible candidates, I was, to everyone's surprise, not on the list.
How is it that I work (successfully) in a position for two years, only to find out that some lady in HR didn't feel my resume was a good match for that exact same position? That incident begs a larger question...
It is sort of an inside joke that Federal workers are often unqualified for their jobs (that is a very general statement, mind you). So why would I not find it surprising that 1) the person to be hired into this position would be unqualified, and 2) the HR person responsible for finding qualified candidates is actually qualified to find these candidates? Just a question.
So, now I am going to embark on this elaborate string of phone calls to inside folk to remedy all this. But, why does it all have to be such an ordeal? What would have made this all very straight forward would be to have a qualifier in the job posting: all unqualified candidates need apply. That would save everyone so much trouble!
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Eat dirt and die!
Well, folks, I managed to make it through another vacation to Vegas without too much strife on the ol' wallet, and had a rather relaxing trip despite the really unbearable heat (screw humidity... 120 is hot no matter how you slice it.)
But those escapades are for another blog entry some day. Today's story, my pets, has to do with eating dirt.
When I was a kid, I used to do some crazy stuff. My older brothers liked picking on me, and I was sort of like "Mikey" from the Life cereal commercials... I would do just about anything my brothers dared me to. I do remember on one occasion that I was with my neighbor friend and he dared me to eat dirt, so I did.
I remembered that story recently when one of my massage instructors started talking about how phobic she was of germs. Off and on with various doctors over time, I have talked about how I think the rise in allergies and reactions to food and animals is because of the growing influence of hand sanitizers and Chlorox wipes available nearly everywhere. The federal government even puts sanitizer by every public entrance, now. I have to admit that I don't really recall many friends in grade school that were allergy prone, or couldn't eat peanuts.
Parents these days seem to over protect their children to the point of obsession. They can't even play with Lincoln logs these days without them being plastic! In the end, I think the children don't learn to be social creatures the way we were, and tend to not be exposed to the real world. They then grow up to be self-important people (mommie imposed that on them) without knowing how it feels to walk barefoot in the mud. I feign to think that most people think that if they eat dirt, now, they'd die. I am living proof that you won't.
I guess my point is to say, live a little, folks. And let your kids live a little, too.
- Posted on the run from my annoying electronic thingy
But those escapades are for another blog entry some day. Today's story, my pets, has to do with eating dirt.
When I was a kid, I used to do some crazy stuff. My older brothers liked picking on me, and I was sort of like "Mikey" from the Life cereal commercials... I would do just about anything my brothers dared me to. I do remember on one occasion that I was with my neighbor friend and he dared me to eat dirt, so I did.
I remembered that story recently when one of my massage instructors started talking about how phobic she was of germs. Off and on with various doctors over time, I have talked about how I think the rise in allergies and reactions to food and animals is because of the growing influence of hand sanitizers and Chlorox wipes available nearly everywhere. The federal government even puts sanitizer by every public entrance, now. I have to admit that I don't really recall many friends in grade school that were allergy prone, or couldn't eat peanuts.
Parents these days seem to over protect their children to the point of obsession. They can't even play with Lincoln logs these days without them being plastic! In the end, I think the children don't learn to be social creatures the way we were, and tend to not be exposed to the real world. They then grow up to be self-important people (mommie imposed that on them) without knowing how it feels to walk barefoot in the mud. I feign to think that most people think that if they eat dirt, now, they'd die. I am living proof that you won't.
I guess my point is to say, live a little, folks. And let your kids live a little, too.
- Posted on the run from my annoying electronic thingy
Friday, July 23, 2010
Face Value
About a week ago, I had this conversation with Jeremy about a Facebook friend that had posted a photo of graffiti on his page before the friend had realized what it represented. He simply felt that the graffiti was cool. Consequently, people started making assumptions about this friend's political and social alignments. That got me thinking...
I am constantly amazed at how folks will make all sorts of assumptions about people or situations without educating themselves. That makes me downright angry, until I caught myself in a comment I made to a classmate at massage school last week. I commented that there were some people I just didn't tolerate, although I can't put my finger on why. I realized I was falling victim to the same prejudices Jeremy's friend did.
As much as I would like to believe I am completely open-minded and un-biased, I have to admit I have my own prejudices. They may not be over race or religion, but I do have them. This little episode helped me realize I still have some growing up to do.
So, I went on with my life this week with the mindset that I was going to start trying to understand why people and things are the way they are before I make judgements on them. That, my friends, is hard to do. It is hard to step back from a pushy fellow commuter when they run you over and think, "he's just being an asshole because he may have an important meeting to attend," or "she's only yelling at me because she has a troubled home life - bless her soul."
Shit. The reality is, I would waste WAY too much time trying to psychoanalyze these situations. What the point really should be is that the assholes should be more cognizant of their surroundings. Which brings me back to the graffiti...
After further investigation, the Facebook friend realized that he should have done more research on the graffiti before posting it. In the end, it was a great learning and social experiment, but ultimately it was his negligence that caused the stir.
Like this Facebook friend, I think we're all falling victim to a world that is becoming increasingly fast-paced and the first thing to suffer in our daily schedule is time for concern of our fellow man. We are growing in our sentiment of "me first" attitudes and exponentially caring less for how our actions affect others. Like me, we all have some slowing down to do, and some life-interaction to experience. We need to LOOK UP from our blackberries, droids and iPhones and actually look each other in the face. We need to learn to communicate verbally as well as electronically.
We need FACE value.
We need to understand those folks we're speaking to. We need to actually speak to our neighbors. We should be intimately concerned with the well being of those we come on contact with on a daily basis. Do you spend more time looking down at your phone or at the people that surround you? Do you look at your checkout cashier? Do you greet your neighbors?
Back in the South, I remember when driving down the road, you would wave to every person you passed whether you knew them or not. It created a sense of bonding that I just don't believe exists anymore. We are all much too concerned with the battery life of our cell phones, I'm afraid.
I am constantly amazed at how folks will make all sorts of assumptions about people or situations without educating themselves. That makes me downright angry, until I caught myself in a comment I made to a classmate at massage school last week. I commented that there were some people I just didn't tolerate, although I can't put my finger on why. I realized I was falling victim to the same prejudices Jeremy's friend did.
As much as I would like to believe I am completely open-minded and un-biased, I have to admit I have my own prejudices. They may not be over race or religion, but I do have them. This little episode helped me realize I still have some growing up to do.
So, I went on with my life this week with the mindset that I was going to start trying to understand why people and things are the way they are before I make judgements on them. That, my friends, is hard to do. It is hard to step back from a pushy fellow commuter when they run you over and think, "he's just being an asshole because he may have an important meeting to attend," or "she's only yelling at me because she has a troubled home life - bless her soul."
Shit. The reality is, I would waste WAY too much time trying to psychoanalyze these situations. What the point really should be is that the assholes should be more cognizant of their surroundings. Which brings me back to the graffiti...
After further investigation, the Facebook friend realized that he should have done more research on the graffiti before posting it. In the end, it was a great learning and social experiment, but ultimately it was his negligence that caused the stir.
Like this Facebook friend, I think we're all falling victim to a world that is becoming increasingly fast-paced and the first thing to suffer in our daily schedule is time for concern of our fellow man. We are growing in our sentiment of "me first" attitudes and exponentially caring less for how our actions affect others. Like me, we all have some slowing down to do, and some life-interaction to experience. We need to LOOK UP from our blackberries, droids and iPhones and actually look each other in the face. We need to learn to communicate verbally as well as electronically.
We need FACE value.
We need to understand those folks we're speaking to. We need to actually speak to our neighbors. We should be intimately concerned with the well being of those we come on contact with on a daily basis. Do you spend more time looking down at your phone or at the people that surround you? Do you look at your checkout cashier? Do you greet your neighbors?
Back in the South, I remember when driving down the road, you would wave to every person you passed whether you knew them or not. It created a sense of bonding that I just don't believe exists anymore. We are all much too concerned with the battery life of our cell phones, I'm afraid.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
A hay! A hay! A hey, what?!
So today I received a pretty devastating blow to my pride when I learned that I was, indeed, not a "real" Hayes. A good portion of my last few years has been devoted to researching my family history and bloodlines back as far as possible. I have been quite proud of my Scottish heritage and have been diligent about learning as much as I can about my past. I guess I have a strong need to identify with something that was inherently me, and I actually "felt" the connection I had with my family's heritage. Those who know me well also know that I wore my family name with pride and defended my history like a true Scot.
I have been in the process of dropping my first name legally, and was posing some ideas of what to use as my middle name to my brothers over the last week. When the idea of using my mother's maiden name (Hayes) came up, my brother explained to me that we weren't really Hayeses. It seems my great grandfather Hayes was born out of wedlock and took the name of his step-father. The family had never really spoken about it, and few actually knew.
As the blood drained from my face and my ego, pride and general Scottish aura were being stripped from my identity, I just sort of stared at the words my brother had written. The Scottish clan cry, "A hay! A hay! A hay!" were fading and my identity felt like it had been stolen. The one thing "permanent" that I could claim without reserve has, in one short sentence, been plucked from my genes and it left a very, very big void. I can't blame the situation - my great grandfather couldn't help it and I'm still a proud member of my family, but it brings a new perspective to things one blindly believes and cherishes without question.
I have to admit that I was a little tear-filed when I started responding to my brother. So, now I am still left without a middle name as well as an identity. It will take me a while to take all this one in. But one thing being part of the Hayes clan did teach me was their endearing motto, meaning to charge forward and persevere: Keep the yoke! That, my dear friends, I will do.
I have been in the process of dropping my first name legally, and was posing some ideas of what to use as my middle name to my brothers over the last week. When the idea of using my mother's maiden name (Hayes) came up, my brother explained to me that we weren't really Hayeses. It seems my great grandfather Hayes was born out of wedlock and took the name of his step-father. The family had never really spoken about it, and few actually knew.
As the blood drained from my face and my ego, pride and general Scottish aura were being stripped from my identity, I just sort of stared at the words my brother had written. The Scottish clan cry, "A hay! A hay! A hay!" were fading and my identity felt like it had been stolen. The one thing "permanent" that I could claim without reserve has, in one short sentence, been plucked from my genes and it left a very, very big void. I can't blame the situation - my great grandfather couldn't help it and I'm still a proud member of my family, but it brings a new perspective to things one blindly believes and cherishes without question.
I have to admit that I was a little tear-filed when I started responding to my brother. So, now I am still left without a middle name as well as an identity. It will take me a while to take all this one in. But one thing being part of the Hayes clan did teach me was their endearing motto, meaning to charge forward and persevere: Keep the yoke! That, my dear friends, I will do.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Happy Places
As I grow older and less ignorant, I find myself reflecting on how I got to where I am and where I don't want to go. When I was a twelve-year-old bouncing on my trampoline in my parents' backyard, I can remember thinking just the opposite: where am I going, and where do I want to go.
I've noticed with experience comes the knowledge gained from mistakes, and with mistakes come the cuts and bruises of defeat -- and with defeat comes humbleness.
I have been very mindful of my parents lately, and what they taught me. I learned best through their actions and words more than their directions. I learned that being kind to others was far more satisfying than thinking only of yourself. I learned that being passionate about something, and following through, was key to mental success. But their death has also taught me things, too. From their death, I've learned that I am not living forever. I've learned that saving for a future may not necessarily be fruitful. I've learned that complete sacrifice, while neglecting your current well-being, can be just as dangerous as not sacrificing at all.
I suppose what my rambling is trying to say, is that I have grown up in the last three years. I've learned how to stand my ground. I've learned how to frivolously spend while sacrificing for my future. I've learned that having a good-paying job doesn't mean a rewarding life. I've learned that relationships can not be implicitly trusted. I've also learned that I can be loved.
All these things have paid off recently: I've progressed at work by standing my ground for what I believe is right. I've moved into a beautiful new home, despite the unexpected change in plans (AND due to good planning!). I've planned to make my career rewarding by starting my own business. I also have used being single as a time to re-adjust my view on relationships and to determine what my needs are.
Honestly, I can say I am in a good, happy place. I like happy places.
I've noticed with experience comes the knowledge gained from mistakes, and with mistakes come the cuts and bruises of defeat -- and with defeat comes humbleness.
I have been very mindful of my parents lately, and what they taught me. I learned best through their actions and words more than their directions. I learned that being kind to others was far more satisfying than thinking only of yourself. I learned that being passionate about something, and following through, was key to mental success. But their death has also taught me things, too. From their death, I've learned that I am not living forever. I've learned that saving for a future may not necessarily be fruitful. I've learned that complete sacrifice, while neglecting your current well-being, can be just as dangerous as not sacrificing at all.
I suppose what my rambling is trying to say, is that I have grown up in the last three years. I've learned how to stand my ground. I've learned how to frivolously spend while sacrificing for my future. I've learned that having a good-paying job doesn't mean a rewarding life. I've learned that relationships can not be implicitly trusted. I've also learned that I can be loved.
All these things have paid off recently: I've progressed at work by standing my ground for what I believe is right. I've moved into a beautiful new home, despite the unexpected change in plans (AND due to good planning!). I've planned to make my career rewarding by starting my own business. I also have used being single as a time to re-adjust my view on relationships and to determine what my needs are.
Honestly, I can say I am in a good, happy place. I like happy places.
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