Playground Rules 30 Years Later

Let me be clear.  I'm not complaining as much as I am noting a recent experience.  In short, it's a repeat of what many of us experienced in school during recess, in playgrounds, at play dates.  The you-can't-play-with-us-because-we-didn't-invite you, or you're-not-one-of-us phenomenon--how many of us have been the recipient of such behavior?  The protagonist?  It's a form of bullying.  Less obvious perhaps, less overt, possibly even less painful than the blatant "I hate you" or "you're weird/too different"but let's call it what it is.  It's exclusion. 

I can't think of any instance when bullying is acceptable.  When adults take part it's just dumb.  Be honest.  This resonates.  We've either seen it happen, heard of it, or taken part ourselves.

The latest such experience is taking place not near me, but around me.  Hypothetically, let's imagine there's an event taking place somewhere far away that involves a community of Japanese locals.  Let's also hypothetically assume there's been an attempt to sell Tohoku-related goods at this event specifically meant to help those who made these items.  Now let's "pretend" (and I'm being generous with this word) some of the sponsors of this event decided they needed to intentionally block the sale of goods made by those in Tohoku (to whom the money would go) because -- wait for it -- it wasn't their idea.

Let's call it as we see it.  This is a I-didn't-think-of-this-first-and-you-didn't-ask-my-permission-so-I'm-going-to-block-you response to an act that would otherwise be considered common sense, right, proper, courteous, and kind.

I don't get it.  It's silly.  This is what people do when given a bit of power and they feel the need to exert it.  I'm also really sorry this kind of behavior is necessary.  Clearly, some people aren't able to see the big picture.  It's sad, really. 

Thirty years after we've played in parks, living rooms and playgrounds, evidently some of us still don't know how to play nicely in the sandbox. 

Maybe I am complaining.

What Jimmy Page, Passion, Commitment, and "Brain Dumps" Have in Common

There have been just a few moments in my life where I see, watch, read, or hear something so profound it stops me in my tracks.  I think about it for days.  I read it over and over again.  I watch it multiple times.  I write down what I heard, and pull out the slip of paper, glancing over the words soaking them in.  The past 24 hours of have been one of those moments in time where ideas enter with a bang, implant themselves in my soul, and continue to flicker.  I'm buzzing.

"I don't know if you'll like it," is how my husband describes a DVD he recently watched.  "It's about Jimmy Page, The Edge, and Jack Black."  I turn my nose up.  I can't stand Jack Black.  Ever since a good friend told me Jack Black flipped her off when she waved at him saying hello, he's been on my shit list.  If you choose the life of a "celebrity", you say hello to your fans, even if you're in the middle of dinner.  It really is that simple.  You chose this life.  You get paid a lot of money to do what you do.  The least you can do is say hello back.  I tell him I'll watch it, and if Jack Black gets too annoying, I'll turn it off.  He agrees.

The DVD in hand, my husband says, "It's not Jack Black.  It's Jack White."  We both laugh.
"Who's Jack White?" I ask.  He describes Jack White, whom at the end of the explanation I still can't place.  We start the DVD, but I secretly don't have high hopes for it.  My life is about to change, my mind along with it.  I don't know this, but it's coming.

In short, it's a must-see documentary.  Called "It Might Get Loud" it talks about three guitarists of different ages, all of who take their music very seriously.  The way the three talk about their guitars, their childhoods, their music, I know I'm watching something very, very special.  I'm being let in on a secret.

Jimmy Page, 65 or so at the taping of the film, still clearly loves playing his guitar.  He smiles, focuses, moves, gyrates, and I see the guitar as an extension of his body and soul.  His facial, physical, emotional, and musical expressions are truly in sync.  It's beautiful.  It's erotic.  It's hypnotic.  I'm in awe.  I'm inspired.

The Edge talks about decisions he made about how his life and music intertwine.  He talks about looking for that pure sound.  He was moved and changed by musicians who played before him, both good and bad.  It all ties together.

Jack White combines his childhood, uncompromising love for the blues, and turns it into music "the masses" can handle.  He plays so hard his fingers bleed.  His piercing focus, watching how the other two play, and the intensity that has--this isn't faked for the film.  It's beautiful.

The three guitarists jam several times during the film.  I watch them as they watch each other play, focused on each others' fingers and movements, and I'm speechless.  They're serious.  They're committed to getting better.  They're still willing to learn.  At 65, Jimmy Page still asks questions of the other two.  At 50, The Edge knows he can still learn.  At 30-something, Jack White is taking it all in.  That they take their craft seriously, passionate about what they do, committed to it--I've not seen anything like this in a long time.

During a part of the film where the three talk about making decisions and choices, something triggers a memory in me of a comment made by my husband several months ago.  "I just read this book," he says, describing one of those "How To" books often touted by business executives.  "You should read it."  I know I won't.  I hate those "let-me-fix-your-life-for-you" books.  I take pride knowing my life can't possibly be so simple as to be fixed by a book.  I share this with my husband, who rolls his eyes, saying  "Oh, the complicated life you lead," and laughs.  "You'd be surprised, I think."
"Just give me the CliffsNotes version," I say, still not interested, much less sold.  He describes for me what ended up being a key practice I have adopted.  My husband knows me well.  Yet again, he calls it.  Spot on.

"It's called a 'brain dump'."  What he goes onto describe actually sounds really helpful.
"Hey, that's not bad," I say.
"I told you," he replies, grinning.

What followed was my first "brain dump."  I took small pieces of paper and wrote down everything in my head that I had put on my various to-do lists.  Almost an hour I'm done.  In the end, I had a small mountain of torn slips of paper on the dining room table.  These next got sorted into piles.  Today.  Tomorrow.  This week.  Later.  Way later.  I made it through to the "later" pile by the end of the week.  I believe I strutted.

I do not play the guitar.  If I did, I truly believe all that's stored in me, all I want to say, could come out musically.  I would "brain dump" into my guitar.  I envy Jimmy Page, The Edge, and Jack White, whose passion comes out in their choice to commit to music.  What then is my passion?  What have I committed to?  Anything?

It's been pointed out the projects I'm working on in Tohoku "aren't sexy."  Corporations, I'm told, want flashy, sexy, and big projects.  It's true.  Mine aren't.  Whereas some around me focus on large-scale economic development, I chose smaller, grass-roots, individual-, and community-based needs.  Alas, these aren't sexy.

But, I'm committed.  And, if I'm passionate about anything, it's what Maya Angelou says below:

Decisions and choices.  I've thought a lot about this since first watching the film my husband suggested.  I may have no guitar, I may not have sexy projects, but I do have soul.   If people throughout Tohoku can feel better because of something I do, say, or leave behind, I can live with that.  Not everything in life has to be sexy.  And, for helping me recognize this, I thank Jimmy Page, The Edge, Jack White, and most of all, my husband.