Month: January 2020

At choir last night, it came up that one of our musicians constantly hears music in his head. Constantly. As in, it never pauses. My first thought: that’s amazing.

My second thought: how does he get anything done like that?

This guy is a prodigy. He’s been playing instruments well since he was eight, and composed a gorgeous original piece for the group to sing on Mother’s Day a few years ago when he was in high school. (It begs the question of what I did with my sophomore year of high school.) He spends most of his time practicing his musical talent in all of its various forms, including professional performances. Amidst all of this playing, singing, and composing, he also has a background of music playing in his head.

How does he do it? I would be so distracted!

At the same time, I wonder how unusual it is for people to “hear” music that isn’t playing. Most of us have experienced getting a song stuck in our heads at some point; I’d be impressed to find someone who said they never experienced this phenomenon. In contrast, this gent is the first I’ve heard of anyone constantly having music playing in his brain. (HowStuffWorks has an article about earworms that mentions endomusia, meaning it has happened before, but I found no numbers, suggesting rarity.)

Luckily for me, I tend to fall somewhere between these two. I have no idea how he can work on musical projects (especially composition!) with another tune playing in the background. Simultaneously, I find myself agitated by silence. Look this adjective up in a thesaurus to find a variety of words of distress which have plagued me at times due to an extended period of time without music. (When I was little, I even slept with the radio on.) Instead of giving in to the anxiety of silence, my brain often fills in the gaps with medleys of familiar tunes. I can direct the music to kinds permitting me to focus on the task at hand by redirecting it to audible music.

With music consistently filling many of our noggins, where does prayer fit in?

School of Silence

Just writing that made my pulse accelerate. However, many people have written about or otherwise explained to me the necessity of silence. Several have attempted to win me over to the following of silence. This is generally how our conversations tend to go:

Friend: I look forward to my moments of silence.
Me: Cool. You can have all of mine.
Friend: How do you listen to God if you don’t sit in silence?
Me: Oddly enough, I’ve never heard the audible voice of God speaking to me. I think that might scare me more than the silence itself.
Friend: But I need silence to properly pray. How do you pray without silence?
Me: With music.
Friend: That makes no sense.
Me: We probably listen to different music, then.
Friend: No music is as sweet as the voice of God.
Me: Again, never heard that audible voice; I’m kinda fine with that. It also means I can’t compare the two, so I’ll take your word for it.
Friend: You should try silence sometime. It’s great for personal growth.
Me: God may speak to everyone else through silence, but silence gives me no peace and God is capable of speaking to me through music, and He’ll meet me where I’m at.
Friend, dismissively: Kids these days – addicted to distractions.
Me: … Thanks.

I absolutely, positively believe that silence is helpful for a good relationship with God for most people. It may even be helpful for all of us, but I haven’t gotten to that point yet. It’s kinder on my brain to have white noise in the background – nature sounds, instrumentals, traffic and car noises, pop praise songs on the radio, anything – than to sit in silence.

We have to turn off the smartphone, find a quiet place and a recollected posture, and let our minds settle. If we don’t, there is no way we will be able to hear what God wants to tell us.

– Father John Bartunek, A Quiet Place

I disagree. (I concede the point about the phone; I leave mine on DND/silent mode when I need to focus. Mind settling is probably also helpful. What I contest is the quiet requirement.) Still, I find the book incredibly helpful and believe it works for Father Bartunek and the many others who have encouraged me to try silence. Maybe I’ll try it again tomorrow for five minutes, just sitting in silence and not letting my thoughts run away from me. (That’s the trick, isn’t it – not letting the thought train get away?) Currently, though, I disagree.

The Case for Prayer Music

Argument one: music can assist in focus. There is plenty of music that is uplifting, encouraging, and thought-provoking. Yes, some music is distracting, but not all of it. (The music I’m currently listening to is somewhat distracting, but there is reason for it.) I trust I’m not alone in having a mind that needs a treadmill to run on to keep it from running away, even if it’s merely simple chords.

It’s like having an extremely active child and either opting for a simple play area or tethering the kiddo to the parent: one option allows the kid to run around safely with generally just the need for a watchful eye whereas the other requires constant tugging in the proper direction.

This kind of music helps me when I can fully focus on the connecting with God. (Perfect counter example, I’m not concurrently concerned with driving; I often pray in the car.) There are a plethora of meditative playlists designed specifically to help one’s mind focus on prayer or in meditation. I’m a fan of instrumental, particularly instrumental classical or soft jazz. (Instrumental covers often find me adding the lyrics.) On the whole, the gentler the music, the better it is for assisting with focus.

Argument two: God can use music to speak to us. Have you ever had a time when just the right song came on the radio at just the right time? How did that song speak to your heart? What was it telling you? Where do you think that came from?

[Part of prayer is] searching for what God wants to say to you.

– Father John Bartunek, A Quiet Place

This tends to be where I find myself: sitting with the radio on, paying it no mind, when a song comes on that strikes me. Beyond reminding me that the radio is on, it speaks a message I’ve been needing to hear, and somehow, I know it’s for me. Sometimes, it’s joyous and I sing along; other times, it solemnly forces me to pause; still other times, I grin weakly and mull over a particular line for the rest of the day.

Argument three: music is a form of prayer. There is literally a genre of music known as praise and worship. Sometimes songs that lift my soul to the Lord enter my heart during relatively quiet moments. These pieces encourage me to sing with them, meaning every word, causing me to connect more fully with God than any words I could think to speak. When music brings us closer to God, the music itself is a form of prayer.

What is Your Experience?

Do you focus better with or without music? I find it to be personal preference; I am better with music, but my mother can’t process her thoughts well with any noise. Which way do you prefer? What is your experience with listening to music during prayer? Are you (or do you have any friends who are) naturally gifted musically with tunes ever-present in their minds? What do you think of having your own soundtrack to life? Let us know in the comments!

I have been working on an application for a couple of weeks now. The position requires replying to several essay questions and totally revamping my resume. My tactic for getting this application done was a cross between researching the company and its people, writing answers to the essay questions, re-writing my answers because my initial response went in a non-preferred direction, procrastinating due to doubt, and balking at figuring out how to change my resume.

After spending so long perfecting my resume, I am quite attached to the current product: the format, the phrasing, the terminology, the selected experience. Given the task at hand, the only one of these things I can keep is my formatting. I’m even debating changing my title line. It’s rough. The process isn’t just daunting, it’s emotionally draining: I have to rebuild myself from scratch.

I’m not sure I even know how to do that anymore.

This was the task I’ve been delaying the longest. Today, I decided I was done with such nonsense and was going to at least try. (Well, after re-checking to make sure the position was still listed online, I decided to try; I was not about to waste my efforts on an opportunity that had already closed. #FinalDelayTactic.) After all, the options seemed to be try and possibly fail, or fail to try at all. I gritted my teeth (literally) and started tearing apart my resume (metaphorically). After struggling for several minutes, I paused: if I were writing my resume from scratch, what would I do?

Google it.

Looking up resumes for a how to include a blog on a resume led to my search for resume examples for similar job titles. Was my research another delay tactic? At first brush against this question, I was concerned, but I quickly found myself actively engaged in the product much more than the process. I wanted to get this done and done right.

Just as I started to implement the meat-and-potatoes into my resume, I get a phone call that I really shouldn’t ignore. I bit my lip, exhaled hard, and answered. It was a good conversation, but mercifully not a particularly long one because my mind was on the task at hand. I was focused. I was going to get this done. However, our conversation reminded me that I had other things to prepare for first, so I jumped on my other tasks with such fervor that I completed them faster than I’d ever done before and swiveled back to the resume.

A little rip here, a little tug there, a little deletion of this irrelevant experience and some addition of that parallel work. When I first looked at my resume and thought about the changes I needed to make, I despaired that I wouldn’t even have a page to fill and increased the font sizes to make the content look longer. By the end of the session, I had to decrease the font size and play with spacing to make it fit on one page. All totalled, I spent five hours of intense hands-on re-drafting of this puppy – and I had to tear myself away to attend an event tonight.

By the time my alarm went off to get ready to leave, the resume was in workable condition. Not done – certainly not – but it looked like a resume that could plausibly be submitted for this position. I sent it to a friend basically saying, “Look how far I’ve come!” I was ecstatic, and I wanted to share my joy with her.

(She has already shared her suggestions back with me. Bless her – it wasn’t ready for a review yet, but she took the time to help anyway.)

Tomorrow will be the post-hack-and-slash day. There will be cleaning, and tweaking, and distilling, and clarifying, and oh so much polishing. But that’s for tomorrow. Tonight, I am satisfied. I saw what I did, and it was good. And I’m so excited about what I got done today that I’m thrilled to be able to jump up and continue the work tomorrow. It’s going to be awesome.

When have you put something off only to discover later the joy in doing it? How do you feel when you get around to checking things off on your to-do list that have been sitting there for a little too long? Are there any tasks you’ve been putting off that you found yourself thinking about while reading this post? If so, what are you going to do to get it done?

In the State of New Hampshire, every proposed bill is presented with the opportunity for the public to weigh in. Today, there was an exceptionally charged bill which went to committee in the State House of Representatives: CACR 14 of 2020. It drew such a crowd that it was migrated from its original room to the House of Representatives chamber in the building across the road to fill a little more than half of the four hundred member seats there.

Why all the interest? Here’s the language CACR 14 seeks to add into the New Hampshire State constitution:

The right to make personal reproductive medical decisions is inviolate and fundamental to the human condition. Neither the State nor any political subdivision shall infringe upon or unduly inconvenience this right.

– CACR 14, New Hampshire
(introduced 22 January 2020)

For anyone not steeped in the history of the legalese used in this bill, a quick run-down of the landscape is helpful.

A Brief History of United States Abortion Law

This wording is based on various case law which was decided by the Supreme Court of the United States (SCOTUS). Roe v. Wade (Roe) may have been the first landmark abortion case, but it is not the current law of the land; in 1992, SCOTUS decided in Planned Parenthood v. Casey (Casey) that changed the standard, re-iterating (and somewhat fudging) that standard in Whole Woman’s Health v. Hellerstedt (Hellerstedt). (I’ve linked both the SCOTUS decisions as well as the Wikipedia articles for each case. I’m also summarizing below.)

The Roe ruling resulted in strict scrutiny and the trimester system: the government had to have a compelling reason to get involved, the first trimester was unregulatable, and the second and third trimesters were increasingly regulatable so long as there were exceptions for the mother’s health. Basically, the farther along in the pregnancy a mother was, the more the government could regulate. Casey invented a new standard – “undue burden” – and shifted to a viability standard: if the child could survive outside the womb, it had rights. Hellerstedt kept the undue burden standard and applied a balancing test to the imposed burdens. This is the current state of the law: undue burden via balancing tests and viability.

The Crux of the Issue

Here’s the obvious question question: what is an undue burden?

Whether or not you’re a member of the legal community, there isn’t a clear answer. Various provisions have been struck down since Casey, but even Hellerstedt struck down regulation based on the perceived motives of the legislators who wrote the law, meaning the provisions themselves were not unconstitutional. If the provisions had been struck down based on the law itself, I would hope for outrage: it’s literally a collection of rules to prevent women from dying in an abortion gone wrong. Based on this ruling, women are expected to settle for much lower quality (thus, much more dangerous) healthcare than men. (What’s new, right?)

Regardless, this is the present state of affairs. Couple this with the perception that the sitting SCOTUS bench will overturn Roe (and, presumably, Casey and Hellerstedt) to find panic boiling. Some people are pushing to codify the way things are: they want to turn the case rulings into bills and pass those bills into laws.

I’m all for the legislative process, but I want to know what the law means before it goes into effect.

A Metaphor

Let’s say the people who decide such things got together and decided to change the speed limit on a certain stretch of road. Perhaps there are too many accidents, or maybe they want to optimize gase mileage – pick your reason, but they opt to drop the speed limit. That change is well within their rights. Also suppose that new speed limit signs are too expensive, so they will still ticket offenders, but they’re not going to put the signs up to let them know where the speed limit has changed.

Two Parallels

I like the terms of patent law: “metes and bounds” determine rights. When someone submits an application for a patent, and the claims indicate something unknown, they are rejected as being indefinite. That means that because reasonable people wouldn’t know when they’re infringing on the patent, it can’t stick; the applicant has to revise the language so others know what they’re claiming with certainty.

Patents not your fancy? Let’s try sales instead.

Let’s say you’re in the market for a piece of land. I come up to you and I offer to sell you a piece of land. I went over your requirements and preferences, and I promise you it’s just what you’re looking for, and costs half what you were expecting to spend. So, interested, you ask to see it. My reply: not until I’ve got cash in hand from the purchase.

Would you jump? I’d advise against it: you don’t know what you’re getting. Sure, I’m trustworthy, but a number of things are likely to go wrong. For example, I might misunderstand one of your necessary stipulations: you said you wanted to be in Springfield, and I heard “Hampton” in the discussion; I took that to mean your interest was in Springfield, New York, but you were talking about Wolverhampton in England. That’s a pretty big difference.

Confused State of Affairs

This is effectively what’s happening here: we’re making laws that may (or may not) change the landscape, but nobody knows. Not even the legislators know what this law means. In the committee hearing today, one of the co-sponsors was asked a question as to how it would impact the rights of men, specifically men with children in utero but also how it might affect others. She stated that she didn’t know because it wasn’t her area of expertise. If the sponsors of the bill don’t know how it will impact citizens, how are the rest of the citizens supposed to figure it out?

And that’s the problem: where do you know what is okay and what isn’t based on a standard that means virtually nothing? It’s so vague that it doesn’t even necessarily enshrine the rights that it purports to: one pro-choice woman got up and opposed the legislation because it decreases the freedom of women. It’s also frightening because, based on the testimony of all three co-sponsors, it’s intended to embed a fundamental right to abortion into the state constitution: many pro-life advocates testified to the dangers of the proposed legislation from a variety of angles.

Testify!

Upon reading the bill, I researched to see if any of the wording from Roe and Casey and Hellerstedt had been clarified yet. Negative. Next, I cobbled together what I thought the legislators were likely to need to hear, and, knowing I don’t do well in front of crowds for more than thirty seconds, I distilled the statement until I could regurgitate it in half a breath.

Many stood up to speak their respective pieces. I signed up to speak, but I hedged: would there be anything more for me to say so far into the program? I was making excuses and I knew it; I get nervous in front of crowds. As the co-sponsors presented the bill and as others testified, I refined my speech; the opportunities were evident for me to use the words of the sponsors firmly against their bill, and I re-phrased it until it was golden eloquence.

Then it was my turn to speak.

When I went up to the microphone, I cracked a joke based on a funny little issue that had sprung up a few minutes prior (which, surprisingly, most people laughed at) and felt the space between my ears freeze with heat: stage fright had set in. Ears burning, I spit out the case names and that, due to the vagueness of the wording, “it doesn’t even mean anything.” Then I retreated. Including my intro, I might have made it to twenty seconds. I didn’t waste time stating my political identity or my background or anything else; I didn’t even thank them for granting me the space to speak while at the mic.

Afterward, some people reached out to me to tell me what I said was great. (I doubt that.) One in particular mentioned that I’m “such a powerful speaker.” Given that I couldn’t even remember what I said, I don’t understand how that was the case. I greeted another, a legal colleague, who promptly pointed out that I was the only person to reference the current case law; he was clearly happy about how things went. I went down to thank the committee chair for their time and specifically her efforts in maintaining a civil discourse (she intervened where appropriate). Day accomplished.

Plans Dashed, Succeeded

I had planned to make a short yet eloquent speech, drawing from the words of the co-sponsors and explaining the importance of knowing what a proposed bill means. I expected to point out that I was making a bipartisan case against the bill: regardless of affiliation, we should all want to know what a law means. I anticipated explaining that the legislature was in the perfect position to define the indefinite terms in the proposed bill itself so that we would all understand precisely what was meant so as to not have it construed in a way the citizenry wouldn’t expect. I wanted to point out the ironic stupidity of one of the included throw-away words. I wanted to make a case as an average citizen wanting to know what to expect of the law if it were to be enacted.

Well made plans don’t always happen the way they’re planned. That doesn’t mean they didn’t go the way they were supposed to. I made a stand against the bill, and I didn’t have to upset either side to do so. Finally, I made a point that nobody else had made in dual fashion: first, for citing the case law, and second, for pointing out the ridiculous ambiguity the case law has thrown us in.

Now that it’s all said and done, I’m glad I did it, and I’m more excited to keep trying until I can at least better manage my emotional reaction. I’m confident the hurdle is doable. Maybe I’ll even learn how to inspire others while I continue to grow.

Go For It

Have you recently tried anything that scared you or made you nervous? If you haven’t, I highly recommend adding it to your to-do list. It’s a great way to grow!

Have you ever stood up in a public setting for what you believe in? Have you done that in a congressional group? Today was my first time; it was exhilarating participating in the lawmaking process, but for me, it was simultaneously frightening. Do you have any tips for me in case I face the experience again? Are you planning to attend a hearing after reading about my experience? (I hope so!)

I’m (seemingly perpetually) at a crossroads: I want things that (seem to) conflict. This issue reached a local climax recently – I want this which is only possible if I stay here, but I also want that which I need to relocate for. The tug of war was rather rough, but I planned (and scheduled and worked) as though the this was going to work out, most of my efforts going toward this while I siphoned off trickles for the exceptionally exciting that I put off because of the this.

Today, I got an email all but eliminating this as an option: affirmatively no offer on the job I applied for locally.

Unlike several other “no”s I’ve gotten, I wasn’t crushed. Disheartened, sure, but simultaneously reinvigorated. It was quite an odd experience. I wanted the position – it worked out perfectly with so many long-term plans I’d planned – but there was a feeling of relief that came with that email. Why?

Because I’ve been praying wholeheartedly for God’s guidance. The this and that situation had me deeply frustrated, torn to the point of raw, gross tears. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I asked God for direction, and I specifically asked Him to quickly close the doors better for me to pass over than enter. Part of me knew what I was asking for, and that’s the part that felt relief when I received the news.

I even said “thank you,” despite the pain.

Then, I got up to seek a friend (it still hurt) and leave for an event. I tossed on my coat… and realized I didn’t know where I was going. (The event rotates locations.) Though my heart was hopeful, my head was still grieving, so I didn’t think to check until I was on my way out the door. Next! (Even writing this, I have a headache. Pull… on… happy… face…)

So, now I’m a little late. I’m also a mixture of injured, relieved, light-headed, hopeful, and rejuvenated. Most importantly, I now know where I’m going.