Tag Archives: Happiness

Education, Education, Perspectives, Perspectives, Perspectives, Privilege, Reflections, Reflections, Reflections, Reflections, Reflections, Reflections, Wealth Disparity

The Problems with Privilege

March 13, 2017 Steve Sheppard Leave a comment

One of my daughters, Molly, has been working with a local university in co-teaching a section on the concept of privilege. She’s very excited about the opportunity and the subject matter; in turn, I’m very excited to hear about the class sessions and how people respond to the comforts or discomforts of privilege. It’s a section of social work students, so my presumption is that they have some awareness of the societal realities regarding privilege. It’s a topic that touches every one of us, whether we acknowledge it or not.

Molly commented on the awkwardness exhibited by most of the class members in discussing the notion of their own privilege; it is a group of predominantly white, middle-class students. Maybe they were feeling a bit of “privilege guilt” or, contrary to my assumptions, perhaps they had never really thought about privilege in their own context. Whatever the cause, the members of the class struggled in that first session, heads down, voices silent, struggling with whatever notions occupied their hearts and minds. (Molly related that subsequent sessions became more open, less constrained.)

But the episode spawned interesting conversation between Molly and me, in part because Molly is an ethnic minority herself, an adoptee from Korea at infancy. She can personally relate to the idea of privilege, both from the standpoint of a minority who has grown up in a white-privilege society, as well as from the point of view of someone who was raised in a family of relative economic and opportunity privilege. The dialogue prompted some musing on my part, as I contemplated the problems inherent in discussing such a charged topic as privilege.

The first of these problems is that privilege is something that everyone inherently wants. We may not refer to it in terms of privilege, but it’s that competitive or better position that all of us seek, and in nearly all avenues of life. We want to be “first in line.” It might be first in line for a new technology. We line up through the night to obtain front row tickets. We follow our sports teams in hopes of being able to claim, “We’re number one!” even though the game is played by others. We push ourselves at work so that we might advance in title and pay. We wonder longingly what it might be like to have great material wealth or not to be required to work. Sometimes we even compete to be among the first to escape the church parking lot on Sundays. It’s in us instinctively. Whether it’s called getting ahead or realizing one’s full potential or seeking favor in the way our communities look at us, privilege is seen as an advantage, or an honor, or a placement somehow better than before, better than where others are. We might equate the term privilege with those who are of the economic upper 1%, but it’s an objective we all strive to achieve.

The second problem is that, whether we believe it or not, nearly every one of us already enjoys some degree of privilege in our lives. Everything is relative in life, and if we could chart the degree of privilege of every human being on a continuum, the only person without privilege would be the individual at the very bottom. For all the rest of us, we occupy some position that is further ahead or better off than those below us. We need to recognize that just as we gaze jealously or longingly at someone who we regard as being “ahead” of us, there is someone doing the same thing from below. All of us are more privileged than some. Some are more privileged than most. Most are more privileged than the least. I even have met some of the least who regard their lot in life as more privileged than the most. So the cycle depends entirely upon one’s point of view and the meaning of “privilege.”

Third of these problems is that, despite our privilege in life, very few of us recognize that we have it. We seem to feel as though everyone else has it. No matter what the blessings or good fortunes of our lives, we are fixated on those who seemingly have so much more, believing that it’s these fortunate few who are the privileged. The recognition of privilege is as difficult as knowing our own incompleteness: we can only see it in others. There are good and valid reasons for us to dream about privilege; such dreams often fan the flames of knowledge and invention. But privilege has visited most of us, even when we never recognized its random faces.

Finally, privilege has never embraced notions of fairness or justice. When disparities exist among people, discussion of them is usually laced with guilt or blame or other tension to drive a wedge between those who have and those who have less. The fact that privilege is so unevenly divided within our society has been cause for debate throughout our history. It continues to be, and the arbiter of privilege falls to whatever political perspective happens to own government. That’s ironically the privileged class, and so the cycle continues its lopsided turn.

If the problems of privilege are understood and acknowledged, then a meaningful dialogue can happen for people wanting to know their own places in the equation. It’s a searing examination of self and other that requires enormous self-honesty and deep compassion. But the undertaking is a sort of privilege unto itself….

Birthdays, Children

Looking for A Cupcake

January 9, 2017 Steve Sheppard Leave a comment

My granddaughter’s first birthday was on Saturday. Much like her older brother’s first birthday, upon which I reflected a few years ago, family and friends gathered to ogle and give gifts for the little angel (for that’s exactly what she is) in a symbolic shower of love. This first year has been a joyful if sleepless time for her parents, and an absolute wonder for her grandparents, who can’t help but recall the memories of their own little girl decades ago. That memory is aided considerably by the fact that this baby looks so much like her mother, who also happens to be an identical twin. So the recollections are tripled for grandma and grandpa.

I found myself noting all the individual requirements of this little celestial. She exhibits definite preferences that must be satisfied; she points to where she wants to go and slides across a floor with ease to explore her latest interest. She is relentless in her curiosity. She demands to be fed with regularity and particularity. Her regular sleep patterns must be maintained for domestic peace; she wakes up early for her daily work. She does not do well if she is too cold. When she holds a toy, she will struggle against her brother’s compulsion to take it away; she most often does not have the power to prevail. She is quick to smile. As she is being fed, she is very cognizant of the foods which others are consuming and which are forbidden to her; I suspect that she yearns for the day when she might share in those same, enticing meals. She is adored by her family and, now, anyone else who has the chance to get close to her. She touches people. She is inquisitive about them, but not quite brave enough to move outside the comfort zone of her mother’s presence.

In these ways, she is almost exactly like her older brother at the same age. She is probably just like nearly all other 1 year-olds. Actually, she’s just like all the rest of us, who require our basic needs to be met and then hope that we might absorb at least a little bit more, so that we can become who we are meant to be. Just like other North Americans, or Europeans, or Koreans or Russians. Just like Nicaraguans.

I loved watching her reach for a cupcake. Like everyone, she deserves it….

Attitudes, Election, Peace-building

Four Days in November

November 20, 2016 Steve Sheppard Leave a comment

Thanksgiving is nearly upon us here in the United States, which means that we have moved into late November and early Winter. It’s always a transition time, with the reds and golds of Autumn giving way to dormant brown and, eventually, snow white. Lots of people don’t care for November here in the upper Midwest of the country, but I love it. It’s another promise of change and of time moving on, hallmarks of getting out of the “comfort zone,” and that’s a good place for us to be. But this month has already presented a series of “moments” for me, three significant days in a row, even before the promise of turkey.

The first day of note was the U.S election. To my knowledge, and certainly in my experience, there has never been a contest as coarse, demeaning, undignified and as utterly devoid of fact as the election of 2016. Much has been written about the candidates’ behaviors by others (nearly everyone), but from the perspective of one rather ordinary citizen, I characterize the fiasco as an event which oozed disgrace and lack of civility at every turn. If this is, in fact, democracy in action, then my own sensitivities suggest that we search for an alternative form of government altogether.

Yet the discouragement and even despair that I felt during this election season is ironically what made the second day of my November journey stand out so brightly. On the day following the election, I met with both the Managing Director and the Program Director of the Nobel Peace Prize Forum. We convened to meet one another for the first time, to talk about some of the new aspirations for the Forum and to discuss a potential presentation by Winds of Peace at next year’s assembly. The conversation was a stimulating and hopeful one.

I mean, how could it NOT have been, when elements of the discourse included the names of past laureates, the efforts being made around the world to convene peaceful resolution of conflict. Yes, members of the Tunisian Quartet, the 2015 recipients of the Peace Prize, would be in attendance. President Obama has been invited, in addition to his half-sister, Maya Soetoro-Ng, who is among the faculty at peace and conflict resolution institute in Hawaii. Congresswoman Gabby Giffords will be in attendance, with her husband, astronaut Mark Kelly. And many others, less celebrated and completely anonymous, will be present over those days to talk about their own initiatives and experiences with peace-building. Against the glow of enthusiasm and commitment of my hosts, a feeling of hope seemed to lift me a bit straighter in my chair. I walked back to my car with a little more bounce in my step, I think.

On the third day of this sequence, I was to speak to a University of St. Thomas class about the work being done by the Foundation, and how it mirrors, in many ways, the strategies and attitudes brought into play in my former for-profit organization, Foldcraft Co. I arrived on campus a little early, so I took advantage of the beautiful morning and walked around for a while, taking in the surroundings and feeling the promise that only a university campus can provide. Quickly I noticed the scores of banners hung around every sidewalk and building, which read, “All for the common good.” I was struck by the rightness and optimistic promise of that phrase and truly moved to see its presence everywhere. It was an advent to the class experience to follow.

The presentation went well ( I was told). The class participants were engaged and curious and full of outward excitement at ideas of organizational wealth-sharing, broad participation and transparency, collaborative work and rewards, and the practice of capitalism without distinction of class, the sanctity of human worth. The questions penetrated the essence of broad ownership and widespread involvement. The students were intrigued and enthused. I was pumped and energized. Together, we had a good time. After the class period, several students asked for my business card so that we might talk further about the marriage of business and social responsibility. On this day, I did not notice a bounce in my step as I walked back to the car; I rather had the sense of floating

Within the span of three days, I experienced the lows and the highs that I know are inevitably a part of our human existence. The outcome to all of it was simply this: I am reminded that the lows are to be found wherever we choose to see them. There are enough to bring the entirety of mankind to its knees and complete dysfunction. But just as assuredly, the highs are at least as numerous, and carry the potential to raise us above the mire of surrender. It’s a matter of where one’s gaze seeks direction. With heads down, we see the world as a dark place, indeed, and its paths lead to seemingly endless disappointment and loss. But there is a great deal more to seen with heads up, absorbing the brighter prospect, allowing us to see and draw strength from the hope that still does surround us.

All of which leads me to the fourth important day of this month, the one during which we are encouraged to be thankful for every blessing of our lives. What a great idea, gratitude. What a terrific posture for looking up, noticing the uplift that surrounds us, for acknowledging and embracing it, and for choosing to be the very engine for change, “all for the common good.”

Wow, Happy Thanksgiving, indeed….

Certificate Program, Wealth

Where’s Your Treasure?

October 2, 2016 Steve Sheppard Leave a comment

Among the lessons emerging from the Certificate Program in early September, we heard wisdom in many different forms. The Certificate Program, by design, has a very holistic feel about it, a compendium of thinking on topics as diverse as growing and commercializing crops, understanding gender issues more deeply, seeing the environment as a fragile home, leadership, followership, organizational and personal health, and spirituality in work. The September edition narrowed a bit, though still rich in wide-ranging matters. One topic struck me as particularly interesting, given our Nicaragua location and the peasant participants at hand.

In the course of our time together, we were introduced to an allegorical tale of sorts, one that was intended to stir our thinking about what matters to us, what holds value and is therefore worthy of our time and energy. The tale is presented here:

A couple was walking down the street, when they noticed a man under a street lamp, looking for something on the ground. As they approached him in order to help, they quickly determined that he was drunk. But they asked him, “Sir, have you lost something?”

“I lost my gold ring,” was his reply.

The couple helped him look for a long while, until they grew tired and frustrated with the fruitless search. The couple asked him, “Are you certain that you lost it here?”

“I am sure that I did NOT lose it here, but over there,” he said, pointing to a darker area nearby.

“Then why are you looking here?” they asked him, wondering if they had not heard him correctly.

“Because the light from the street lamp doesn’t reach over there, but only here! Can’t you see that?” he responded in a surprised and challenging tone of voice.

The story elicited a wide range of perspectives and interpretations, all of which added insight to the tale; the attendees gave the story some serious consideration as they tried to discern its lessons. But for me, one conclusion stood out above the others. In short, it was the question of “where do you seek your treasure?”

It’s not a new question. But in the rural mountains of Nicaragua, where the basic economics for living have been hard to sustain, where availability of food depends far too heavily upon the vagaries of weather and blight, and where populations might well be excused for seeking gold under seductive bright lights, I did not anticipate the consensus answer to the treasure-question that emerged.

Their first, tentative answers tended to be the seemingly obvious: the man was wasting his time- and that of others- by virtue of his irresponsible drunken condition; he needed to understand the importance of a clear mind; treasures lost might never be found again. Then the responses became more reflective: the man was searching in a place that would never reward him; the easy way is not always the best way; sometimes you must discover your own treasure, your own truth, by yourself. And finally, the lessons became personal, philosophical: we too often seek that which is of greatest value in the wrong places; burdens are made easier when encountered in the light; in searching for that which we think will bring us wealth, we just may discover something else of even greater intrinsic value.

For rural Nicaraguan producers, who face some of life’s most difficult challenges, the story had become all about understanding values, where to look, how to look, how to reconcile what we might wish to be true with our actual truths. I find myself still marveling at the honesty of their thinking and analysis of their truths. For, it’s an easier exercise to tackle when one’s basic needs have been met and one has the luxury of contemplating things like self-actualization. It’s a more profound conclusion to reach when it’s not just an exercise….

Reconciliation, Well-Being

Except For…

May 12, 2016 Steve Sheppard Leave a comment

We’re finally into flat-out, full-bore, blossom-laden Spring in my part of the world! We haven’t had any freezing temperatures for weeks now, the sun is high enough to quickly warm even the coolest mornings and every living thing is in motion. I took a long run along the river over the weekend, just to listen and smell and hear the magnificence of Spring in northeastern Iowa.

The water is flowing freely right now, the beneficiary of snow melt and early rains. The water is clear at the moment- no chemicals in the mix as yet-and not yet affected by the farm field runoff which still carries too much valuable soil and nutrient to the south. The bubbling rapids are pristine and there is joy in the sight and sound of them; clean water is not only an essential, but a wonder for which to be grateful. I am delighted by its language, except for the realization that its abundance is shrinking everywhere in the world.

Already, fields have been plowed and crops are being planted for a hoped-for bounty by Fall. All around the area, the smell of lilac and pine are at their intoxicating peaks, crabapple and black locust permeate entire neighborhoods. The essence is nearly transformative, lifting me on my run. I am saturated with gratitude at the sweet scents of the earth, except for my memory of the smells of urban decay, both in the U.S. and abroad, which can quickly overpower the natural beauty of a Spring day.

I encountered five other runners and walkers on this day, each showing elation at the emergence from hibernation with smiles and greetings. We are all in moments of leisure, blessed in a communion with the beauty of a Spring idyll. I am glad, not only for myself, but for the experiences of my fellows, except for a sadness that so many others may never know this kind of moment. Maybe their days will be filled with other joys, but I selfishly want them to feel this moment the way that I do.

I am amazed at my running. For fifty years I have traversed wilderness and street, winter freeze and summer swelters, from the Superior Trail to Budapest, Managua to Kyongju. I have run for my own good, for a sense of accomplishment, to be healthy, and to spark creativity. I’ve been blessed with good knees and strength, and I recognize every day what such activities have meant to my well-being. And I find myself full of joy, except for the nagging realization that elsewhere, people conserve their energies for more practical tasks, such as survival. The thought most often slows me down, even if my step remains light. Wherever the journey leads, the contrasts are the same.

“Whether you are writing about anger, love, jealousy, desire, hate, it does not make a great difference whether you use a plowed field or a city alley, a garbage can or a rural dump, a city park or Quabbin Watershed Wilderness Area. The great central human considerations may be found everywhere.” -Joseph Langland, Poet

So I run on, in a delicate balance between the sublime and the disquiet, knowing that what I hear is not always heard, what I feel is not always felt, and the others I see are but a fortunate few of the many unseen. Wherever I am, I run between the conflict of beauty and decay, health and hurt, confidence and despair, for we are whole except for where we hurt, helpless except for when we choose otherwise….

Happiness, Happiness, Servanthood, Servanthood

It’s All About You

March 6, 2016 Steve Sheppard Leave a comment

We are bombarded with advertisements all the time, whether on television, radio, Internet or printed materials. There’s nothing new about this at all, though the ingenuity used to invade our consciousness is sometimes surprising. (I still maintain that the ads over urinals in public restrooms is arguably the most captive approach.) But I’ve encountered a number of messages lately with the same refrain: “It’s All About You.” There’s the recurrent ad on the radio for a local bank which uses that line in its musical imprinting. (As if banks these days are even conceivably “all about” their customers.) One of my favorite retailers has begun to use the phrase in its website ads. (In reality, it’s more about my purchases than about me, I’m quite sure.) And it’s a message that makes me uneasy.

I understand the implication: I’m worthy of the product being offered and the benefits that it will provide. I must have worked hard in life and am entitled to the luxury-pleasure-convenience-status of the item being offered as a visible affirmation of my worth, one that others will see with admiration and maybe even jealousy, because they, too, are worth it.

It’s an easy trap for us consumers to fall into. The latest versions of luxurious living and tempting toys are alluring, indeed. Caribbean cruises on floating hotels and cars that drive and park themselves are nearly beyond imagination. Even in the far reaches of Nicaragua, cell phone accessibility has become an increasingly commonplace wonder. If some of the chronically poor peasants enjoy such technology, surely the rest of us are entitled to that and more; we must be entitled.

But the promise of “all about you” and the attendant requirement for acquiring more items in our lives is a misnomer for fulfillment, whatever our socioeconomic status. Not only because shiny things become dulled in time, but also because they- and we- are all so temporary. We don’t get to take any of our toys with us when we depart the planet, and they will come to the temporary ownership of someone else. The cycle will continue indefinitely and we will have been owners for only a second in time, nothing more. We are only stewards of things, whether they be greater or fewer than others, but they are never truly a part of us.

In reality, it’s not all about me. It’s hardly about me or any of us at all. (I was even reminded of that recently in church, sometimes not a bad place for new perspectives. See the message from January 25.) Each of us is but one seven billionth of the planet; a mere one one hundred and eight billionth of human history. Clearly, it cannot be about you or me; we are not that unique. So it must be about something else, a perspective that makes the center of attention somewhere other than ourselves. If not me, if not you, then our focus must be on “the others,” the marginalized among us who need and deserve our consideration.

Yet the more I consider the notion, an unexpected reversal of thinking occurs to me. Maybe it is all about me. Not in the sense of the receiving and entitlement, but in the giving and opportunity. Maybe it truly is about each of us individually taking ownership, not of our things but of our stewardship. Maybe instead of competing in the marketplace for the most goods, our competition ought to be seen in divesting ourselves of the incredible wealth we have accumulated during our lives of privilege. Is it possible that the hallmark of success could be measured by the number of lives touched, the number of hungry fed, the number of homeless sheltered? For we do lead lives of great privilege in contrast to most of the other humans on earth, present and past alike. How even those kings and emperors of antiquity would be astounded at the lifestyles most of us live!

I received a product ordered online the other day, another manifestation of my own consumerism. It arrived in a carton marked, “Happiness delivered.” I was immediately struck by the presumption that the product delivered would make me happy, and that I never even had to leave the comfort of my home to achieve such joy. The presumption was yet one more attempt to equate a purchase with personal and lasting fulfillment. In reality, the item was one that, yes, I felt (right or wrong) that I needed, but it did not make me happy. That emotion has to come from somewhere else, somewhere from within. And that is all about me, and my relationship to other human beings.

I am informed in my thinking by Native American perspectives on the idea of ownership, not only the impossibility of owning individual lands but of things, as well: ““It was our belief that the love of possessions is a weakness to be overcome… Children must early learn the beauty of generosity. They are taught to give what they prize most, that they may taste the happiness of giving… The Indians in their simplicity literally give away all that they have—to relatives, to guests of other tribes or clans, but above all to the poor and the aged, from whom they can hope for no return.” (Charles Alexander Eastman, Santee Dakota Physician, 1858-1939.)

I’m not an ascetic and thus cannot call others to such a lifestyle. But I recognize, like Native Americans long before me, that what we have- whether in material, opportunity, education, energy or aspiration- is never owned by us. Rather, any of these are gifts to be shared in the best ways that we can, part of a collective competition of largesse, and our lives are truly about discerning how to do just that….

Christmas, Personal Notes, Personal Notes

Ordinary People

January 23, 2016 Steve Sheppard Leave a comment

It’s been weeks since I last posted an entry, but the absence hasn’t been for the reasons you might expect. Yes, the holidays came and went during this time, but as filled as they might have been with family at home, time for posting was not limited. I did not travel anywhere nor did my computer suffer a winter hibernation. Nonetheless, my time has been impacted by the passage of the holidays and two other significant events: the a two-week bout with the flu and a cold, and the birth of a grandchild. As commonplace as all of these events might be (though for any grandparent there is no grandchild who is commonplace), their presence in recent days has had me thinking about the ordinary disruptions of daily life, how we experience them and the extent of their impacts.

The holidays themselves pose any number of distractions that can take me out of my daily rhythms. We plan and prepare for family visits (a household of two is a very different space than a household of ten), change the quantity and content of our meals (cookies are terrific but not very forgiving) and a visit with an elderly neighbor becomes not just a nice time to chat but a holiday expectation (even though she professes to have had all the Christmases she needs). I suppose that such distractions are among the attractions of the holidays, as they force us out of the sameness of everyday life, even if the routines are the same as other years gone by. At least they aren’t the same as May or September routines.

Succumbing to illness, especially at this time of year, is especially interruptive, since we have expectations of gaiety and joy; indeed, every advertisement on television informs us of just the right gifts needed to provide giddy ecstasy over the holidays. Illness, even if not particularly life-threatening, dims the brightness of the days and extends the wakefulness of the nights in a grotesquely unfair example of poor timing, which no amount of tissues or hot liquids can erase. Holiday illness is the taskmaster of patience, at a time when Godspeed is needed.

To lighten such a load, the birth of a grandchild is highly recommended. Tiny Claire Elizabeth came into this sphere on January 7, bringing with her the usual fanfare of newborns: the stress of childbirth, the anxiety of families, the thrill of new life, the introspective gravitas of a new legacy, the first cry of perseverance and finally, the unbridled joy of those who will be her family. What event could be sweeter than this- the newest piece to life’s puzzle.

So our days have been filled with mixtures of celebration, struggle, anxiety, fears, comforts, dreams and spiritual balm. The rush of the holidays has passed by for another year, the discomforts of a winter illness have finally sought new victims for their misery and a newborn child has begun her journey of enriching, teaching and loving.

After ten years of working between two cultures and world views, the passage of these past weeks has given me pause to reflect upon the ordinary events and people of that other space in my life, Nicaragua. What are the holidays and illnesses and births like for my friends in that country, and how do they unfold? How do such occurrences impact the activities of those who experience them?

I think we can guess at the reality. The holidays occupy a significant part of many Nicaraguans’ lives, as the celebration of the birth of Jesus is national in its importance. But there is no frenzy to buy lavish gifts and to host overflowing holiday feasts for most: sufficiency at the table and in the home is difficult enough to maintain on ordinary days, though worthy enough of deep gratitude.

Nicaraguans become ill just like anyone else, so cough remedies and Indigenous recipes abound. (Honey mixed in rum is what I have been recommended.) Nicaraguans are not immune to the viruses that seem to stop us in our tracks. It’s simply a case that Nicaraguans have a much more difficult time stopping in theirs; there is no safety net for such work stoppage and the margin of sufficiency too small to allow the luxury of staying at home or sipping hot chicken soup. They cannot afford to stop for fear of falling further behind. There are occasions when illness gets in the way of keeping up. It’s when one of the particularly virulent strains of virus or bacteria attack the health of a worker and the ability to keep going is lost to the emergency of simply staying alive. Poverty has a way of breeding brands of illness that make my cold of the past weeks seem like a hiccup. It seems our respective senses of the ordinary are quite different from one another.

And when it comes to having children and grandchildren enter their lives, Nicaraguans feel the same range of emotion that the rest of us do, I suppose. But whereas the dreams for Claire Elizabeth include notions of education, achievement and wholeness of life, dreams for the newly-born in Nicaragua may be far different. The family of a newborn Angelina may dream first of survival and good health for their little girl. Their prayers might include petitions for enough to eat, water to safely consume, and strength enough to be able to work on the coffee farm at an early age. Their hopes likely include visions of their daughter being able to stay in school past the third grade, maybe even being schooled to high school, though the hope may be, practically speaking, a long shot.

What constitutes the ordinary for us depends very heavily upon where the miracle of birth and the journey of life occurs. When we spend even a few moments in reflection and appreciation of that truth, it changes things. Like the way we choose to celebrate the joys of our lives. Like the acceptance of a temporary illness as a minor distraction instead of a major roadblock. And like a growing awareness of just how extra-ordinary our own lives really have become….

Interdependence, Interdependence, Life in the U.S., Life in the U.S., Life in the U.S., Life in the U.S., Making An Impact, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving

Thanks Giving

November 30, 2014 Steve Sheppard Leave a comment

As I prepared for the Thanksgiving holiday this week and the arrival of at least some of our children for a short visit, I found myself in an introspective frame of mind and full of gratitude for my life’s blessings. I suspect it was a reflective moment for many people in the U.S., or at least it’s supposed to be. It’s good to give thanks for copious amounts of food and leisure time, football games and “Black Fridays.” Right?

With just a little different perspective, though, we might recall the basis of earlier Thanksgivings and what was celebrated in those times. The very first one, I have read, was the effort of the earliest immigrants here to celebrate their very survival in those first years, with the Wampanoag Indigenous people, without whose assistance the great migration might have stumbled to a halt. The first immigrants owed much to the first peoples; but in sharing, they all observed their common thanks to whatever Spirit occupied their hearts.

The first immigrants to this country stood upon the shoulders of Indigenous people who had been here for generations. The Europeans were sustained by the Indigenous, learned from them, shared their food and means to survive the new environment. The Native American culture must have seemed other-worldly to the newcomers, but then, the immigrants had deliberately chosen to seek out a new world.

Those early celebrations contained two distinct components, the thanks and the giving. They are pieces of our historical fabric that I’m trying hard to remember in these modern times, when the recognition of our needs for interdependence and stewardship often dims in the shadow of consumerism and self-gratification. For some, shopping has become the new face of gratitude. Thanksgiving Day has become a day of thanks marked by over-consumption of food followed by conspicuous consumption of other “things.” In response, I’ve tried to eat less and think more about my own giving.

Since the dawn of existence, we have lived on a finite planet. That simply means that for every gift, every resource, every blessing that I have received, someone else did not receive it. Wherever I may fall on the human continuum of prosperity, there will be those above me and those below. I need to be thankful for where I am on that continuum, but I never wish to lose sight of those below. I need to remember them because I can, in just the same fashion as I have needed and hoped for the support of those above of me. It’s the way a real Thanksgiving is supposed to work, I think. In giving, there is an implicit need for my thankfulness: thanks for being in a circumstance where I have the ability to give, for recognizing my capacity to do so, and for the self-reformation that comes in the giving. It’s a perspective that is strangely comforting to me, and a view for which I am truly thankful.

There is comfort and confidence in the recognition that I am on this journey of life with many others, rather than facing its uncertainties by myself. And I think that I am not alone in this….