On choosing conflicting battles wisely

This is one of the most obvious understatements in the world: human beings are complex and often downright frustrating creatures.

Self-exploration and defining your place in the world is difficult enough without having to deal with unsolicited and misguided opinions thrown in your direction. As multi-faceted people, our internal battles are all over the place.

This is a brief, non-exhaustive list of issues that have made me want to hit my head against a wall on several occasions:

The idea that Jewish background + Christian beliefs automatically = Messianic Jew (it doesn’t. It’s a bit more complicated than that).

That being a Christian, period = hating gays, believing atheists have no morals, forcing beliefs on the nation by turning them into laws.

That feminism = bra-burning, man-hating, always pro-choice, anti-shaving extremist (I’ve had the privilege of meeting a handful of married, stay-at-home, religious, self-described feminists. They are real. I promise. And we all generally want the same thing: to be treated like human beings).

That English major = future English teacher (nope, not me).

That author = famous and made of money (HAHAHAHA…not even close).

That self-published author = not a 'legitimate' author (self-published books are on Amazon like all other “legitimately published” books. If it’s made of paper or downloadable via Kindle and you paid for it from a major distributor, it’s a book, dangit).

That being raped or assaulted always = brutally attacked by a stranger hiding in the bushes, because it can never happen in a relationship with someone you actually know (more on that here)

Your own list may look similar, or completely different. It’s easy for me to lose patience, to write off the people who question me as completely ignorant or even stupid. There are battles, and then there is the battle to pick your battles, because you simply can’t afford to lose it every time someone misunderstands an aspect of your life.

I’ve decided to pick three of the above “battles” as educational fields; my defining markers in life: Being a Christian, because that’s who I am; rape culture awareness/feminist issues, because those have affected me personally; and misconceptions about being an indie author, because that is my chosen profession. Even one of those issues results in a fully loaded plate, and I wish I didn’t have such a random lot to choose from.  I felt like a freak for a while, until one day I realized that no one’s life is lived completely in a vacuum. It’s okay to stand for multiple things, and the best way to stand for something is to be an effective teacher of it.

I’m always curious to learn more about how people deal with ignorance regarding who they are, or what they’ve been through. Now is your chance to educate me: what are your battle fields?

Selfish with a dash of good? Or vice versa?

Leaving my internship yesterday, I heard a voice call out “Hey Sarahbeth! Can I borrow a dollar?”

I looked up to see a somewhat disheveled man standing in front of me; possibly homeless but hard to tell. At first I was confused how he knew my name, but he probably read it off my custom-printed bag. In that bag was a hefty chunk of cash from my four babysitting jobs that I planned to take directly to the grocery store, in addition to a very expensive Macbook.

The man was only asking for a dollar; not a huge expense on my part. I could and should have given one to him. Yet all I could think was, I can’t let my guard down and risk having my stuff stolen.

I offered him some of my Ramen noodle stash instead, which he politely declined. Getting into my car, I felt like a failure as both a Christian and a human being. I could have done more, and I chastised myself for living in a world where concern for one’s personal safety trumps compassion; where being a single woman alone in a city means automatically fearing any man that approaches, even if his intentions aren’t malicious.

But is it really about safety? Or is there underlying prejudice that prompts us to say “no” when asked to give? Or when we notice people whose lives are radically different from our own?

I don’t always remember to lock my doors when I get in my car, but I lock them when I pass a cluster of teenagers in downtown Denver, always thinking It would be so easy to unlock the passenger door at a stoplight and grab my laptop/purse/whatever. Once, during a discussion group at church, a student was talking about how selfish we can be when there’s an opportunity for outreach: did Jesus not call us to serve others, no matter the personal risk to ourselves? My instinct was to protest, “You don’t understand! You are not a woman who looks ten years younger than she actually is; the world is not as dangerous a place for you, of course it’s easy for you to say that.”

Thankfully I wasn’t the only one thinking this, and the discussion turned into a battle of the sexes: the men kept insisting we (the females) were more concerned about ourselves than others in need, while the women kept insisting that Jesus would never advocate purposefully putting ourselves in danger if we didn’t absolutely have to.

On the drive home I stopped to allow more cars into my lane than usual, as if trying to atone for my selfishness before; once again deceiving myself into looking at salvation as some kind of points-based system. In the end, I am just one person with good intentions who often falls short. I can only do so much. But I feel guilty just the same.

Facebook and the bizarre new culture of grief

The last thing I want to do is take Facebook too seriously; it’s an isolated portal of communication that can only display so much of a person, so it’s inaccurate to judge people solely by the content they choose to post.

However, it does add up. People create patterns and expectations based on their shared information. Even friends I love dearly in “real life” have been hidden on Facebook because I simply don’t care about 99% of what they deem share-worthy. Most of the time, it’s nothing personal.

But I cringe every time I see a personal prayer request – for several reasons. It’s bad enough that “I’ll pray for you” has become a conversation-closer with good intentions that is rarely followed through; these are the posts that typically garner the most ‘likes’ and comments, and I’ll bet that most of them come from people who otherwise don’t give a damn about the rest of your life, except when there’s an opportunity to be a part of something that breeds attention. It’s for the same reason people tend to dress up ordinary encounters they had with someone who recently died, because death and grief create a backwards celebrity status.

I’m a strange person who considers the intimacy of prayer in the same way as marital intimacy: you don’t share the details with a great number of people. Just your significant other, your close friends and relatives, maybe a counselor or mentoring figure. I highly doubt those are the only people who have access to your Facebook account. So when you are asking an artificial community of ‘friends’ to pray on your behalf, what are you really asking for? Why does your grief demand a spotlight?

Personally, I’m terrible with remembering prayer requests. I’d much rather be asked to do something tangibly helpful, like make soup for someone who is sick. It’s possible that my discomfort with publicized prayer requests is linked to my changing conviction about the purpose of prayer, period: I don’t necessarily believe in praying for specific outcomes to problems anymore. Doing so makes me feel like I’m treating God as a personal genie, which I don’t believe he is. If someone is ill, I’ll pray that the doctors do their best performing courses of treatment. I’ll pray that the sick person is giving strength and resiliency, regardless of the outcome of their prognosis.

I think of Facebook-shared prayer requests like the cliffhanger ending of a TV show, because it sets up expectations of fulfillment. You are creating an audience for your troubles, and the voyeuristic tendencies of most people may keep them wanting to know what happens. And if the end result is not what you wanted, what then? Then your grief has been made public, which sets a precedent that leaving a condolence comment suffices for genuine sympathy. It doesn’t.

Real community should be there for you, in person, assisting you with your real needs (Jews have perfected this practice, called “sitting shiva”). Don’t settle for the falsehood of Facebook grief, because while most people may feel passing sympathy for you, they will likely forget once the next engagement post starts making headlines.

Reality of The Writing Life: not as glamorous as it seems

If being a writer is a profession that leads to more tears, sweat, and frustration than most people realize, why am I reluctant to admit that I am one?

It’s a job that makes me feel like I’m constantly bragging, even if I don’t intend to: “What do you do?” “I’m an author. I’ve written four books.” Maybe it’s the amount of time that impresses people; I know it’s difficult to finish reading a book sometimes, let alone write one. I’ll concede that that aspect of The Writing Life is worthy of admiration.

But what really gets me is the impression of instant stardom that comes with publishing. I’ve actually had people ask me more than once if I’ve made the New York Times best-seller’s list yet. As far as I can tell, they aren’t being sarcastic when they ask. And while it’s such an innocent question with complimentary undertones, it’s yet another reminder of just how difficult the job really is. It’s exhausting. It’s mind-numbingly tedious at times.

But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Even still, I want people to get a few things straight. When people think of “writers,” perhaps they think of people like JK Rowling: a true-life Cinderella story if there ever was one. How many people know about Joanne Rowling, the destitute single mother, before she achieved JK Rowling status? She faced twelve rejections from publishing houses before Harry Potter was released. Like I said, lots of tears, sweating, and frustration involved.

Good books – and the fruits of good books – don’t happen overnight, or even in a year. For most of us who will never be the next JK Rowling, we count on our readers to help us because without them, we would be nothing. Sure, we write because we would be doing that anyway, but it’s the readers who help make the difference between writing as a hobby and writing as a career.

Whether you’re self-published or being helped by an agent of a traditional publishing house, the burden of marketing yourself is never completely removed. As an independent author, I am not just an author. I’m an entrepreneur. I’m my own advertiser and PR firm. I do this and more for enough royalties to keep funding my Starbucks addiction, and that’s just the beginning. Combine these aspects together, and you’ve got a full-time job. Sure, I can wear pajamas and set my own hours, but if I am not grounded in self-discipline, nothing would get done.

This is my passion. This is my life. This is all I can imagine myself doing, and even if I find myself wanting to throw my laptop out the window because the words just aren’t coming, or they do come, and they suck, this is the only life for me.

So what am I asking of you, the reader? Your role is more important than you know. If you like a book, tell your friends. Write a brief review on Amazon. It doesn’t have to be a book report; just simply explain how it affected you, and how the author could improve it. Pin, share, re-tweet. And repeat. We can’t thank you enough.