Projects

Clock Radios and Crickets…Tech Sabbath Part 1

On Sunday, August 13 Maggie and Mary Margaret eschewed phones, computers, and televisions, observing a technology sabbath. This week Mary Margaret shares her insights on her 24-hour screen break. 

August 13, 2017: A midnight to midnight fast completed. No phone, no computer, no screens. I unlocked the screen on my phone once for a friend to do a quick baby-check, (which felt oddly like “cheating”) but upon hearing that no one had gone into labor, off went the phone and popped back into my bag.

My conclusion after this measly 24-hour experiment?I present to you the stages of tech withdrawal…

  1. Anxiety, Panic, Bargaining:This was firstly and overwhelmingly related to the alarm clock situation. I was so concerned that something would go awry with the clock radio, I would sleep the morning away, miss work, get fired, and my life would go down in a fireball of ruins. This didn’t happen. I woke up before the alarm even sounded—maybe because I was so anxious about the alarm.  The funny thing was this anxiety prompting a quibbling with myself about the rules of “no-tech-day,” reasoning, well, maybe it’s okay if I use it as an alarm clock, a wristwatch, or a calculator because I don’t carry those things? But I overruled this bargaining, since this was precisely the point!! I was discovering all the things I rely on my phone for, and how it changed things to do without. I adapted; I  made my plans with my friends on Saturday, I looked at wall clocks, I asked strangers for the time, I mused about the weather, I walked over to a store to check their closing time, I pulled out a pocket calculator. I didn’t mind, but it also made me glad that we can do all of these functions with smartphones, because I like simplicity. I’m not a person who wants a kitchen full of appliances that each do one narrowly specific function (oh the apple corer? Yes, just squeeze that in the cabinet between the tree-nut-only food processor and the rice cooker. NOT!) So I’m grateful that I can listen to music, check my email, see the time, make calls, and do calculations without a purse or home full of devices and gadgets. We can discuss later my actual need to DO any of those things on demand, but suffice it to say I like the streamlining a smartphone permits. Obviously when you rely on one thing and it breaks, you’re more temporarily in the lurch, but for me the inconvenience is outweighed by the maintenance and cost of owning and managing everything separately: wristwatch, alarm clock, calculator, music player, landline phone, television, GPS device, etc.
  2. Sweet, sweet relief. And guilt. Once I was headed towards work, past my concerns about the dreaded oversleeping scenario, I felt the freedom of technology sabbath. I’d released myself from the obligation to call anyone, respond to any texts or emails, or engage with news or social media. And full transparency, part of this relief over not having to engage was directly correlated with current events. I wanted to be blissfully ignorant for 24 hours– a free pass from a self-imposed requirement that I stare into the darkness and acknowledge these most recent occurrences of racism and violence in our country. I didn’t want to know what the president was saying or not saying, and I didn’t want to face any further confirmation of the hatred, divisiveness and fear that Trump’s campaign and presidency has allowed to come bubbling up to the surface from malicious undercurrents of our society. Guilt comes into the equation because our accessibility to information has introduced this idea that we are negligent and wrong to NOT engage with this information. My eagerness to escape the influx of bad news from the past week, North Korea to Virginia and everything in between, points to the wearying effect of this burden of information. I wrote at Lent about limiting the number of news sources I was consuming, and Maggie and I have discussed decreasing the number of times we read about the same disheartening event. I don’t think guilt here is a particularly helpful emotion, nor is simply consuming news for the sake of having thoughts or feelings about the events themselves, but I want to maintain sensitivity and awareness to current events if there is a chance for action that promotes love and justice. I certainly wonder if occasional breaks might help me continue to be shocked and motivated, though, rather than merely fatigued by trying to keep informed.
  3. Temptation and Habit: It wasn’t only the news that I was relieved to escape, though. I actually enjoyed not needing to engage with the phone: not digging around in my purse and not having the phone physically in my hand. Of course, though, I am so used to reaching for it, though, I did have to actively stop myself throughout the day. When you put your phone down it leaves you open to notice the ubiquity of tech around you. A time-traveling visitor from the past or alien from a distant planet dropped into a New York City subway car would be forgiven for thinking that humans had an extra metal appendage attached to our hands, so it was interesting to look around the city trying to spot people who weren’t engaged with or simply carrying a device of some kind. Fighting my own habit of phone attachment was good practice. There’s no reason to pull out my phone with the frequency I do, and noticing when I had the impulse to was illuminating. Screens aside, equally strong was the impulse to fill the silence by turning on music, a podcast, or making a phone call. Which leads to my next point…
  4. Openness and Discovery: Disengaging from tech was about decreasing visual and aural stimulation of all kinds, and I truly found myself listening, watching, and observing more throughout the day. Obvious to state, but I was more tuned in to my surroundings and more present with my own thoughts, because I wasn’t listening to or looking at the thoughts and images of others. I realized how habitual my practice of listening to podcasts on my commute home was when I noticed the hum of crickets in Prospect Park as I walked from the train. Even in the middle of the Brooklyn, these creatures chirp, a natural chorus in the midst of the artificial and mechanical buzz of the city. Undoubtedly the best part of tech-free day was this quiet sitting with myself, which is something I typically think I have to leave my “normal” New York City life to engage with. It’s so simple, but I had some nice thinking time, and even mulled over some future writing topics. In releasing myself from the need to engage during the span of a normal day of work and play, without needing to go on a literal vacation, I found a bit of stillness even within that space.

My verdict then as a naturally anxious and somewhat restless soul? I ended tech-free day thinking: so that was tricky. When can we do it again?

Projects

Something Swell on Saturday

The 3:30 Project is a collaborative blog by three life-long friends: Maggie, Mary Margaret and Jillian. On Saturdays, Mary Margaret plans to post something from the week that made her smile.

I wasn’t sure what to post today. I thought, maybe I should just re-post what Maggie wrote on Wednesday, since she had incredibly wise words for an incredibly confusing and discouraging week. Not to mention, she simply stated so plainly so much of what I think and feel and believe so exquisitely. This week was…I mean…What on earth? Was this the “American carnage” the President referenced in his inaugural address? It certainly felt like American chaos, between the President embarrassing the institution of the Boy Scouts of America, the Senate voting on healthcare, the President firing off random tweets about God and policy changes for transgender individuals in the military, the resignation of the Chief of Staff…I could go on. It was a week that left me asking, where are all the adults? More than that, where are the people with genuine compassion and a commitment to caring for one another and believing the best of one another?

In the face of the wider cultural and political situation, I also know so many people this week directly dealing with moments of personal struggle and grief.  While I’ve lifted up prayers of gratitude for the many blessings in my life,  I’ve also seen my list of others to lift up in prayer grow.

On my 30th birthday, I wrote about how we go through times of darkness and times of light, and this Saturday, I simply want to reaffirm my commitment to not just experiencing and being grateful for light, but reflecting light. In as much as I am able, I want to lift up others, believe in their goodness and value, bring love and support to them. It’s not enough to bask glowingly in the light of positive things in your life, like the outpouring of love I received last week from family and friends. As described in Matthew 5 or the always-popular ditty “This Little Light of Mine,” one does not take a lamp and hide it under a basket, or bushel (although what exactly a bushel remains unclear). One takes the light, puts it on a stand, and tries to let it illumine the household.

So maybe this is less a “something swell” from the past week, and more an affirmation for the next week.

Shine on.

3:30 Thursday, Projects

The times, they are a-changin’

The 3:30 Project is a collaborative blog by three life long friends: Maggie, Mary Margaret and Jillian. In August, we’ll be approaching the 3:30 Project a bit differently. Let us explain… 

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven”

-Ecclesiastes 3:1

The 3:30 Project has now reached its seventh month, and seen each of its three triangle members hit the anticipated Big 30! We’ve been so grateful for everyone who has read, commented on our writing (both online and in conversation), shared the blog with someone else, and been overall so supportive of our endeavors! We set out to create a habitual practice of writing and sharing ideas with one another, and we’ve seen some lovely things come out of the commitment we made. Not only has writing been a good way to process the events of the year, we’ve been in even more constant contact with one another. On top of that, I’d say we’ve all done some writing to be proud of.

Every season has its own requirements, though, and we’ve come to a moment of transition. With Jillian expecting the imminent arrival of Fox, and so much going on in life and work, we’re embracing a new format moving ahead, more reflective of what the second half of 2017 holds. Maggie and Mary Margaret will each post on a different Thursday during the month on a shared topic. We then may use the last week of the month to respond to one another’s writing or add something new to the conversation. Jillian will be free to post when and if she has time in these early days and months of motherhood. As much as we shall miss her writings, we know she will have more than enough to keep her busy! We have also chosen to go more free-form with our alternative posts like Motivation Monday and Something Swell on Saturday. You may see these, or other additional content throughout the month, but on a less formulaic basis than previously.

Thanks for reading along with us! We sincerely hope we’ve brought new voices and new ideas to you somehow and we also hope you’ll continue reading along with us as we continue in this new direction! Onward and upward, friends!

Projects

Something Swell on Saturday

The 3:30 Project is a collaborative blog by three life-long friends: Maggie, Mary Margaret and Jillian. On Saturdays, Mary Margaret plans to post something from the week that made her smile.

It’s a no-brainer this week. My birthday was on Wednesday (as you could maybe tell from the amazing post Maggie and Jillian created!)  and throughout the entire day, there was an incredible flood of love and kindness from my family, friends, coworkers, even random strangers (like the barista who gave me a free coffee!) My sisters, in coordination with my friends and cousins, created an incredible and hilarious birthday video for me, they also sent out an alert to stuff my mailbox with cards, my parents sent flowers to my workplace, our company manager at the theatre had a delicious chocolate cake (for me and my co-worker Erik, who also had a b-day yesterday!) The cast of my show signed a card for me, my friends sent texts, calls, Facebook messages…Maggie and Jillian made me cry with their words and pictures, and music.

From start to finish, it was a reminder of what makes our years worth living- the people that we have met throughout our days. The people that God has placed in our lives to love and care for, but also to be loved by and cared for by. I did not dwell on worries about age or regrets of the past on my birthday, or feelings about what I haven’t yet accomplished in my life–  which wouldn’t be completely out of character for me.

My Mom and Dad sent me a box with 30 different gifts wrapped up (how sweet and loving and creative is that? just have to brag on Mom for a minute!) which I’ve decided to open up a little at a time. The cap of my day was selecting a gift from the box to open, which I could feel was some sort of a picture frame. Inside was one of my favorite photographs of my grandfather, my sweet Papoo, and a card that said “Happy Birthday to a Marvelous Keeper of Memories.” My Mom couldn’t have planned this any better. After a day of being reminded of all the amazing people in my life now, those near and far, she was reminding me also of the love that I come from, the love that my years are founded on, the love that came before, that carries on after death, outliving our earthly walk. Birthdays can remind us of the value of a human life; this miracle that we come into the world, then we leave this world, but that undeniably the thread of love connecting one person to another spans over our individual mortal days. I do believe this–new love is born each day, existing love never dies.

Thank you, dear ones!

Projects

Mary Margaret’s Thoughts on 30

The 3:30 Project is a collaborative blog by three life-long friends: Maggie, Mary Margaret and Jillian. July 19 was Mary Margaret’s 30th birthday, so here the final member of the triangle to reach this milestone presents her thoughts on hitting three decades. 

Is it really going to happen? I asked myself that earlier this year, slogging through what I would describe as a cold, numbing, autopilot New York winter.

This will sound dramatic, but it’s also honest. Knowing that as minutes kept clicking by, I would soon reach my third decade, and in this particular season of my life, this passage of time felt exhausting. I felt my days less as gifts, more as burdens, and to top if off, I disliked myself for feeling this way. I acknowledge that I was in a deeply negative space, disheartened by the wider political and cultural context of the country and personally discouraged by uncertainty in my own work life. Moreover, this led me to withdraw from family and friends, not wishing to burden anyone else with my own sadness and worry. I’m good at faking it for the general populace, but most people close to me likely knew that I was struggling.

It seemed irrevocable, inevitable and yet impossible that I would suddenly be 30. It’s not the age itself that bothered me especially; it was the fact that it might come upon me while I was so stuck. Time ticked on, but I was mired, uncertain what I even wanted, and therefore uncertain about what direction I should even move in to try and unstuck. I’m a planner. How do you chart the course without any destinations in mind?

I’ll skip to the end of the story for a moment, which is that I’m currently unstuck. A large part of this was related to something I’ve already written about, which was my unexpected opportunity to begin a new job in late May. I’ve loved the opportunity to tackle a new show, work with amazing designer Jane Greenwood (who finally got her Tony award after 21 nominations!), meet so many lovely people, and take on wholly new responsibilities. Not only has it restored my confidence in my own capacity for new challenges, it’s reminding me how much I enjoy and value what I do working in theatre.

I’m not superstitious, but will admit I’ve almost been scared to say how happy this new position has made me. There’s a somewhat silly human trepidation that joy is so ephemeral that voicing it will cause it to vanish. In trying to talk about how hard the past winter was with my Mom the other day, she was initially hesitant, saying she didn’t want to talk about sadness, worried it would take the conversation too far away from the positive chat we’d been having. My point actually was not to dwell on the negativity, though, but to mark it’s ending—to emphasize the lifting of a cloud.

What we’re acknowledging in our sometimes fear of naming joy is a simple truth: we know that no joy, and equally, no sadness lasts forever. I wanted to voice a time of darkness to say how things have changed. Also to voice the darkness to allow that it can and will return, though it may look different. Also to voice the darkness to help me remember later that if it does return, it can go away again.

Here’s what I’m driving at; here’s what I learned in my twenties that I will now try boldly to live out in my thirties. At a certain point, I stepped off the train of academia that neatly organized my time and efforts for the first couple decades of my life. I’ve long ago entered the world of navigating my own course, since you realize pretty quickly that life is not a series of checkable boxes (argh!! frustrating for a person that loves lists!).

So don’t ask me about my ten-year plan, because I’ve decided on this reality- a reality of everything changing all the time. There will be times that I want nothing and times I want everything, there will be times when I’ll strive toward a desired outcome, and times I will fumble without being even able to fathom a way ahead. I will be deeply and crushingly sad. I will be hopeful and joy-filled and optimistic. My ten year plan is to attempt to live on shifting sands, to live with the shifting swells of my own heart, to remember that this exasperating turmoil of even our own thoughts is what each of my fellow human beings is also experiencing.

When we remember this, I think it might lead us to greater compassion for those around us. For me, I also try to remember the constancy of God in spite of my inconsistencies and inconstancies, because there rests my larger hope. I’m going to change as my days tick by. Situations will change as my days tick by. And by the grace of God, I’ll be changing along the way, through whatever joy or darkness I find myself in, into more of who He created me to be.

Hello, 30.

Projects

Something Swell on Saturday

The 3:30 Project is a collaborative blog by three life-long friends: Maggie, Mary Margaret and Jillian. On Saturdays, Mary Margaret plans to post something from the week that made her smile.

There were again a number of smile-worthy moments this week. For instance, I saw three Franciscan nuns in line at the Seven-Eleven store on Tuesday (7/11) waiting for their free slurpee! This faux-holiday of frozen beverages is another one that definitely belongs on our previous post about made-up annual events! Anyway, by far the week’s smiling-est winner was that my friend Faith became engaged to her person–Shawn!  While celebrating their dating anniversary, he asked THE QUESTION (you know the one) and after agreeing, she asked him right back, which may be one of the most adorable things I’ve ever heard.

This news caused me to use a terrible, invented word mash-up to describe this situation while hanging out with Faith on Wednesday in Bryant Park.  I told her I was a joy-eur of her news! I took the word joy, then repurposed the word voyeur, (which is totally the wrong word, given its racy, salacious definition), and what I mean was that I am given joy by seeing their joy! It’s a blessing to have witnessed from the sidelines the growth of their love and relationship from its inception. I remember when Faith first told me that she was seeing this new guy, Shawn, and I could tell from the start that she was (this is the only appropriate word) smitten! Next I got the chance to meet him, hang out with him, see the two of them together, see the way they looked at one another, heard something of how they cared for one another…

Their engagement was not some out-of-the-blue surprise, and for me, that’s the best way– when you feel that it has happened  because it seemed natural and right. Probably most of us have experienced the feeling of hearing news of an engagement and trying to share the celebratory mood while feeling a tug of uncertainty. In wanting the best for people we love and care for, we may still have questions about their choices on many things, including their partner. Ours frequently then becomes the task of trusting the person we love in their choices– acknowledging that as an outsider we can never be fully privy to the complexities and depth of the couple’s relationship. Other times, like now with Faith, the joy is easy, and the news seems like the most obvious thing in the world. It’s not fairy-tales and roses from here on out;  rather, I feel like they can and will face what comes (the good, the bad, and the ugly) as partners. I love knowing that they will journey through life together, and who doesn’t want this kind of love for their friends?

I’ve long been grateful for Faith’s friendship, and now I’m so grateful that I’ve gotten to ride along a bit on their journey as a couple, and now share their joy! Congratulations and so much love to them this week!!

 

Projects

Something Swell on Saturday

The 3:30 Project is a collaborative blog by three life-long friends: Maggie, Mary Margaret and Jillian. On Saturdays, Mary Margaret plans to post something from the week that made her smile. 
 

Really this post is just a continuation of our Thursday post, because I’d like to write about my Fourth of July. For starters, I had the opportunity to spend several hours on the phone that day with Maggie and Jillian. We talked long enough that I heard Maggie’s elder daughter in the background saying, “Mommy, why are you talking to Mary Margaret for so long? That is tooooo long.” But, sorry Naomi, truthfully it was so nice to just talk and talk, without anywhere in particular that any of us needed to rush off to. This rarely happens in the busyness of life, yes?  I’m so grateful to the husbands, children, and tasks that wait patiently while we refill our spirits with a good triangle conversation.

In the afternoon I walked all the way down Ocean Parkway from my house to the Brighton Beach Boardwalk and met up with my friend Val. We talked and people-watched until the beach got dark and the fireworks began over at Coney Island. Were there tons of people around? Yes. Was it a nightmare getting back on the train at the end of the evening? Of course. But the event was smile-worthy for several reasons. Val’s company-always- but also because it unexpectedly made me feel great about what America is able to encompass.
On the boardwalk watching the fireworks was sort of an American ideal in a nutshell– meaning it managed to be a place that easily and quite beautifully held all the languages, cultures, and demographics that were around me. I could stand in one spot and hear Spanish, English, Russian, and languages I didn’t even recognize echoing around me. Val and I stood sandwiched between two Muslim families,the women dressed in brightly colored hijabs and festive clothes for the holiday. On the whole, actually, the fashions we witnessed were…epic. People of all ages, genders, cultures, and orientations surrounded us, and we watched together, cheering collectively at the end for the grand finale. It was like being in one of those heart-string-tugging commercials they tried desperately to make for the Super Bowl following the president’s travel ban, only this was authentic, unplanned, unaffected. And not everyone was drinking Coca-Cola. Sorry, Jillian.
It felt like America realized. American as an experience– and I was grateful to live where in this city and have the opportunity to dwell in a moment like that. As corny as it sounds, I love that we were all so different, but we stood together in our differences and enjoyed a simple pleasure like viewing some aesthetically pleasing controlled explosions in the sky over a large body of water. Yes, Americans are kind of weird, but I can love us for that too. I’m hard on my country, because I expect a lot of us, but moments like this emobdy for me an America worth loving and an America worth standing up for.
3:30 Thursday, Projects, Triangle Tuesday

America the Beautiful…

The 3:30 Project is a collaborative blog by three life long friends: Maggie, Mary Margaret and Jillian. Lately America has seemed a little, ummm….ugly? In spite of well-intentioned and idealistic talk, there’s been very little unity building in this country since last November’s election. In honor of Independence Day this week, the 3:30 gals remind ourselves and you that there’s so much to celebrate with some awesome, uniquely American things! 


Mary Margaret

  1. Geography. No seriously, folks. The song about fruited plains, mountains, and shining coastlines is poignantly correct when we consider the vastness of diversity in our country. The Grand Canyon, the Rockies, Appalachia, coastlines, forests, lakes, glaciers, volcanoes; there’s profoundly wondrous natural beauty in this land, which is worth celebrating and protecting!
  2. Bluegrass Music. You’re welcome,  world. Or sorry, world, depending on if you’re       anti-banjo. Sure, it may not be for everyone, but I’m grateful for this uniquely      American sound, born on this soil.
  3. The First Moon Landing. The anniversary of this is also in July, and I’d just like to remark that while I wasn’t even alive when this happened, I still find it        incredibly inspiring that Americans dreamed of, planned, implemented and achieved walking on the moon. Multiple times. Obviously I am not a conspiracy theorist here. Maybe I’m just captured by the sheer capacity of humans to dwell in everyday realities and yet believe in things that seem fantastical!
  4. Regionalism. Diversity is complicated. Diversity is also cool, if you ask me. Technologies may be making us increasingly more homogenized, but I still think it’s cool that you can travel to a different part of your own country, your own town, your own city even and be surprised by what you find in the myriad of religions, languages, cuisines, cultures and subcultures that this nation contains.
  5. Rocket Pops. Enough Said.

Rocket-popsicle


Maggie

  1. The Internet. I recognize that the internet isn’t specifically American, and that internet trolling, cyber bullying, and cyber security are real and challenging issues that come along with the internet. But, thanks to the internet, I also get to see my family on video calls, collaborate with my friends who live far away, and see hilarious videos on youtube. I have the encyclopedia of the whole world available when I want to learn whether cloth or disposable diapers are better, or how to pronounce quinoa. We can all work on our cyber manners, but I’m still going to count the internet as a win for America.
  2. National Parks. We have some amazing National Parks in our country. I get to enjoy the Canaveral National Seashore on a pretty regular basis, but there’s more. The Saguaro National Cactus forest is amazing, Yellowstone, Grand Tetons…and that’s just the few that have made a big impact on me. I have a passport to the National Parks, so I can track all the one’s I’ve been, too. It’s not very full, but maybe something to work on like in Mary Margaret’s Some Suggestions for Saturday.
  3. Musicals. The Musical is a decidedly American art form. And whether your favorite is Oklahoma, Ragtime, Hamilton, West Side Story, Les Miserables, Wicked, Urinetown – or one of the many other wonderful and noteworthy American Musicals. I think they’re delightful. I haven’t taken the opportunity to enjoy live theater in a while, but I still hum show tunes all. the. time.
  4. Libraries. I love libraries so much! I love them! There’s something about being in a building full of books that makes me feel like the world will be well. And mercifully, even in my small community, we have public libraries available for everyone.
  5. Interstate Highway System. I think it’s incredible that I could get in my car right now and drive, for free, on a pretty good road all the way to Tacoma Washington. As long as my car could make it, I could go there. I know from playing Oregon Trail in Elementary School that many people didn’t make that trip. But I can! Why? GPS, interstate highways and gas stations.

Jillian

  1. Satire. America is the land of democracy and free speech – the land of the everyday, ordinary person. So there’s really nothing more American than laughing at the powerful.
  2. Conspiracy Theories. Another wonderful element of free speech – you are allowed to talk shit about your government, you are allowed to call out the ugly things they do, and you are allowed to endlessly postulate about all kinds of outrageous and horrible things they may or may not have done at all. And I love it. I don’t personally believe that they faked the moon landing, or that a crashed alien spacecraft is hidden away at Area 51. But if you do, please tell me because I could listen to you talk for hours. (And I totally do believe that FDR sent Amelia Earhart to spy on the Japanese and that they captured her, that FDR did not even try to save her, and that both governments have covered it up this whole time. This Sunday on the History Channel, 9/8c.)
  3. Generous personal space. I think the abundance of geographic space in America is what makes us inclined to claim a lot of it for ourselves. We have big houses and big cars and we have BIG perimeters of personal space around us at all times. And that is something I profoundly love about being an American. When you’re in America, strangers try to stay about 3 feet away from you, and that is the best way. The American way.
  4. Vegetables. Okay, this one is cheating a little bit, because these things are particular to the New World on the whole, and a lot of them originated in Central or South America. But I think very few Americans realize how special our vegetables are. Ireland had no potatoes before they were brought back from the New World. Italy had no tomatoes. I can’t even list all the things we wouldn’t have without corn. Truthfully we should all be celebrating the Fourth in the produce section at Kroger.
  5. Coca-Cola. I’ve saved the best for last. Coke is hands down the greatest American invention, don’t even @ me. Coke has conquered the world with its delicious, fizzy, tooth-decaying goodness and its gorgeous logo and its amazingly uplifting commercials – how do they even do that?!?! Wherever you are in the world, when you see that beautiful white scroll on that red background, your heart fills with pride. God bless America.
Projects

Something Swell on Saturday

The 3:30 Project is a collaborative blog by three life-long friends: Maggie, Mary Margaret and Jillian. On Saturdays, Mary Margaret plans to post something from the week that made her smile.

A week where it was hard to pick which thing to share today- What a blessing of a problem to have. Undoubtedly there continue to be constantly discouraging things in the news, on top of loved ones in my life who are currently dealing with really difficult circumstances;  and always there are the general ups and downs of day to day life. But for all of that, thank you God for your persistent reminders of goodness in our world. This week I got to celebrate a friend’s birthday with her, open a play at my new job, catch up with several other friends, and enjoy some beautiful summer weather! But I’ll leave you with a smile-worthy poster I happened to see on the train platform the day of the NYC Pride Parade.

As my Mom always told me- Hate is a very strong word. Here’s a service advisory: There’s no time or place or occasion for hate. Now go forth and love!

pride

3:30 Thursday, Projects

Should have Gotten a Pedicure…Barefoot Tales!

The 3:30 Project is a collaborative blog by three life long friends: Maggie, Mary Margaret and Jillian. Now that summer has officially arrived, the time for kicking off your shoes and feeling the grass between your toes, we bring you stories of going barefoot! 


Jillian

When I look at my bare feet, I think of my mother.

It seems to me that 90% of what it means to be a woman you learn by the time you’re three years old. You learn it from your mother, just from looking at her and watching her move and listening to her tones.

I studied my mother. I watched her curl her hair, I noticed the blackness of her mascara-ed eyelashes and the redness of her lipsticked lips. I touched her smooth, shaved legs. The thing that captivated me perhaps most of all was her bright, colorful, beautiful, perfect toenails. They were different shades of pink and red all the time, from neutral to bold, sometimes flecked with gold. Her toenails were never bare. In my memory, they were never even chipped.

As I grew into a teenager, I realized how much discipline and attention it takes to pull off the consistent, daily performance of femininity – the hair, the hair products, the hair removal, the creams and pumices, the makeup and the nail polish. I realized that my mother has that kind of discipline and attention, and I realized that I will never have that. And I decided it wasn’t something I wanted for myself anyway – I don’t want to fret about a perfect appearance, I want to leave my mind free for other thoughts.

Now, when summertime arrives, I paint my toenails like I’m supposed to and then I forget all about it. I just go about my life, to work or to church or to Fourth of July picnics, with my toes peeking out, blissfully unaware of the weeks-old polish flaking away.

But occasionally I see my toenails with the polish halfway eroded and I think to myself, That is shameful. And then I smile, because it reminds me of something so old and universal. Something about the way a little girl looks at her mother, something about the innumerable things that you learn just from watching her. And something about that part of you that, despite all the growing up and changing and rejecting and discovering, will always wish you could be just a little bit more like her.


Maggie

I have organized a large part of my life around my desire to not wear shoes. As a Martial Arts instructor, I teach all of my classes in bare feet; in my home, I don’t wear shoes; and, in between, I try to wear sandals as much as possible. Since I live in Florida, this is socially and seasonably acceptable.

One side effect of my barefoot lifestyle is that I spend a LOT of time vacuuming and mopping. Every day our training floor must be vacuumed (sometimes twice), and at least once a week we clean and sanitize the mat. A fellow instructor once told my husband and me that “when you clean the mat you clean your soul.”

At the time I thought he had gone off the deep end.

But with time, I have come to appreciate that lifting the dust, dirt and grime off the mat and being constantly vigilant about foot fungus is good for my soul (pun intended).

I find that the daily ritual of vacuuming the mat very soothing. I’ll listen to a podcast, strap one of my daughters on our baby back pack, and the white noise of the vacuum cleaner will lull her to sleep. It’s a peaceful, cuddly weightlifting exercise.

Having grown up in the church, I have heard at least 30 sermons (probably more) on the The Last Supper and particularly the moment when Jesus washed the feet of his disciples. Most of the sermons emphasize how humbling this was because the disciples probably had disgusting feet – they walked everywhere, lived in a desert climate, had no running water, etc. But it wasn’t until I began my daily practice of cleaning up after other’s people’s feet that these sermon illustrations really hit home, and I have come to appreciate how much dirt people pick up and leave behind with their feet, but also how nice it is to clean away the dirt you pick up every day.

I feel like my feet probably look a lot like the disciples’ feet – calloused ,and by the end of most days, they’re pretty dirty. But they’re also tough – I can walk across most surfaces unprotected by sock or shoe. In my baptism, my head was sprinkled with water, symbolizing the washing away of sin, but nothing feels cleaner to me than having my feet cleaned and clearing away the dust and dirt from the day.

There is so much that comes at us every day. So many stories to hear, so many issues to care about, so many things that taking a few minutes to clear away the the grime and leaving your sole fresh and refreshed can be good for your spirit and your sole.


Mary Margaret

The first thing I do when I walk into my apartment? Take off my shoes. Aside from the sanitary benefits of not wearing New York City pavement-pounders all over my floors, removing my shoes is my signal to myself that I’m home. I instantly feel more comfortable and like myself when I’ve achieved foot freedom- Closest to my natural state of being. If I could safely go barefoot more places, I would. But you know, glass and dog poop, so freedom has its limits.

The human spectrum of reaction to the uncovered foot, ranging from lust to disgust is expansive, but whether you loathe or delight in toes, to me there’s something so visceral and immediate about the uncovered foot’s connection to memories. The physical sense of the ground, temperatures and textures, earthen or manmade, wet or dry, solid or crumbling surfaces—these feelings come yoked to my recollections as if I could feel their matter beneath my toes once more. Being barefoot seems to make my sense of place more immediately and firmly etched into mind. Smell, taste and sound connect more intimately to my emotional memory—how I felt in a moment—but the feel of a place is under my feet. For instance:

The lacquered wooden beams and pebbly mats of every yoga studio I’ve ever entered. No wonder yoga has been my favorite form of physical activity for over a decade, since it’s rather unique in being safely practiced sans footwear. I feel most grounded in my own physical self on my mat, digging my toes down, acknowledging gravity and the connection from toe to ball, to heel, to every other part of my body.

Cool, smooth, richly ornamented carpets of the mosques I visited in the Middle East. As my head was covered, so were my feet uncovered to respect these spaces. Thinking of leaving my shoes in small cubby holes by the door to tiptoe lightly across the rugs, threadbare from the thousands that came before me to visit and pray at these sights, instantly brings me back to the year I spent in East Jerusalem, and traveling in Israel, Palestine, Jordan, and Egypt.

Cool, hard stone floors of St. Peter’s Lutheran Church. I’ve long loved the annual Maundy Thursday practice of foot washing in my congregation. We wash and are washed, literally touching the bare feet of people we only casually know. If you aren’t a pedicurist, you’d probably never do this, and for me, I’ve found it to be a palpable reminder of the kind of humility Jesus calls us to. If he could wash the dust covered feet of His Disciples, surely we can at least bring ourselves to pour some water over the foot of an elderly choir director, finding some holiness in humbleness.

Shorelines: mud, grits, pebbles, sand, stones, debris. Many places I’ve been blessed to visit- in Italy, the Middle East, East and West Coasts– had some body of water, affording the chance to step directly into the soil and water of the land. This can be a perilous pursuit. Jetty rocks are often sharp, creatures in the sand may pinch or sting, icy water may cause your toes to numb, but allowing no barrier between you and Mother Nature invites a fullness of experience impossible with barriers of rubber, leather or canvas blocking the way.

Is this perhaps the heart of what I’m trying to say about going barefoot? I long to get everything out of the way to be more consciously present? In yoga, the “chakras” describe locations where energy flows in, out, and around the body. While I don’t attach spiritual significance to this per se, I enjoy this mental exercise of visualizing energy. I feel corny verbalizing this, but I think I’m so eager to take my shoes off because of my internal sense that it brings authenticity to my experience of that place. I’m ready to kick off my shoes, seeking sensation of the inward and outward flow of energy through my foot chakras, rooted under the balls of each foot. Maybe I’m striving, hoping to soak in the energy and memory of places through my toes and legs, up, up, up, through torso and heart center, all the way to my brain and inner eye where it can lodge and dwell as memories of unique and singular places and moments where my feet once found themselves.