Talking on Things We Don’t Know About

Ain’t it like most people? I’m no different

We love to talk on things we don’t know about

Ain’t it like most people? I’m no different

We love to talk on things we don’t know about

(“Ten Thousand Words” by the Avett Brothers)

A couple of weeks ago my son and I were standing in the National Museum of the American Indian in Washington, D.C.—one of the fine museums of the Smithsonian Institute.  We were standing before a picture as man walked up to us, pointed at the image, and firmly proclaimed that the man in the picture was Sitting Bull.  I said, “I beg your pardon.”  The man said, “That is Sitting Bull.”

Now typically I do not correct strangers in public when they are wrong, but this guy was wrong . . . way wrong . . . had the wrong guy  . . . had the wrong tribe . . . and, even the wrong generation.  That was not a picture of Sitting Bull . . . Sitting Bull was not a Crow Indian . . . Sitting Bull was a Hunkpapa Lakota.  The picture was of Plenty Coups . . . a Crow Indian.  I told the guy that, but he insisted that it was Sitting Bull.  I pointed to the name plate under the picture that read “Plenty Coups”.  The man’s response?  “All them Indians look alike.”  Then he proceeded to tell my son a whole lot of mythic tales of how the West was won . . . John Wayne sorts of tales that were wrong.  I just walked away because the guy was talking a whole lot on things that he truly knew nothing about.

His ignorance reeked.

I sat with a group of people a while back as they debated those dastardly Muslims with all of their hatred and jihad attempting to rid the world of all the other religions . . . especially the Christians.  Listened as they rattled on and on about how all Muslims were the same . . . just a bunch of terrorists out for vengeful blood.  They are all the same, they said.  But I asked, “How many Muslims have you ever met?  How many do you actually know?”  The silent stares were answer enough . . . none.  They were talking a whole lot on things that they truly knew nothing about.  I walked away.

Their ignorance reeked.

Such conversations are all around if one has ears to hear.  Ten thousand words on things none of us know nothing about.  Words about other religions . . . about other races . . . about other cultures . . . about other generations . . . about other nations.  They all look alike . . . they all act alike. They are all the same.  By that it is usually meant something that is not good.  If they are not like us do we really have anything good or nice to say?  Not usually . . . but, we still have a lot to say.  We all have opinions . . . opinions based on myths, lies, and misinformation . . . myths, lies, and misinformation because we really and honestly don’t know what we are talking about.

Sadly I have learned that if a person speaks out of his or her ignorance with enough force and conviction others will believe . . . they will believe the myths, lies, and misinformation.  All Muslims are alike . . . blood-thirsty terrorists.  All Indians are alike.  All old people are alike.  All women are alike.  All black people are alike.

I went to a small college in central Nebraska . . . a state with a minority population of less than three percent . . . and that was reflected on campus.  There was practically no diversity as nearly all of the student body was white.  People of color were few and far between.  While at college I ran track with a young black man from Washington, D.C.  One day as we were running he stated that he was dropping out and moving home.  When I asked why . . . he stated that he could not take any more of the passive aggressive racism he was experiencing.  He said he was called a “nigger” by some guy while walking back to his dorm room one evening.  He confronted the individual . . . asked the offender how many blacks lived in the community that he grew up in.  The guy responded that there were no black people in his community, and none even in the county he was from.  “So, if there are no blacks from where you are from,” asked the black man, “how can you hate someone you have never met or encountered?”  Because, replied the offender, all blacks are alike. 

His ignorance reeked.

Ignorance reeks.  That is a fact . . . especially when ignorance is pawned off as fact and truth.  Sadly, as the lyrics above state, “Ain’t it like most people? (we) are no different.  We love to talk on things we don’t know about.”   I have been known to razzle and dazzle with bull poop a time or two . . . we all have.  But, it does not make it right.  Does not make it ethical.  Does not make it fair.  Mostly it disrespects others . . . puts them down . . . oppresses them . . . makes them “less than” us.

I try really hard not to get roped into discussions based on ignorance . . . try real hard not to be baited into arguments based on myths, lies, and misinformation . . . try real hard to razzled and dazzled by a whole lot of b.s.  I try real hard not to display my ignorance when I really don’t have a clue about what people are talking about . . . instead I try to ask questions so that I can learn and become knowledgeable about what others are talking about.

I am trying real hard to base my thoughts, ideas, statements, and opinions based on experience, research (on all sides of an issue), and a whole lot of discernment and prayer.  I am trying real hard to have more conversations with people and things and situations where I am the one who is the fish out of the water.  I am trying real hard to be one who is willing to walk in another’s shoes before I pronounce judgment.  I am trying real hard to be open . . . authentic . . . and willing to listen to everyone’s stories.  I am trying real hard to understand.  I am trying real hard not to be like everyone else . . . I do want to be different.  I want to be who God wants me to be . . . I want to be me . . . a person called to love God and others . . . to love others even if they are different than me and I do not understand them.

That is the point.  None of us is created the same.  Why in the world would we ever think that we are?  There are so many colors in a rainbow . . . why do we all have to be the same one?  That was never God’s intention, so why is it ours?  Ignorance reeks . . . let us not sit in our stink.

Will You Understand?

I think one of the most difficult parts of about introversion is in the arena of friendship.  Most introverts do not have many friends . . . probably because we think of ourselves as being our best friends.  We like being by ourselves where we can have intelligent and enlightening conversations . . . with ourselves!  At the same time, most of us are not that far off the spectrum of introversion/extraversion that we do not want to have a few friends . . . it just takes us longer to open ourselves up for those sorts of intimate relationships in our lives.  Remember . . . the kingdom is within the individual for those who are introverts . . . we like that space that we have created for ourselves, and we are very stingy about allowing others into it.

It has been said that most people can count on one hand the number of individuals in their lives that they consider to be their closest friends.  Now, imagine what that says about an introvert . . . one, maybe two, fingers represent their most intimate friends.  I don’t know . . . all I can go with is my own personal experience; but, I can assure you that there won’t be a whole lot of fingers being held up by me when it comes to what my children would call “BBF”.

As an introvert my world might seem small to a lot of folks, but it is a wonderfully rich and beautiful world . . . a world that is lived out in the space between my two ears (my rock garden, as I call it) and in those spaces that I consider mine (like my home).  The problem for introverts is in the reaching out to include others into their domain of comfort . . . to invite them into the kingdom for an intimate relationship of friendship.  That is something that takes time . . . usually lots of time.  The introvert has to feel safe and accepted for who he or she is in order for him or her to open up even the smallest part of their kingdom to others to see and experience.  They want to trust the people that they invite in to be a part of their lives . . . they want to be understood for who they are . . . they don’t want to get burned . . . they don’t want to get hurt.  Yeah, I know that is the risk in any relationship . . . intro- or extraverted . . . there is always the possibility of getting burned or hurt.

As I stated above, I really can’t name a whole bunch of people that I would put into that “BFF’ category in my own life.  Probably the one individual who comes closest to that is my wife . . . and, even then, it sometimes takes me a while to share even the deepest and most intimate thoughts that I have; but, thankfully she is a patient person who loves me.  For the most part, I think that she understands . . . or at least, the longer we are together, she is getting closer to understanding.  Outside of the wife, most everyone else in my life are “friends” of varying degrees . . . they know bits and pieces of me, but I doubt if they really know the “real” me . . . primarily because I have not opened up and invited them in to know the “real” me.  I don’t think they would understand.

Recently I have been perplexed about this idea of friendship.  Perplexed because some things have changed in the relationships I had with some others in my life . . . people who I thought I could trust.  What once was is no longer . . . and, I am not really sure what happened, not really sure what I did . . . if I did anything at all.  For several weeks now I have felt burned and hurt . . . and, why, I do not know.

I do not know because in a span of less than twenty-four hours I went from being a friend—though not “BFF”, but what I would consider to be good friends—to nonexistent.  Outside of an acknowledgement from these individuals when I am in the room, they walk past me as if I don’t exist.  They only speak to me if I speak to them.  Gone is the kidding around, the joking, laughter, and conversation that makes up a friendship.  Gone is the sharing about family and life.  Gone is the friendship . . . and I have no clue as to what happened to kill this small bit of intimacy from my life and theirs.  No clue at all.  It is confusing . . . and, it hurts.

These are folks that I have known for a little over five years.  Over those five years I slowly worked up the courage to open myself up to these individuals . . . to share little bits and pieces of my world and allow them glimpses into that world.  Slowly I began to trust these individuals . . . began to believe that they understood me . . . understood the world of introverts . . . to accept me for who I am.  But, apparently I was wrong . . . and, it hurts.

So, it is in the life of an introvert.

There is a part of me who wants to kick myself for having allowed myself to allow others into the inner-world of my life, only to have it be thrown out so easily when some sort of unknown infraction has been committed on my part.  Kick myself for risking a part of myself to be open and seen . . . for being so foolish for believing.  Now there is discomfort in my little part of the world . . . some hurt, frustration, and a whole lot of confusion.  True, this is not the first time that it has happened to me . . . shoot you don’t get to my age without having had your heart and life stomped upon a few times; but, you would think that I would learn the lesson.  There is risk in any relationship no matter what you are . . . introvert or extravert.  I just think extraverts being extraverts bounce back a whole lot easier because there are always more people to meet and be friends with.  It takes longer with introverts.

One of my favorite songs by the Avett Brothers speaks to this longing that is deeply felt by those of us who find ourselves to be introverted.  The song, The Perfect Space, radiates what most people desire in their lives . . . what most introverts really desire . . . trust and that place where they can feel save and natural for who they are.  The problem is that most people don’t understand.  The song starts out with this longing of the “perfect space” . . . the music is gentle and hopeful . . . before it jumps into a rocker tune of frustration where the singer tells all of those abusing this desire to “get out!”  Once they are all out, it returns to its gentle longing.  I guess the people I thought were my friends beat me to the punch . . . they kicked me out before I could kick them out.

I wanna have friends that I can trust,

that love me for the man I've become not the man I was.

I wanna have friends that will let me be

all alone when being alone is all that I need.

I wanna fit in to the perfect space,

feel natural and safe in a volatile place.

And I wanna grow old without the pain,

give my body back to the earth and not complain.

Will you understand when I am too old of a man?

And will you forget when we have paid our debt

who did we borrow from? Who did we borrow from?

Okay part two now clear the house.

The party's over take the shouting and the people,

get out!

I have some business and a promise that I have to hold to.

I do not care what you assume or what the people told you.

Will you understand, when I am too old of a man?

Will you forget when we have paid our debts,

who did we borrow from? Who did borrow from?

I wanna have pride like my mother has,

And not like the kind in the bible that turns you bad.

And I wanna have friends that I can trust,

that love me for the man I've become and not the man that I was.

I don’t get it . . . but, what I do get is that it will be a long, long time before I put myself out there again.  I don’t like to get burned . . . I don’t like to get hurt.  Like a good introvert I long for that place where I “feel natural and safe in a volatile place”—the world out there.  Will you understand?

Road Trip

“The Americans have found the healing of God in a variety of things, the most pleasant of which is probably automobile drives.”

(William Saroyan, Short Drive, Sweet Chariot)

Saturday morning.  Long before the sun had risen.  The long-anticipated road trip arrived without a whole bunch of fanfare, but with a lot of expectations.  The destination . . . Missoula, Montana . . . where the oldest son and I were heading to meet his sister and brother-in-law for an Avett Brothers concert on Sunday evening.   It had been a while . . . over a year . . . since the oldest and I had taken any sort of a trip—much less a road trip--together.  The last time was when I traveled to assist the son on his move to Montana . . . to welcome him home after his life had unraveled.  In a way, this was just a continuation of the original journey.

Road trips are not supposed to be completely planned, but we did know our destination . . . Missoula.  When I think about road trips I think about hopping in the car, traveling down the road, and seeing where I end up . . . no maps, no expectations . . . just the trip itself.  But, this trip had a destination, a stated purpose, and a lot of expectations for having a good time.  Not only were we heading off to see a concert, I was on a mission to show the oldest parts of Montana he had yet to see.  Trust me, there is a lot of Montana to see between here and there!

So, you are probably wondering how the road trip went.  Well, let me tell you what I learned . . .

I learned that when one takes a long road trip that it is probably not good if one is an introvert and the other is an extrovert.  Ideally, this trip would have been so much more enriching for me had I gone on it by myself . . . that is an introverts ideal vacation . . . being on the road by him or herself.  We were two mismatched traveling companions—me the introvert, him the extravert.  Needless to say, it drove the oldest crazy . . . me, not so much.  I don’t need a lot of conversation or interaction when I am on the road.  Oh, I must admit, there were moments on the trip when I wish I had brought ear plugs . . . but, I listened.  I am a good father . . . I listened.  And, in all honesty, I really do not care to hear anything else about fantasy football for a long, long time. Yet, I was not much company for a person who starved for company . . . but, such is a trip with an introvert.  I was content with the silence or listening to the music.

The music . . . another sticking point on the trip.  The Keener tradition is that the person driving controls the music . . . which meant whatever was on my MP3 player was it.  Over the years my children have inundated me with all sorts of music . . . lots of it I like, but on my MP3 player I run the gamut of musical selections.  I have everything from the big band era to country, blue grass, rock, rock and roll, blues, jazz, heavy metal, Americana, country rock, pop, soft rock, folk . . . just about everything but hip hop and rap.  The oldest was cordial and did not complain . . . even said that he survived the majority of what we listened to . . . and, actually enjoyed some of it.  I think that he drew the line at the big band stuff! 

So, in the actually driving to Missoula, the score was one to one . . . he talked when I longed for silence, I blared my music when he longed for real music.

Another thing I learned is that I am getting too old for the road trips I remember as a younger adult.  Upon arriving I think that the two of us had the same expectations . . . we were going to have a great time, explore the city, experience its life, and make a fun time of it.  And, we started out well . . . but somewhere along the way, something I ate or drank, decided to exert its presence in the deepest bowels of my body.  About our third stop, a brewery, my body rebelled.  I couldn’t even finish my beer that I had ordered.  It wasn’t even five o’clock yet . . . the day and evening was still young . . . and there I sat with a growling bowel, hoping that I could keep everything down, and wishing I was twenty years younger with that cast iron stomach I used to have.

As an introvert, I wanted to sit there and quietly die.  Luckily for my son, he is an extravert.  My dilemma did not slow him down too much . . . he made the most of the opportunity to hob knob with those around us.  He easily talks to others and others are attracted to him . . . he is a charismatic sort of guy.  It is his blessing and his curse.  While he was socializing with the best of them, I was praying that whatever it was that was using my intestines as a trampoline would hurry up and settle down.  By the time the oldest had had his brewery defined limit, I was almost back among the living . . . the key term here is “almost”.  Where he was ready to hit the next spot, I was ready for hitting the sack . . . and, the night was young. 

My car, my gas, my money . . . we went to eat and it was only seven o’clock.  Though worried, the son was disappointed . . . even though we did eat at a Hooters.  There wasn’t much to hoot about . . . I ate, paid the bill, and we headed back to the hotel.  I was ready to call it a night at eight o’clock.  Somewhere in the rules of road tripping I am sure there is a rule that states that bedtime is never before midnight at the earliest . . . I could see it in the face of my son and hear it in his voice.  But, it sure felt good to hit the bed.  Ernest Hemingway wrote: “Never go on trips with anyone you do not love.”  Thankfully, my son loves me . . . and, I love my son.

Sunday was a new day.  It had new lessons to be learned.  I got to have breakfast by myself . . . I got to walk around, see the area, and take pictures.  I witness people out on a hot air balloon ride over the mountains . . . and, I longed to be there with them.  But, I appreciated the quietness.  The culprit from the day before was long gone, and I felt a hundred times better.  In the meantime, the son slept.

One of the new lessons I learned, only later, is that there is a difference between men and women . . . especially when it comes to fine eating experiences.  The daughter and son-in-law arrived and we headed out for lunch.  I wanted food that I had to eat with a fork . . . that came from a cow . . . and was cooked on a grill.  I chose Outback Steakhouse . . . a place I had not eaten at in over six years . . . a place I thought was fancy.  Little did I know.  I forgot that when in a new place, women want to go someplace where the food is a little more elegant and artsy-fartsy . . . not a steakhouse.  I thought I was being a gracious host . . . but, the wife informed me that I had disappointed the daughter when we pulled up to the Outback.  I explained to my wife that they were lucky it wasn’t Mickey D’s Golden Rainbow Room!  But, since then, I have made a mental note . . . next time on a road trip with the daughter in tow . . . that I will eat a meal at some place where the napkins are not a roll of paper towels on the table, the water had lemon wedges in it, and they do not have a football blaring away on twenty televisions.  I will eat in a place where the portions are way too small for the amount of money I am paying, napkins are made of better material than the clothes I am wearing, and the music is more chamber-like than rock-n-roll.  Well, the daughter was out-numbered—three to one, but the company was wonderful.  I just need to remember . . . men and women see things differently.  Though I was in heaven, others were in hell!

The afternoon was spent on the brewery trail between Missoula and Hamilton . . . something all of us would have usually enjoyed . . . all of us enjoy microbrews and Montana has some of the best in the United States . . . but, there were complications.  First complication was the fact that the daughter was not feeling well.  Feeling sick and breweries do not mix well . . . no microbrews for the daughter . . . the daughter who loves her brew. It was no fun watching everyone else enjoy the many wonderful brews being offered.  Second complication was limiting the amount anyone could drink.  This was due to time, distance, and the fact that I was driving.  Once again, the expectations of a road trip were dashed for the oldest son.  He wanted extravagant imbibing and was only getting a tease of what could be.  But, the company was great!

The purpose of the road trip—the concert—was up next.  Needless to say, the kids did not steer me wrong on the Avett Brothers.  They were great.  The music was great.  The concert was one of the best I had ever been to.  Full of energy.  It was the highlight of the trip.  Plus, they sold beer there.  The oldest was in heaven . . . good music, good beer, and great company.  Even at my age, I still quiver in the temple of good music, and I was touched.  None of us walked away from the concert disappointed . . . maybe with a little less hearing, but not disappointed.  It took me a good hour to calm down enough to fall asleep after the oldest and I wished the daughter and son-in-law a safe trip home.  I learned that good music speaks to all generations, and the Avett Brothers were preaching that evening.

Of course, the edge wears off of any road trip when reality of having to go home sets in.  The trip home was quiet . . . no music . . . very little conversation . . . lots of beautiful scenery.  A quick brunch in Bozeman.  We were home by one in the afternoon.  The oldest hit his bed, I did laundry and work I needed to get done.  And, that was it.  I learned that reality never lives up to expectations . . . what started out as having the potential to being a big bang, ended up being a fizzle.

Yet, it was a good road trip.  It was good to get away from the routine.  It was good to be with my children.  It was good to be able to go someplace new, observe it, experience it, and wonder.  It was good to connect, even in the silence and awkward moments, with one another.  It was good to see how far the oldest had come from his trip home a year ago . . . but, to realize there is still a long ways to go.  It was good to see the daughter and son-in-law . . . to enjoy her laughter, his wittiness . . . to watch them express their love towards one another . . . to be in the presence of family.  It was good to just be quiet . . . to appreciate the beauty of the place and the places we pasted coming.  It was fun to take pictures of the obscure and beautiful in places no one ever looks despite it being right before their eyes.  It was just good to be.  It was a good road trip . . . despite the silence it ended in.  It wasn’t the destination, it was the journey and the people it was shared with that made it wonderful.

As Morgan Matson writes in Amy and Roger’s Epic Detour:

“And I felt, in the silence that followed,

everything that had happened on the trip

 to bring me to this place.”

And, it was a good place to be.