Tag: integrity

Good and Evil Basics

I used to be very confused about the difference between good and evil. It became something of an obsession. I tried to make sense of an adult world where there was a lot of saying one thing and doing another.

My mother used to talk about “white lies.” Statements that were somehow meant to “hide unpleasant facts” or “protect someone’s feelings.” It all seemed a little skewed and manipulative to me even as a young girl.

Sometimes it was a case of killing an ant with a sledgehammer. Overkill and unnecessary. Other times, it sure looked like someone (okay, my mother) was covering up some embarrassing lapse.

I am not advocating running around callously telling our complete truth to everyone we meet. That can get downright rude and cruel. And socially isolating. Integrity is based on the quality of your own degree of honesty with yourself.

It is a move away from the “nobody will notice” approach to morality to a perspective of “I will notice.” If we’re lucky, we eventually become our own gauge for standards and accountability. It is one of the key moral transitions we have to make to be fully adult.

So now here we are – full adults. The line between good and evil seems a lot less black and white rather than shades of grey on a continuum. Do I try to find the owner of that $20 I just found in the parking lot? Do I tell Auntie Mae what I think of her new fuchsia hat (with felt flowers) when asked? Do I decline the party invite outright or make up a mealy-mouthed (and dishonest) excuse?

Small challenges in the scheme of things, I realize. But small things have a way of growing into big things. And there is a universal truth about stepping over a forbidden line making it harder to step back into an honorable way of being. In the parlance, it’s called a “slippery slope.”

It is like the tragedy of crack addiction. It is often said one hit and you are on a runaway downhill train. Not starting something is a whole lot easier than quitting something we’ve begun.

On the upside, life does give us the gift of internalization in the maturation process. Once we have adopted and taken in a sense of morality as our own, we don’t think about it much as we go about our daily lives. It is just who we are. That’s a blessing.

The tiny discernments we make between good and evil do little to affect the larger good and evil in the world. But there is one thing that is certain, by being a good example of honesty and decency to yourself, you are not contributing to making things worse.

And you are likely a lot more interesting and pleasant person to be around. At least, compared to the legions of sleazy and lying schmucks out there.

Why I Write

Prompts are used by writers to grease the creative skids when they’re having trouble thinking up what to write about. Frank Taub has restarted the 30-day blog writing challenge for July and starts each day with a new prompt for challenge participants. This is Day 3 of the challenge and here is the prompt Taub proposes: Tell your readers what got you started in your writing niche. 

My niche is personal growth and healing based on my life experiences overcoming an unstable and abuse-riddled childhood. Both of my parents were professionals and substance abusers. Dad drank. Mom preferred pills. As I came to learn later, addicts’ lives are primarily centered around their cravings. Externals like children and careers are often collateral damage.

I cannot pretend that there was a turning point in my path toward writing. It has always been more of a calling than a choice. My relationship with words started early. I loved stories and I was good with words. They were thought-provoking and fun, ideal enticements for a learning junkie like me. They took me away from where I was.

My mother recognized my predilection toward words. Before the addictions had taken her over, she spent time with me to teach me to read when I was about three years old. We would play word games, starting with the “at” family. I would create words with that suffix by following the alphabet.

Bat. Cat. Fat. Gat. Hat. And so on. Then she would move on to the “an” family. Same routine. Ban. Can. Dan. Fan. The words I came up with at the start reflected my limited vocabulary. That vocabulary expanded over time but I never forgot those early lessons.

Words gave my life order. When things were happening around me and to me that were confusing and scary, words and stories were a safe place I could escape to. In my little bedroom, there was a clothes closet with storage space above it. I learned to climb up to that place when I was a toddler. To hide and to read. I took my favorite pinky blanket and found an escape from the often odd behaviors of addicted parents.

It seems I liked climbing generally when I was a child. There is an 8 mm film somewhere that shows me at two years old on top of a double-seated, wooden swing. Even now, I can remember the feeling of freedom and joy I had. What I couldn’t fathom, in retrospect, was how I got up there. 

I do remember it being one of the few times I felt free in my childhood. I lived with the daily uncertainty of addicted parents. Dad might be drunk. Mom was likely high on pills. I will say one thing about having that kind of childhood: it bred independence. Maybe a little too much.

I have come to fully appreciate the human need for stories. I believe they may have saved my life. For as difficult and lonely as times in my childhood were, stories showed me there were other places I could be. I could be someone else, too. In my head at any rate and if only for a few moments at a time.

Storybooks were like rocks in a river or islands in a stream. Safe crossings. Dry ground. Oases. As I grew older, I began to see words used most carelessly and manipulatively. I became skeptical and derisive of words and how they are used.

There is a sentimental side of me that longs for a time when we could all trust that a person’s word was their bond. I love the ideals of honor and honesty but also the greater values of common human decency and mutual trust and respect. Sadly lacking everywhere today and they are values generally treated with scorn and cynicism.

Yet these are the very type of stories I want to write. Imagining a world where people treat each other with kindness and respect. I also understand that is not the way the world is and may even go against human nature. People’s need to survive will always trump civility.

Until and unless we get to a place of greater egalitarianism around the world, the best a writer can hope to reflect is how individuals cope in an unjust world. And that they do so and still hang on to their values and common human decency is the secret human factor.

There is no magic solution for curing life’s evils. But there is much to be learned about the power of individuals to affect change. Stories of triumph in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds inspire and motivate us. It is the belief and examples set that working toward a common goal will incrementally create change for the better. 

Anthropologist Margaret Mead reminded us: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.” https://www.azquotes.com/quote/196005?ref=one-person-can-make-a-difference

David and Goliath stories give us hope without which humans would be utterly lost. Thank god there are enough of them to give all of us hope and keep us moving forward.