Zac Parsons

One of the paradoxes of the curriculum at The Pacific Institute (and I mean that in a very complementary way) is the mandate to set a firm goal, and to be flexible with the process that gets you there.  Maybe its more of a misnomer than a paradox, because it’s often difficult to identify what is a process or step towards the goal, and what is a goal in and of itself.

I have a lot of goals.  One of them involves becoming a better facilitator.  Another involves becoming a better communicator.  Still another is about being a wise man.  A few months back, a local college preparatory school asked if I would be interested in substitute teaching.  I identified this opportunity as a process that would help me towards those first two goals, and even provide a little income on the side.  After meeting with the administration and learning a little about the school and its values, I agreed and began to substitute a few days per month, for various courses.

While I was there, a funny thing happened.  I LOVED it.  Now, I don’t mean that it was a pleasant surprise and a welcome change to my schedule.  I mean that I could feel something inside of me and around me as I walked through the doors into the hallway.  Now, it may be that they pump laughing gas through the air vents, but I think it is more likely that some vivid picture of life that I had in my own mind was being matched by something outside of me.  It was the realization of a goal that my subconscious mind had been teleologically fixed to, and I thoroughly enjoyed becoming aware of it.

Still, my goal remained to be a full-time Project Director and Facilitator with The Pacific Institute.  I was meeting new people, developing new projects, and collaborating with others for some exciting work in the coming months and years.  The goal was fixed, my affirmations were clear, and the plan was moving forward.

Then a door opened.

The head of the upper school called me to inquire if I would be available to fill in for a teacher for the rest of the school year.  Without even thinking, I politely declined, citing the amount of time I needed for my projects with The Pacific Institute.  Because my goal was clear, and I perceived this new information to be a threat to that goal, I shut the door.

But, as it sometimes does, opportunity knocked again.  This time, our conversation touched on the courses that would be on my docket.  Subjects like psychology, religion, history, and social studies.  She wasn’t asking for me to fill a hole as a warm body.  She was telling me that she had interviewed several interested applicants, and still believed that I was the best candidate for the position.  She was confident in the positive impact the position would have on me, and the students of the school.

So I did something that I should have done the first time around: I evaluated.

As I looked closely at the opportunity, I became acutely aware that I was not operating within a vacuum.  Taking responsibility for my choices and their consequences has been my modus operandi for the past seven months, but I often forget that almost every choice has consequences outside of me as well.  It’s another paradox, it seems.  I can’t focus just on my own choices and their consequences, and I can’t just be passive and let my life happen to me.  It’s a delicate balance, and I was leaning too much on the goal of being a successful Project Director.

But why did I want to become a successful Project Director?  Was it so that I could share my own experiences with others in a way that would help them to avoid the pain that I had experienced?  Was it to impact people in a meaningful way so that they would find something great within themselves because of something I did or said?  Was it to do my part as a citizen of the world to make it a better place?  When I took all of those things into consideration, the teaching position was offering me a process towards an even greater goal: not just to be a wise man, but to be a wise man with a legacy for my children.

In the end (or beginning, as it were), I gladly accepted the position and will begin on January 4, 2010.  Since I was a teenager, I have had the idea in my mind that I will have my act together (in some way) by the time that I reach 30.  If Jesus didn’t really get his game going until then, and Siddhārtha didn’t reach enlightenment before 30, why would I?  In February, I’ll reach that magical age, and while I’m not sure that I’m going to have my act together, this new chapter has me very excited about what life (and my students) will teach me as a teacher.

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Last month, ESPN produced a nice 8-minute piece on Marie Tillman, the widow of Pat Tillman.

While speaking to a group of high school students last month after the Ft. Hood shooting, our discussion touched on the volunteer nature of American armed forces.  When someone mentioned how much soldiers have to sacrifice in order to join up, I brought up the professional sacrifice of Pat Tillman.  To my shock and amazement, none of the students had ever heard of him.

While sharing Pat’s story with this group, my own personal emotions regarding Pat’s decision and death came surging back to me.  While I’m definitely more of a pacifist now than at any other time in my life, I can still draw strength and inspiration from his decision to give up his high paying and high profile position as an NFL player.  The act of temporary sacrifice for the sake of a greater good has not been exactly been a hallmark of my own life.

Trying to find a balance between striving for what I want, and denying myself those same desires has been the unresolved theme of my life.  In an effort to “die to self” in an aim toward virtue, I often times sabotaged myself (and my family, as a result) as I came too close to reaching my desires.  I began to expect failure like a musical virtuoso expects applause. I couldn’t believe Gene Wilder’s Willy Wonka when he remarked that the man who suddenly got all that he wanted, lived happily ever after.

I’m not sure that I can say that I completely understand Pat’s decision, but recently, it has taken on new meaning for me.  From everything that Pat accomplished (3.84 GPA in 3 1/2 years at Arizona State University, while being named Pac-10 Player of the Year, as a 5 foot 11 inch linebacker) to what those close to him said about his drive, it seems clear that he didn’t do very many things half-assed.  So how does someone with that kind of focus and resolve just change his path so drastically mid-course?

What if he didn’t change his mind?  What if his decision to enlist was completely in line with his personal goals and desires?  If becoming a successful professional athlete was Pat’s supreme goal, then yes, he did make a wholesale change to his values and desires.  But if his desire was to be a great man, then it was just his definition of what makes a man great that changed.

It’s another variation of the discussion on life as more of a journey than a destination.

I now understand desire as a virtue.  As long as that desire aligns with the ultimate principles that govern life. A desire that leads to a full stomach, an escape from reality, or an orgasm is not one to embrace as life-giving or virtuous.  But a desire that leads to a peaceful resolution, a restored relationship, or the benefit of others may be.

Desires and choices come from our goals.  When we are immature, we can only see a short distance into the future.  As we grow, we can see farther and our goals reflect longer term aims.

Pat’s goal was to be a great man.  My goal is the same.  But how I’m defining great has changed.  A great man doesn’t deny fulfilling his desires for the virtue of denial itself.  A great man aligns his goals with the most virtuous truths on the highest level of abstraction that he can reasonably comprehend.  Now, if I miss a meal, miss a nap, or avoid romance with other women, it may seem seem like some sort of denial of desire, but it is what I want.  And I’m finally OK with getting what I want.

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On April 26, 2007, the Los Angeles Times printed a story about one man’s transition from male to female, and the road that led him to that decision.  The twist, in this story, was that the essay was written by one of their own (a sportswriter).  It was news that shocked many, but gave courage to countless more.  With the talent of his writing still very much in tact, even as much of his world was crumbling around him, Mike Penner “came out” to his co-workers, peripheral friends, and his reading audience with a promise:  To return to them as someone new, Christine Daniels.

I want to give you the link to his revelatory article, and I will.  But first, you should probably know the end of this tale.  This same sportswriter, Mike Penner, was found dead on Friday.  He was 52.

Although the official cause of death has not been released, most around the L.A. Times have acknowledged it was suicide.  Mike’s transition to Christine was not permanent.  By October 2008, he was again writing for the Times as Mike Penner.  Whether the regression back to male status was temporary or not, we do not know.  What we do know is that his journey was not finished after his essay was published 2 and 1/2 years ago.

Really, as I’m writing this, I keep reflecting on his 2007 essay over and over.  It’s beautiful, laugh out loud funny, poignant, and courageous.  I’ll just include one quote here, a question that transcends gender-confusion and touches many people with a secret:

“How do you go about sharing your most important truth, one you spent a lifetime trying to keep deeply buried, to a world that has grown familiar and comfortable with your façade?”

Although I’m confident that he didn’t coin the phrase, I often let the lyrics Steven Tyler sang in the Aerosmith song “Livin’ On The Edge” go running through my head:

“Life’s a journey, not a destination.”

Like many popular quotes, after they become common, they become trite.  The truth of this statement is hard to for me to ignore.  With so few things in this world that are permanent, it’s frustrating to me how often I feel like I have “arrived” somewhere.  It’s an announcement that “the struggle is over” and falseness has given way to truth. But somehow, the “arrival” is an illusion.  Even Steven Tyler’s personal journey to sobriety is in serious question, after years of staying at the “Hotel de Sober”.

It’s more than tricky to balance the concept of our personal identity with our habitual actions, even something as personal as sexual orientation or gender.  Mike/Christine spent the majority of his life wearing a mask, and when the facade was lifted, the struggle was not over.  Life is struggle, life is movement, life is dynamic.  The most significant events of our lives shape much of how we act, but they do not define who we are.

We are human before we are writers, employees, artists, Christians, Muslims, lovers, warriors, sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, men, or women.

Mike Penner had a gift for seeing the human side of his sports assignments. He surely developed this from his own struggle with his identity as a human.  It’s tragic that his struggle is now over, especially for those closest to him. His life and death have reminded me of the correlation between struggle and growth.  I am thankful to him for this.

You can read his “Old Mike, New Christine” article here.  It is my hope that it will be encouraging, and uplifting, and not just a mere cautionary tale of the danger of change.

Mike Penner/Christine Daniels, rest in peace.

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You may have seen this video already, or it may remind you of other videos like it from the past couple of years.  The stats were compiled this summer, so it’s a fairly current picture of the internet culture and social media.  It’s less than five minutes, so check it out:

Now, if you said: “WTF is _________?”, about something referenced on the video, it may be prudent to search out more information about it to educate yourself.

If you just said:  ”What is ‘WTF’?”, then you are probably my mother.  And if so…. thanks for piano lessons.  I really do appreciate it.

(Thanks to Jabez LaBret for first posting this at http://www.jabezproductions.com/blog/)

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I often wonder what like would be like if some of the big decisions I made in life were made differently.  Would I have married my wife? Gone to the same college? Bought that vehicle or that house? The more I think about it the more I realize that these huge decisions were not made at the moment they happened, but were the result of a series of events set off by the smallest of circumstances.

You may have heard the proverb about the butterfly flapping its wings in one part of the world causing dramatic weather in another part.  This is called the butterfly effect or the chaos theory (depending on which movie you are watching).  Taking that idea down to the micro level, we can use one butterfly wing flap in my life which changed the course of history for myself and all those around me.

I was in 6th grade and I was new.  My parents had just moved us from the suburbs of Indianapolis to the country just outside of Franklin.  I didn’t know anybody, but there was a girl that I liked.  Her name was Chrissy.  She rode my bus and everyone at school knew I liked her.  That’s why one day in social studies, a guy named Matt told me about his church.  He said I might like it because Chrissy went there.

Of course I wanted to go and I just might be able to convince my parents to take me.  We hadn’t found a new church yet and so my parents were willing to try it out.  That Sunday my whole family went to Fair Haven Christian Church not knowing it was so that I could spend more time with Chrissy.  They loved it.  I hated it.  We went to that church for the next eight years.

I eventually came around to loving the people at Fair Haven. I loved it so much I invited Jason to join.  Jason and I were on the swim team together.  He swam butterfly and I swam the breast stroke.  Jason plugged into the church fast and became quick friends with my other friends, Derek and Ben.  We did everything together, including going to Summer in the Son (SITS) at Kentucky Christian University (KCU).

It was at SITS that Jason, Derek, and I decided to go to KCU for college and it was at SITS that Jason and Krista, one of the other members of our youth group, started dating.  Within two years, Jason and Krista were married. Jason and Derek had transferred to Ball State and I went to Milligan College with Ben from Fair Haven.  When Derek lost his roommate to Krista, I left Milligan for Ball State in Muncie.  It was there that both Derek and I met our wives.

So how did I decide what school to go to or who to marry? By the time I got to that point, the tipping point, it was already decided.  The butterfly, Matt, had flapped his wings back in 1992 and because of that three families, nine children, and four friend’s lives were changed forever.  If you have any inclination that your life has no effect on other people, consider this.  Matt never talked to me again nor did he ever attend Fair Haven while I was there.  You have no idea what effect your words and your actions can have on another persons life so make sure you use your tongue wisely.  Choose your words wisely for they hold the power of life and death.

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