THE MORE YOU WANT

I’m glad we are into the holiday season. If nothing else I will dwell on my good fortune, my good health the friendships I treasure. For nearly a month I have been trying  to rationalize what I think and what I feel about the recent, national election. It hasn’t been easy. I had prepared myself for the worst and wasn’t surprised when it transpired but the feeling was more empty than disappointment. I just feel empty. Trying to frame a metaphor or a description isn’t going anywhere. 

I have addressed in other posts, my objections to the man. No need here to plow that furrow again. I understand that most voters were voting against the other party more than for a candidate and I do identify with the unrest and resentment toward government. The irony of that is, I believe, that people are only angry with leaders and programs of the other party. They think the jerks in their own party are just fine. There is a fundamental riff between people who want their freedom to supersede someone else’s freedom, and then people who need a freedom that protects them from the former. Human nature hasn’t changed in a million years; the more you have, the more you want. 

I keep telling myself and it seems to be working, today is the only day I can put my hands on. Tuesday gives way to Wednesday and then Thursday but in the fleeting moment it’s always today. I’m too old to worry about dying young or being a failure. A  pilgrim on life’s journey asked the sage, “What will it be like after I die?” The old Master tilted his head, rolled his eyes and stroked his chin. “Well,” he said “it will be just about the same as before you were born.” I trust that wisdom more than populist bull shit and religious hyperbole. Solstice will be here soon; the longest celebrated holiday on the planet. I’ll improvise some kind of ceremony with fire, music and dancing. Maybe I’ll get someone to help me. After that I’ll be putting the Santa back in Xmas. 

MUCH OBLIGED

        I did all of my kitchen tricks early this morning, before the chef or his boss needed the counter tops and knives. I made cranberries. They are in the fridge. Then I put together an experimental (aren’t they all. . .) bread pudding. Everything I prepare (kitchen-wise) has a random, experimental element. It always starts out with a recipe but somewhere along the process I deviate and then it’s just, whatever feels good. It it ends up tasting good (it usually does) I act like I knew what I was doing all along. The secret is, using good food to begin with. My bread pudding began with cinnamon rolls instead of bread. I added an extra egg and substituted peach brandy where it called for rum. It’s in the oven now, over the prescribed time but the heat was shut down a few minutes after it dinged. If it fails it won’t be the first but I’m batting maybe, .800 so chances are it will succeed. 

I’m in San Antonio, Texas at my first-born’s. He’s a chemist with the same kind of attention to detail in the kitchen as in the lab. If you leave him alone and stay out of his way, things go better. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday in this, the Holiday Season. It’s so civilized; none of the consumer nonsense or religious hyperbole. Being thankful doesn’t require tradition or ceremony so I leave that to somebody else. My back-story is way-more happy than sad; I enjoy good health, enough money to pay the bills and family who love each other. I’m thankful. We will have turkey and dressing later in the day. I’m sure there will be football and I will fall asleep if I try to watch it. But a timely nap is appropriate. Someone will tell me who won. 

HOW DO YOU SAY NO?

My time in the army was back when people got drafted. A letter from the Draft Board informed you that you had a duty to serve your country and that two years of soldering sounded just about right. I joined on my own, having nothing better to do. If you were in college or had just begun a great job with a promising future, too bad. Guys with a future saw the draft as a disaster but I saw the army as an escape, maybe even an adventure. Anyway, I can attest to the military axiom, ‘Hurry up and wait.’ We hurried everywhere and then waited for someone to go find out what to do or where to go next. 

When soldiers waited in the 50’s and 60’s, they smoked; what else? I didn’t and I didn’t care much for the 2nd hand smoke so I found a place where I could close my eyes. By the time my enlistment ended in 1961, I could get a five minute nap on a seven minute wait. I could sleep standing up if there was something to lean on. A dozen or more wake ups per day was normal for me. There were no incoming bullets or bombs to worry about and war talk was just talk. It was a different kind of Military. Nobody wanted to go ‘Over There’ and defend freedom. Peace had broken out and it wasn’t bad. If you liked regimentation and the sense of job security, if the camaraderie put you at ease; you might consider a career. Halfway through my three year obligation I knew I’d never fit in. But I did learn how to squeeze zzzzzzz’s into a smoke break.

After all these years, family and a career; I can still nod off for a few minutes any time, any place. If you could remember the moment you drift off, you wouldn’t drift off. It sneaks up on you. Even if you dream, it’s a dream; you have to be asleep. The wake-up is a moment of clarity. You’ve emerged from that dream world so many times, taking it for granted is easy. But I still get an “. . . oooh!” feeling when I come conscious. When is it? Where am I? It’s not that I actually ask the question but I grab at the handle on short term memory and get myself back into the present. This morning was typical. All of a sudden I knew I was awake but nothing else. I was warm and comfortable but it wasn’t my bed. Like a knee jerk reflex I located, like the chime my computer makes when it boots up. Motel room, Paris, Texas. I open my eyes and it’s really dark. New day. Life is good. Two days ago I woke up the same way, to the sound of my granddaughter’s voice and I knew. I’d checked out for a few minutes in an easy chair. They are remodeling and I spent the day helping my son install new flooring. 

Tonight I’m in San Antonio, TX at another son’s house. Thanksgiving is a few days away. Food and football are traditional but it is people you love who you celebrate. I’m in a good place. It’s a good time to be grateful. I remember a Michigan Thanksgiving at the farm house on Nottawa Road. It was a gray, blustery day with wind out of the north. All of us were lethargic from too much food so I got the kids in their coats and took them outside. Child’s play has always modeled adults at work. They had seen their mother raking leaves in the front yard so they took the rake to the side yard and created their own leaf pile. It was huge. We took turns covering each other up. Then we played like we were searching for the missing kid, calling out their name, shouting things like, “Where can she be?” and “I can’t believe he’s disappeared.” The search went on for ever-so long, maybe 8 or 10 minutes, all over the yard, up trees and around the house. I had given them a special word; can’t remember exactly what it was but when the appointed person said that word, the kid in the leaf pile jumped up and yelled, “Here I am!” We all jumped on each other in a dog-pile in the leaves. Leaves got pushed into a new pile and it was someone else’s turn to disappear. A different kid would be the new, special word person and we did it again, and again, and again. I even got my turn; they left me covered up for a lot longer than I thought was necessary but the coming out was unforgettable. The gray afternoon turned dark. We were hungry again and there was more pie in the kitchen. The wood stove had the family room cozy and ‘I Love Lucy’ was on our 17” Black & White TV.  

This Thanksgiving will have its own flavor, its own special people, make its own memories and I’ll probably wake up several times before the football games end, before the last piece of pie is sacrificed. I don’t anticipate any dog-piles or special words this year but then I wouldn’t rule them out either. Just when you think you are ready for a a good nap, you wake up and it's over. Somebody wants to go outside for a walk or a tumble and how do you say no to that? 

NOT YOUR BABY

I joined a writer’s group in 1996, wow. . . 20 years ago. I’d been journaling most of my adult life but it was the first time I put my stuff out there, in harm’s way. If you pay attention and do the work you get better, you make good friends and you learn. You learn things about yourself that you wouldn’t otherwise. Getting it right, What It Is & What It Means, it has to conform to the discipline of language. The consistency and credibility of my own bias, whatever it may be, is always being scrutinized. There is a learning curve. At first you want others to like what you’ve written. Then you figure out it’s not about what you think or the clever way you turn a phrase. It’s about communicating efficiently, effectively. 

Somewhere up the curve, writers discover that writing in and of itself is a great way to process information. You want a clear eye and good recall on things that matter. So we take notes in class. For me it wasn’t so much storing information as it was the process. By paraphrasing you take ownership of an idea or sequence and you make it your own. When I went back to review I didn’t have to read the whole thing after all, it belonged to me. When the writer is also the intended audience, you can get away with all kinds of indiscretions. If you want it to be private it’s not journaling; it’s keeping a diary. The first thing I learned in group was, don’t write down anything that you don’t want others to read. The second thing was, it’s not your baby, not your flesh and blood. It doesn’t need protection but it will need revision. You don’t have to heed your critics but you should pay attention and appreciate the fact that they took the time. So I write for my own sake and I write for other eyes. I welcome critique but it’s not an issue. My views on music, sports, politics, religion, formal education, school of life, family and cuisine are all well documented somewhere. I write stories that entertain and stories that inform. Sometimes it’s therapeutic, sometimes it’s just scratching an itch. 

When your career has been pinched off and they change the locks you either reinvent yourself or devolve into a toddler again. Most of the leaves are down and I see two, new squirrel nests in the top of the Box Elder tree over my driveway. Now, they have careers. They still have important work to do before food sources dry up and the freeze shuts things down. I’m no better off than the squirrel; at least he has a job. I just live longer and think about things like what happens when we actually do balance the federal budget and someone really does invent the perpetual motion machine? Thinking is risky business. Most of us don’t really think. What we do is remember what we already know and reinforce what we already believe. Humor is another way of entertaining an idle mind. I write. You never know where the muse will take you.

SLEEP BETTER

 

I understand; I really do. We have one brain but it has two different operating systems, one that is available, it thinks, understands and remembers. It takes bad news objectively. The thinking brain informs us when feeling bad is not as bad as it may seem. Then there’s the deeper brain, the one that evolved with the reptiles, the subconscious dwells there. It is unavailable. It’s all about fight or flight and how we feel, emotions, and it doesn’t care about the thinking one. It has a single purpose, to feel good/safe/satisfied. When they move to the same rhythm and the same tune, life is a happy zone. But when they collide, you have trouble sleeping. Although it has served us well the brain-brain has not kept up with civilization in its evolution. When what we know conflicts with how we feel, push comes to shove and it’s the emotional subconscious that has the last word. We want to believe we made a decision but truth is, it just made us. 

I don’t know, why me; but I have a strong, emotional-feel that feels almost as good about rational, verifiable knowledge as it does about safe/satisfied, feeling good itself. I question/challenge everything, even the stuff that makes me feel good. (What is wrong with you Frank?) I don’t know; what is wrong with me? I need to dig in that hole for a while. I need to go where it’s scary and learn from people who are different than me. I learn something important every time, even if it makes me uncomfortable. I’d rather know the disappointment than take comfort in Feel-good, Bullshit wisdom. For someone who identifies as a Humanist, I have a low opinion of people. The ancient Greeks understood human nature - Seek Pleasure/Avoid Pain. As a culture, we are really into that. Morality is a complex social construct that people act on without much thought. It draws the lines between what is proper and what is taboo. The consequence for behaving in an immoral fashion can be devastating. Morality changes from time to time and from place to place. In that light, it follows that there is no universal, “Right” morality. Carl Jung said, "There is neither right nor wrong. There is only what makes sense and what does not." But popular belief would say everybody should be on the same page, what we agree on here and now is absolutely “Right” (good). In the greater scope of human endeavor, Feel-good Bullshit is preferable to doing the painful math. 

So that brings me to the moment. I feel bad. I can’t speak for anyone else but my sense says, go dig in the hole; learn something. I’m hoping it will help restore a sense of purpose and defuse some anxiety. My countrymen just elected a narrow, mercenary egotist to the highest office in the land, a demagogue who (my opinion) has just pulled off the greatest scam in modern history. It was never about making America great again; it’s all about stroking his ego. History is full of despots who wanted to be God and this one is a classic example. His followers will not connect the dots, neither will they pay attention when someone else does it for them. They believe he is the instrument of their deliverance when in fact they are the evidence of his glory. That illumination would be too uncomfortable to bear (avoid pain); there’s no upside to being used. “I’m a winner,” sayeth the Lord; “do my bidding and you’ll be a winner too.” He’s no different in that regard than tyrants in 3rd world countries. His warriors are lawyers, their weapons are legal maneuvers. His money is deadly as bullets and I’m afraid he will turn to real bullets should his appetite not be satisfied. All he wants is to be God. It leaves me feeling bad.

Venting my feelings doesn’t make me feel any better but I think it’s part of the digging in that hole. I have to visualize an upside for his “Winner” brand of leadership. That includes challenging my own sense of morality. But my old world, reptilian brain still gets the last word and those feelings move to reason as much as to feelings of fear. Some things change, some don't; I don’t lean as hard to the left as I once did but my Morality still hinges on equity/fairness at least as much, (at least as much) as authority/control. Seek Pleasure/Avoid Pain is how instinct works. We are rational apes with tools to help us rise above predator/prey animalism. But if the “Right” use of intelligence is to simply be better predators, then I’ve missed something along the way.     

I am not even a blip. I understand that my feelings are irrelevant and what I know to be true can change. The world’s not flat, evolution is real and Pluto’s not a planet anymore: the evidence is both objective and compelling. My job is to live the best life I can - with the caveat of serving the greater good. By his rule, that makes me a loser. The idea of a greater good is for losers. Winning is all there is; so sayeth Saint Vince, of Lombardi and his disciple, Roy Cohn. Winning means converting $$$ to power. Then, what is power good for if you don't crush your enemies and expand your base. I'm beginning to get it. 
        Bullies pay lip service to noble ideals but it always pans out the same; the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. I’m ashamed of my people but they don’t care. But I'm resigned to a much smaller world and I need to take care of me. Reconciliation is about letting go, not about getting even. The angst I feel is like a hot rock in my hand, it burns. I need to let it go. I can’t change the scam or its outcome. It’s a wake up call; things could be worse. What if human activity really is accelerating the rate of global warming, like 95% of all climatologists concur? We really are in this together, we need each other. I’m just one, and I can only do what I can do. But I am, and I can do that. I’ll reconcile this. I’ll let it go soon. I’ll sleep better. 

LANGUAGE

English, the language, has more words than any other modern language. So we should be able to find some good ones without laboring a thought or confusing the audience. Communication seems so simple but it’s not. It’s full of traps and dead ends. Having a good (big) vocabulary helps but then you have more choices and you have to think, a task in itself. Simple reflections and regurgitations flow without thinking, the mind puts the right words in your mouth and out they come,”Can I borrow a dollar?” or “I like your shoes.” But if you are making an argument for or against something or explaining a process where A leads to B, and B to C; then you have to think a little bit about the words and how they come out. I don’t think I'm obsessed with language, that’s too strong a word (there you go. . .) but I think about my words before I open my mouth. I’m notorious for stopping mid sentence, an untimely pause and people try to help, finishing my thought with words I have already rejected. I trust the mind to come up with good words but sometimes they just aren’t there and I wait for them. 

So I write better than I talk. No such thing as a clumsy pause when writing and even then you can edit before you throw it out for consumption. I would make a terrible lawyer; I’d need a recess after every sworn statement. Language is always an issue. Even when we agree on what words mean, we often get a spin-factor intended to influence someone’s behavior. When Donald Trump says with great conviction, he has the highest regard for women and then you read his history, you know something has been convoluted. In the end, people tend to believe what they want to believe and the argument is simply protocol, lipstick on the pig. 

I’ve chewed on this idea for two paragraphs and I want to get to the point, if there is one. Think about your words and listen to what you say. Be an active listener. Question what you hear. Someone is trying to sell you something, asking more than it’s worth. Challenge your own ideas and beliefs. If you don’t understand your own weakness, you can’t defend yourself. Things change, people change. If you don’t have the clarity and the courage to change, you become an artifact. Lawyers, and we’re all wanna-be lawyers, appeal to the part of your mind where the decision is born, before you can give it a name. Usually, when people argue, nobody listens. The exchange is simply rehearsing a scripted message while the other person organizes their own rebuttal. If you don’t listen, if you’re preoccupied with reloading, how can you learn anything? P.T. Barnum said, “There’s a sucker born every minute.” I don’t want to be the one to prove him right. 

WHAT IT IS. . .

This is for my friends in Canada, in New Zealand, in Mexico, Chile and Argentina; you have all asked me in your own way, What is it with America? You didn’t have to elaborate, I understood. A comprehensive response would require a very big book or a 4 hour, Ken Burns documentary. My challenge is to reduce it, as I see it, to 4 or 5 paragraphs. I think most of my countrymen, certainly the vocal element, they would not agree with me. 

Defining ‘American’ with a singular stereotype is too much to ask. Anyone tasked with telling their own story is faced with a dilemma. There is a human need to be accepted, to be included. The element of identity is incorporated in that inclusion. Once embraced, we all want to be perceived as ‘Good Guys’. But none of us are ‘Good Guys’ all the time. Sometimes we do ugly, terrible things (yes, we do) and even though we take what we can from those indiscretions, we don’t want them to be the core of our story. There is an American singer who is beautiful, talented, rich and famous. At photo shoots she only lets photographers work from one angle, her right side. That image is the only one she wants made public. The more proud we are, the more we protect that pride. If they can’t see our warts then we must be unblemished - ‘Denial’. 

National pride is a throwback to tribal society; anybody you didn’t know was your enemy. You were loyal to your own people, even the jerks and the A-holes. As much as we want to believe otherwise, we still do that.  At this point it’s right to discriminate between Patriotism and Nationalism, two similar but also very different Isms. The one is about love of country and willingness to sacrifice. The other is about the best interests of a nation and what we are willing to do to advance those best interests. Note; one is about love and sacrifice while the other is about wealth and power. They are not the same. What has happened in our story is - we have become increasingly Nationalistic, whatever the consequence, at whomever’s expense. At the same time, like the singer who only photographs her right side, we want only to show our best side. So we call our loyalty, Patriotism, awash in all of the warm, fuzzy feelings we associate with it. 

Stephen Decatur was a naval hero of the early 1800’s. His famous quote still carries weight. “Our country, may she always be right. But right or wrong, our Country!” From the military perspective, you don’t question the source of your orders, you follow them. But Decatur’s quote leaps the gap between the two Isms. Decatur’s words were a fitting precursor to Manifest Destiny. It would seem that God himself had chosen this nation to expand, coast to coast, by any means necessary, it was our destiny. From that exercise of conquest, ego and self righteous greed, an economy fueled by slave labor and predicated on the principle that enough is never enough, is still driving this rich, powerful Nation. 

Americans as a whole are a diverse lot, too much so to be lumped into one category. But we all want to believe we are ‘Good Guys’. Most of us take the Nationalist bait like hungry fish. We exaggerate our goodness and either deny or defend our crimes. Most of that justification comes through the employment of a righteous, angry, jealous God; the one that helps those who help themselves, a God that loves a good war. This is the land of the free and the home of the brave after all. We do a lot of good, both at home and afar but we spread evil as well. Collateral damage may not be intentional but it is certainly evil. The systematized, school-to-prison pipeline for black boys may be legal but it is certainly evil. The dichotomy is deadly. That’s who we are. It’s what it is. Our experiment with democracy is still in progress. History has no coherent plan, there is no predetermined course. Civilization is adrift as it has always been, like water moving down hill, following the path of least resistance. We are passengers, believing we are in control. Do we make history or does it make us? Chew on that for a while.

With a loving, forgiving indulgence I see my countrymen as well meaning at best and remorseless at worst. I like to steal lyrics from songs to frame ideas. Kris Kristofferson’s, ‘The Pilgrim’ has a great line that captures my sense of American national identity. It goes; “He’s a walking contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction; taking every wrong direction on his lonely way back home.” I’m sure I’d feel better, even just for a while, if I believed in a God that loves a good war. So Alex and Martin, Liana and Gill; I’m sorry we’re not better neighbors. You said it so well Alex, “It’s like living next door to the Simpsons.”