CHEWING

I am weighing words this morning. The best language to expresses my purpose and to that end, I’m not convinced that my purpose is clear. Maybe I’m just ruminating. If you chew on something long enough it loses its flavor, even its salt. So I sit here chewing on the choice of either swallow or spit. 

I have been betrayed and wounded by a friend. He has been an alcohol/drug addict for many years but he has a support group and he tries to stay clean. When he falls off the wagon we understand that it is a disease and he is sick, even when he is clean. The best he can ever hope for is to stay one step ahead of his demon. So we, all of us, try to be what he needs. 

My friend has visited me at least twice in the last two months; once through the front door when I was at home and once through an unlocked window when I was away. Both times, he looted my house. He needed money. My first reaction was predictable; disbelief. But the evidence was compelling and he admitted his guilt. Fired from his job, living in his car, the scene is straight out of a cops & robber plot. Up and down like a roller coaster; from calculating, deceitful paranoia to crushing depression, contrition and self loathing; his paradox is pitiful. During one of those bottomed out crises he helped us recover an heirloom pocket watch from a pawn shop. Under all the addiction he still wants to do the right thing but he is totally out of control. All of his talk is about getting into a recovery program but the behavior is paranoid, self defeating. The only way he communicates is via text message which he turns on and off as the habit dictates. It’s not the first time he’s gone off the tracks but it is the first time he has dragged me into his nightmare. For his family it’s 2n, 3rd, 4th verse; same as the first. 

I am thankful that I got my watch back; it is irreplaceable. But I’ve more or less given up on the other stuff. I gave him money to meet supposedly legitimate needs but no doubt, it went up his nose and I’ll never see it again. Anger bubbles now and then but I can’t say that I’m bitter. Disillusion and disappointed are words that fit the feeling. I considered turning it over to the police but that has its draw backs too. My confidence in jurisprudence is that it serves itself first and the rest of us are no more than leaves in the wind. 

So I’m still chewing: how do I go from here? Forgiveness does not excuse or condone bad behavior. I can forgive because forgiveness is about me. The thief is still a thief and the crime is inexcusable. But I can let it go. If I want to be free of the hot rock in my hand I have to let it go. Revenge cuts both ways and I don’t need that either. Forgive and forget is religious double talk, meant to dupe believers. Forgiveness requires perfect memory. For it to work you have to forgive and remember. For your own sake you let the perpetrator off the hook, not theirs. I’m struggling with negative feelings but I trust my rational side more than the feelings. If you can get more money (I can get more money) then you will recover. My friend has the burden of bridges-burned and that part won’t change. Even though it’s an illness we still hold each other accountable, to whatever extent it be fair or foul. 

There is a quote I lean on every day; whose, I can't remember but it is mine now. “Sometimes you have a life and sometimes it has you.” Sometimes you can’t tell where you are in that couplet until after the fact; do you possess or are you possessed? Hindsight! The perception of choice happens in the fleeting moment and we do the best we can. Then, in a split second, it’s history and we have to live with it forever. Since I don’t know for sure if I’m the engine or the caboose, I can forgive, and I do. 

FINGER PRINTS

I just watched a PBS special on Maya Angelou; can’t begin to collect my thoughts and feelings: too much, way-too much. Near the end when people who were near and dear to her were framing their last comments a woman mused, how many of us are covered with her finger prints? It’s a wonderful metaphor; finger prints, she touched us. You couldn’t be around her and not be touched. She wrote a poem for Bill Clinton’s inauguration in 1993. Before that I’d never heard of her but sat silent, stilled by the simple, uncluttered elegance of what she had to say. She was preaching to the choir and I didn’t even know I could sing. I am familiar with some of her poetry but had never read her autobiography, ’I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings.’ I knew she was a national treasure but the tv special took me unawares. 

In the 1960’s, Civil Rights, she brought passion and an uncompromising demand for racial justice. She had a sense for powerful language and razor sharp timing. Her publisher at Random House was a white man of course; after reading her hand written draft of Caged Bird, he was amazed by her command of language and story telling craft. But nothing touched him more deeply than feelings of shame for his whiteness (his words) that he had taken for granted all of his life. In that moment, when I saw his lips move and heard his words I was validated. He mirrored feelings that I had carried for decades. When I tried to express them to my peers they dismissed my apprehension. “You’re over reacting.” But I wasn’t over reacting. I’m old now and there’s no alternative that I haven’t explored. Denial is the preferred drug for a guilty conscience and nobody wants to face that disgrace in the mirror. It doesn’t matter if you are the Devil’s disciple or an unwitting accomplice, the racism of white supremacy is alive and well, and it shames me. 

There are other finger prints on my character and my conscience, evidence of up lifting. I could speculate as to who put them there but after all this time that’s all it would be, speculation. But someone left me predisposed to challenge the things I believe with even more vigor than the things I reject. Where is the flaw; where is the lie in my own bias, the one that makes me feel so secure? Human nature - Seek Pleasure & Avoid Pain - is too ingrained to resist; all we can do is to know it’s there, like bad road, and proceed with caution. More so than physical pain, emotional/psychological pain can be unbearable. Without a clear-eyed moral compass, people behave like water; we take the easiest (painless) path and it’s down hill. I’m no better, no smarter; I just have different kinds of experience pushing my buttons. She said, “We are only as blind as we want to be.” I’m just a little white boy who did the math, who understands that privilege and oppression are opposite sides of the same coin. You can’t have one without the other. When you have lived with privilege and equality is thrust upon you, it feels like punishment. Maya Angelou was a grand lady. I would like to think her finger prints are on me.

OFF GRID

I recently spent time dry camping (no amenities) in the high desert with a group of people who make it their life style. It should be no surprise. For whatever reason people find themselves waking up in their cars or in the back of a truck camper, it changes the way they see the world and their place in it. For a weekend or a couple of weeks in the summer, we call it vacation. But the folks I met, sat around campfires with, it is their normal. Oddly, everybody’s normal is unique to themselves but the common denominator is, walking away from rent or house payments, away from traditional jobs, away from utility bills and property tax. They live much the same as pre-Columbian Americans, going where the weather favors them, living off the land or whatever the 21st Century equivalent might be. They need a vehicle and a source of income although I met people who are getting by on $100 a week; food, fuel, laundry, personal - all the things that require money. Staying in campgrounds or RV parks it too expensive so there has to be another route. 

Going off grid used to mean survivalist-wilderness homesteading. Electricity, shelter, water, food, sanitation, security; how do you do all of that in isolation? Homesteaders build a solid shelter and put down roots. The last thing they want is to be transient, to carry their shelter with them as they wander. But van-dwellers or RV hobos, whatever you want to call them, that’s exactly what they do. They are hobos but times have changed. Smart phones, computers and solar panels allow them to organize, to communicate and collaborate. Our rendezvous was an organized event with classes and meetings for special needs and interest groups. Networking the crowd was critical. You must, you absolutely must meet new people. It was normal for strangers to walk up on a camp fire and introduce themselves. It’s like a strange fraternity without the secret hand shake. But the conversation and your knowledge base will reveal if you are one of them. Exchange contact information and who knows when or where you may be able to use each other for mutual benefit. 

I met Bruce & Selena, early 40’s. He is a flight instructor from Davenport, Iowa; did contract work for the government, taking the winter off to travel and get away from the cold. They had a pick up and a tiny 5th wheel camper. They have a house to go back to but they aren’t thinking about that. I met Jason, a 50-something nurse from Santa Barbara. He bought his motorhome four years ago for $65,000. He is a traveling nurse, working short term contracts from hospital to hospital on the west coast. He sleeps in parking lots wherever he is working. When he gets tired of work he goes to the desert or hooks up with other van-dwellers on one adventure or another. He and three others left early for Baja. It’s common for folks to camp together in National Forests or on BLM land or on the beach down in Mexico. They stay close enough and far enough apart, in pairs or small, tribe like groups. Trish & Peg are sisters, one from Toledo and the other from Erie, PA. Both in their 60’s, both with small, mini vans. Peg had her own, one woman construction company but health issues left her homeless. Trish was alone, her kids moved on and she felt life had left her behind. Together in two different vehicles they are exploring, both the geography and the life style. Ron Walker is a retired, hospital administrator from Oregon. He lives town to town in his GMC Yukon. With tinted windows and a sun screen in the windshield you can’t see in and nobody bothers him. When I mentioned a Jimmy Buffett song he knew it, went straight into the chorus; “I’m going where the sun keeps shining, through the pouring rain: going where the weather suits my clothes.” 

I don’t think I’ll ever do that full time but the information and the contacts only broaden my base. What I do like is a sense of urgency for the moment, how important it is to be right then and there. If I were younger, if I didn’t love the trees in my yard, my work shop and my kitchen I might want to jump off and not look back. When I look over my shoulder, nobody’s after me. I can afford to live with one foot in the mainstream and the other in rarefied air. I get a feeling the hard-timer-hard-liners would like to have a burrow to go back to now and then. Part of the mystique is beating the system, loving the inconvenience of being different. So they scorn dependence and consumerism, preaching the virtue of perceived freedom. Perceived freedom; that's a lot to chew on. Kristofferson chewed on it with Me & Bobby McGee. “Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose. Nothin’ ain’t worth nothin’ but it’s free.” 

ON YOUR MARK, GET SET

“I write to understand as much as to be understood.” 

Elie Wiesel 

When runners go to the starting line for a race they may get down into starting blocks or stand, leaning forward with their strong, push off leg in front. In either case, depending on the distance and the running surface, they position themselves for a strong start. When I sit down to write I lean into Wiesel’s quote. I do not have an outline or a crystal ball. What ends up on the page is not a foregone conclusion. The process allows me to organize and wrestle with ideas, shuffle puzzle pieces around until I get the picture. Often, I end up with ideas and understanding that I never expected. 

I’m reading a book about how the brain works. It’s slow, read over, maybe read again and take notes. With a Clive Cussler novel you don’t have to do that, the plot unfolds understandably and content knits together neatly in familiar language. But then novels, informative as they may be, are for entertainment. The author doesn’t want to lose you in a maze of unfamiliar corollaries and technical terminology. In my case, basic science literacy and knowledge of human anatomy and physiology help but it’s not over anybody’s head. The book is, “The Happiness Hypothesis” by Jonathan Haidt. 

I’m far enough along that I can anticipate a long read with lots of goings back to reconnect the dots. I will not summarize or review the book but I would recommend it. What I take seriously from Haidt’s research is that we are only beginning to understand the why and because of thinking and behavior. Imagine a family with an older, stronger, faster father whose only concern is when to fight and when to run. The mother’s only asset is that she is smart; she can do math and write poetry. Her only leverage in the family is to convince him that he should consult-consider her intelligent opinion, which he does not want to do. This is a metaphor for the brain, not a family. The old, primeval, reptilian brain that gets the last word on every issue competes with the “come lately” cerebral cortex. The relationship between the two is well suited for a sparsely populated, hunter-gatherer life style. Brain adaptation/evolution have not kept up with the advance of civilization and technology but in the last ten thousand years, the species has not experienced any significant threat to its survival. Adaptive changes occur most rapidly when the species is under stress so until that happens, we’re stuck with a Stone Age brain. So we wander into the future with a flawed sense of purpose and the perception of being self propelled. 

I’m not selling anything, no ‘Ism’ to promote. All I have are questions that, when answered, only pose new questions. It is unsettling to consider; the only reason I trust reason more than emotion is that my emotional core is focused on reason rather than on itself. I have neither the tools nor the access to make that happen by myself. Like the smart mother, somehow the stronger father part has learned to trust her. I need to get back to the reading. I’m in the part about how we change our minds. That’s not switching from coffee to tea, but working on a skill set that allows the old brain be more receptive to the new one. 

THE EAGLE FLIES WITH THE DOVE

Valentine falls at just the right time. Mid February can be bleak and we need a holiday. Mardi Gras falls in there somewhere and I know how to let the good times roll but it can fall anytime in February or March. Valentine's origin is sketchy at best but no matter, it’s predictable, on the 14th, every year. In the 2nd century they were way-too serious about religion and war for romance to have a chance. St. Valentine was about sanctified marriage and Rome was about warriors with no strings attached. Nobody was blowing kisses or whispering sweet nothings. But now we pay attention to matters of the heart. What would life be without sweethearts? Romantic love isn’t really about someone else, it’s about the way they make you feel and nothing feels better. I know match making/arranged marriage is common in other parts of the world and they make a strong argument for it. Your job is not to feel and fall in love but to submit and learn to love someone who has been sensibly chosen by your parents. Young people are too inexperienced it would seem to know what or who is best for them. It is more about obedience, tradition and doing business than about two people and a new beginning. I wouldn’t want that responsibility. I don’t have any allusions about maintaining family tradition or venerating old, out of date road maps. My kids can make their own matches. Most of it is about timing anyway, sort of like pollen in the air and blossoms on the vine. Kiss me you fool, we can share the same breath, rub noses and eat chocolate. How you love is up to you. Crosby, Stills & Nash; And the eagle flies with the dove, and if you can’t be with the one you love - love the one you’re with. If that sounds immoral or selfish then you’re too young, your hormones are still boiling, hung up on possession rather than affection. If you let it, love grows up and it’s way-too sweet to keep in one cup. Happy Valentine.

WALK A MILE - REBOOT

Yesterday I posted a blog piece I called, Walk A Mile. Normally I let my writing age for a day or two before I make it public but this one got by me. Whenever, whatever you write it is worth the effort. I learn something every time I engage in the process. What looks good enough at its birth can die on the vine overnight. The end of Walk A Mile was quick and painless. The idea was good but the text could neither float nor fly. I’ll leave it in my journal but not to see the light of day. Still, the Walk A Mile notion is worth exploring.

Joe South was a really good folk/country song writer/singer. He was my age but died just a few years ago. I hadn’t known that until I started researching this piece; I learned something. His song, Games People Play won a Grammy for best song in 1970 but I remember Walk A Mile In My Shoes. The idea was that if we could see ourselves through the eyes of others, the world would be better for it. The hook in its chorus goes, “Before you accuse, criticize and abuse, walk a mile in my shoes.” At the time, long hair and rock & roll were despised by the establishment. Social commentary through his music was meant to open eyes and bring people together. 

South didn’t stop with hippies and music, he shifted to walking in Native American shoes and African American shoes. If you flourish in a system that exploits and demeans others, it’s truly difficult to be objective about their hardships and the choices they have to make. My choices have always been between good and bad. I never had to choose between bad and worse. We hold each other accountable for our actions, society demands it. People at risk may have no good options and when their struggles turn into train wrecks, that's something else.

The more we learn about the human brain and how it works, old, self righteous ideas about Free Will and Self Determination become harder and harder to defend. The idea that, if I can do it anybody can, or if your neighbor can do it, you should be able as well: they are common sense assumptions that simply don’t hold water. When I needed professional help parenting one of my children, the man I leaned on told me, “Common sense is neither common nor sense.” It is like muddy water; you have no idea how deep it is. Mark Twain said, “I’ve found that common sense ain’t so common.” Albert Einstein expanded on that, “Common sense is the list of prejudices you acquire in your youth.” Walking in someone else’s shoes beats common sense all to hell. You have to step outside of your comfort zone and that takes courage. To admit that you may not be as smart, or as moral, or ethical, or correct: OMG, why is it so important to be right? Whatever the reason, it came down with us out of the trees when we first began to walk upright. It’s hard wired into our primitive brain and we can’t think our way around it. All we can do is be aware and try to compensate, like seeing through other eyes, walking in their shoes. 

Joe South; he also wrote (I Never Promised You A) Rose Garden. Seems like his motivation all came from the same seed. “When you take you gotta give, so live and let live . . .” I know people who suffer from mental illness and/or addiction. Dealing with demons is tough enough without condescending ridicule; “Bad choices - you bring it on yourself.” Well, I don’t know of anyone who set out to become an addict or to self destruct. Who knows how any decision will unfold in the long term? The best laid plans of mice and men! I do know that people get beat down so low that they give up. Then it doesn’t matter. If they sink low enough it would seem it must be their own fault: that’s how common sense works. Bad choices are rewarded with punishment. If you can’t bear the weight then you need more weight. Most of us feel competent to know who deserves what and who does not; and we must be right, we can’t be wrong, getting it wrong is simply unthinkable. Some people do need to be put away in jail but others need help. I would default to Joe South. When you take you gotta give, and walk a mile in my shoes.

DOLLAR IN YOUR POCKET

I had been driving for maybe half an hour before the morning’s first light split horizon from the sky. Traffic was light so I got to watch the sun rise. So much is made of sunset, so many photographs, I have a file full of them. It begs the question; why sunset? I think sunset gives us a time to reflect a little bit, on the day or on a life. There is a sense of closure and it’s a comfortable way to let the day go. But now, in the new day with sky turning pink before your eyes it’s about possibility. No time to reflect, no way to know what lies around the next bend in the road. When you see it coming you are aware, whether you think about it or not; life has dealt you a new card. What you do with it may go according to plan or it may drag you off in a new direction but whatever; in the moment it is unspent like the dollar in your pocket. You have to spend the day, one way or another, no way to save them for later. Come sunset and time to reflect, you may still have the dollar but the day will be gone. My heart tells me 'Sunset' but my mind is leaning forward and tells me 'Sunrise'. I don't have to pick one or the other, as long as I keep getting new days. 

I’ve been a month now in Arizona from cold nights in high desert to tee shirt heat on the Mexican border. Nothing is easy here. It wasn’t created with people in mind but that doesn’t keep us from coming. Coyote and javelina make a living here but they keep to themselves. You can buy antiques in town and get a shower for $7 at the laundry while your clothes are tumbling dry. Some folks come out of curiosity and well being while others come of hardship and last resort. I guess I’m more the former. But I’m leaving it behind for now, on my way east. By the time I crossed into New Mexico this morning the sun was up, out of my face and I had the AC on. I expect my sunset will be blues and pinks in my mirror. I push on for an hour or so to a Walmart parking lot somewhere in West Texas.