To review so far: I've tried smiling when I didn't feel like it. (Didn't work.) I've forced laughter in a large group (Did somewhat work.) I've experimented with the occult (Are you kidding me?) And I've read a Deepak Chopra book (Willing to grudgingly admit some of it made sense.)
To sum up, I've been a dabbler, an optimism dilettante who takes the lighter side of the positive attitude industry, exploits it for a few chuckles and moves on. Chicken soup, anyone? But I have to say that approach is lacking. The leap from pessimist to optimist is a profound one, and it's not going to happen without some equally profound change on my part. So today I'm going to deal with the matter of trust, specifically the trust that the world is populated by caring people who, if you are in trouble, would not simply stand by and watch you die. It's the trust that the good people outnumber the bad ones and that the person who treated you horribly when you held up the checkout line was the exception rather than the rule. I've always had a problem with trust, I freely admit. Journalism during my formative years was just an enabler. ("If your mother tells you she loves you--check it out." So goes the favorite J-school saying.) Then, years of observing the bad behavior of my fellow humans solidified my opinions. People are rotten. I'm right to mistrust them. As I grew older, my cynicism took such a hold that I found I didn't have the right stuff to be either a convincing hippie or a free market capitalist. Then this weekend, along comes a story that makes me more...it changes my...well, I don't know how it makes me feel. Optimistic isn't exactly right.
The story was about Kitty Genovese, the New York girl who was murdered in the street 45 years ago. Her murder shocked the country because it was widely reported that 38 residents of nearby apartments witnessed it but no one tried to intervene. I remember this story because it was one of the first news stories I ever paid any attention to. It happened in 1964, when I was eight. My grandparents would quote it endlessly as the reason we should never venture out of our little farming community to a big city. Eventually, it became shorthand for What's Wrong with America These Days. People are rotten. They'll just stand by and watch you die. The story of Kitty Genovese, as much as anything that ever happened afterward, shaped my world view as a pessimist.
So imagine my surprise when I caught a National Public Radio interview this weekend saying much of the story simply wasn't true. (Listen here.) Joseph De May, a lawyer living in the area where Kitty was killed, has made something of a hobby of this bit of history. (His web site here.) According to his research, hardly anyone actually saw the attack, which happened in a couple of stages. Some people did hear her scream, and the police were called. In fact, someone did holler out a window to try and scare off the sociopath who stabbed and later raped her. It also casts doubt on the idea that she screamed unaided for a half hour, since she was stabbed in the lungs early on. De May's theory is that the more sensational aspects--those that he says turned out not to be true--may have been added into the New York Times story's lead by an editor.
So there you have it. The foundation story--the Genesis of my pessimism--is much less horrible than originally thought. True, there were people who heard something wrong and dismissed it too easily. But that's not the same thing as leaning out your apartment window and watching someone die. How to feel about this? A tiny bit comforted, I guess. Despite all the free-form hate floating around talk radio and the Internet, people may not be as bad as I think. I certainly don't want to go too far with this and join the Holocaust deniers. Because yeah, there's still plenty of capacity for the Pol Pots and Idi Amins to do their evil.
But there's room for, I don't know, maybe a little speck of encouragement. Even optimism.
On to the future. The shock has worn off enough that it is now possible to imagine a less dramatic future--one that doesn't involve open campfires by the railroad tracks. There's been enough time to look around and see that other people who have faced worse financial catastrophes have survived. Some even came out better, over the long run. So it's time to put the lamentations away and come up with an action plan. The biggest question I have to face is whether I'll be able to afford to continue to teach piano. The economy hasn't been any kinder to piano teachers than it has to other occupations. When people don't have enough money to buy instruments, that kind of limits piano students to those who already have one in the family. So the teaching business is not exactly in expansion mode right now. I've been steadily adding students after hitting a low last year, but this is not the kind of thing that will make up a pay cut as big as we're facing. Still, my studio is a business and you can't just abruptly drop your own business so you can take that new job on Monday. It wouldn't be fair or kind to the kids who've been with me or are just starting out and are expecting to play in my recital in a few weeks. Let's also add that I like teaching. I like the kids, I like the music. It's rewarding to see them go off to college with such a good artistic outlet. I like the fact that I've been able to be at home when my own kids got off school. I guess I've answered my own question here: Unless the sheriff's paper servers come a knocking, I'll keep my studio to the bitter end. Thanks, Muse o' the Blog. The question is, what else will I do?
There are a lot of options of course. But, if I'm going to string two jobs together into one unholy-long work day, then I want my new career to be at least fun. So in the spirit of modern high school guidance counseling, I've listed my interests and am in the process of coming up with some ideas. Interests, that's easy. Food, music, nature, soccer, swearing, firearms. Not necessarily in that order. Here are some "dream" jobs I've come up with so far:
Huntress--Ever noticed how many communities are having problems with critters these days? Deer plow into innocent vehicles, geese crap in the picnic area, cougars carry off little doggies. We need a few huntresses, is all I'm saying. Back in the day, you could make a nice bit of coin off bounties for wolves and mountain lions. Why not bring them back? Of course there'd be some overhead. I'd have to buy a license and maybe another gun or two. But what the hey, how many guns is too many? Gypsy moth collector--This is an actual job appearing on Craig's list. The description says you drive around in all kinds of weather setting and checking traps for the dreaded ecosystem destroyer. Along the way, you also give educational presentations about the program. The drawback: $11.74 an hour. Also this sentence, "Work may involve trapping for other various agricultural pests." I hear that large snakes escaped from pet stores in Florida may be moving this way. Otherwise, I'd totally do it.
Priestess--New religions spring up all the time. I still think those dolphins are onto something. Perhaps they know when the space aliens are coming to reclaim the earth.
Glass instrument maker--One of the fun and slightly geeky things you learn if you do experimental art music is that there are all kinds of instruments out there. A friend of mine once did an electronic piece that involved breaking all kinds of glass and recording the sound. And there's a whole orchestra in Toronto, that plays concerts only on glass instruments. (Understandably, they don't travel much. You know how airlines can be with baggage.)
Gravy reviewer--Not the whole restaurant. Just the gravy. I loves my gravy.
I'm sure I'll eventually think up a few more. But I gotta get going now, doing some job hunting instead of writing in this blog.
If you're out seeking advice on how to have a better attitude, as I am, sooner or later you'll come upon an expert who tells you to exercise. No one knows how it helps, but apparently doctors all over tell their patients with depression and anxiety that they'll do better with a little physical activity. It activates endorphins or promotes well being or some damn thing. Don't get me wrong. I'm completely on board and, as something of a life-long Droopy McFrown Face, I can tell you that it does work. I've done aerobics, running, biking, swimming, blah blah blah for years. It does keep you from sinking too far. God only knows what I'd be like if I hadn't been doing these things, as anyone who knows me can attest. So I know the importance of this. But I've found that hard times--or even the fear of hard times to come--can do weird things to the best of exercise intentions. Last week, for example, I thought it would lift my spirits to run outdoors. When the outdoor season ended last fall, I considered three miles a short run and had worked myself up to eight miles for a long one. Since I continued to run at the gym, I figured I was still good for at least a 3 or a 4-mile run with little problems. What a surprise then, that each time I went out, my easiest (read most downhill) courses routinely kicked my ass. I would start at what I thought was a moderate speed, only to find that around mile 2 plus, I had overrun my pace and become so completely winded I had to walk a bit. Then I would crank up again and--again--have to start and stop through the last mile. My one time in the weight room wasn't any better. I blasted through weights I'd previously struggled with, but then leave feeling drained, not rejuvenated. That was when I had enough moxie to exercise at all. More often, I thought about going, then just stayed home, preferring to sit and ponder what the next bad thing will be. Today was shaping up to be more of the same. My husband went in early, but by the time he came back with the car, I was whining about feeling sick and wallowing in negative thoughts about the future. Mike, who is used to my little "despair seizures" reverted back to his role as optimist. Yeah, I did go. The weights went a little more evenly. And CNBC was sure sounding positive about things as I walked the elliptical. This time, I didn't listen to that voice telling me good market news will hurt me. I may even have figured a couple of things out. So here's to exercise. I highly recommend it.
The following are some funny exercise videos I found. Enjoy!
This last one takes a minute to get into, but it's well worth it.
Admit it. You did those faces along with her. You couldn't resist.
It's always good to find a kindred spirit. This morning, I found one in Daniel Stone. Stone wrote a web piece for Newsweek magazine about the growing hunger for positive news. (I used to do a lot of freelance work for Newsweek. Everyone should go out and buy a subscription at once.) Stone described how the past few months of wallowing in bad news has been messing with his mind. Well that certainly sounds familiar enough. When he noticed his signature started to droop like the path of the stock market, he decided to go looking for "good news." In the process, he found at least two sites worth checking into: Ode Magazine and the Good News Network. I should say right here that the "good news" idea is nothing new. For years, there have been publications, both web-based and dead tree (or "virtual" and "real", take your pick) purporting to bring only uplifting news. And for years, I've been suspicious of them. Usually it turns out that your good news publication is merely a front for some other kind of organization. They're touting a political point of view (Good news! The liberals lost the election!) Or perhaps for a religion I don't fee like joining. That, or else they're so desperately trying to spin universally acknowledged bad news that they sound insane. But now. Now a bit of a warm and fluffy about people being kind to other people would just hit the spot. Yeah, I'm thinking a little kum ba yah would go down good about now. Because I'm finding it hard--even when it looks like something good is in the air--to believe anything happy. The other day, for instance, the DOW market shot up almost 500 points. Was I happy? Just for a few seconds I was. Then I heard myself saying this: "You know what will happen, don't you? The market will go up, the traders will get theirs and everyone will forget about the rest of us. Groceries will still be high and utilities will still be high and that will be okay because credit is open and we can get busy again going right back into debt." There's something kind of sick about a person who can't even be happy about a 500-point rally in the market, wouldn't you say? Ode calls itself a community for the intelligently optimistic. And both charge subscriptions. Money's a little tight right now but, I don't know, it just might be worth it.
Practically the first bit of advice about optimism on everyone's list seems to be "find something to be grateful for." So all right. I thank God, thank God this week is finally over. While others we know were out on ski trips and cruises for spring break, we greeted each dawn with one new (lard) sandwich after another. There was one glowing bright spot at week's end, though. Saturday night was the season opener for the Kansas City Wizards. We've been going to Wizards games for a few years, now. But never with full season tickets. We committed to them last year, saved up and, as luck would have it, finished paying them off just a couple of weeks ago. And no matter what happens, those tickets will be the last things to be pried from our clenched fingers. So we went last night and it was good--so good--to be back. To be a Wizards fan right now is to suffer some hardship. We're still watching from a baseball stadium (Community America, where the T Bones play). We don't have the posh digs of the Chiefs fans or the Royals, to be sure. And we had a not-so-great season last year. But being in a stadium full of people (and it was pretty full last night) who are, just by being there, optimists, was priceless, uplifting. We were all together in one place, unapologetically watching the best game in the world. Before I get too weepy here, though, I have to admit that part of the appeal is the chance to scream swear words at the top of your lungs. Our "seats" are in the benched section called the Cauldron, many of whose members had been in the parking lot since, oh, 11:30 a.m or so.. (Wizards. Cauldron. Get it?) The kickoff was at 7:30 p.m. So the Cauldron began in full voice. I always smile, a little, when I hear about the scandal caused by chants at other area games. Should the "chop" be allowed? And what about the KU students and "rip their....heads off?" Oh, Agatha, roll up the good doilies! Cauldron cheers start with group swearing and individual (the guy behind us with the mini megaphone did some expert vamping). They then progress to profane singing. Bringing your kids to the Cauldron (and I wouldn't recommend it until they're at least 12) means having a talk about "stadium language" vs. "everyday language." My people, in other words. When we left, my throat was raw from screaming--along with all my cohorts--vile language at a common enemy. Alas, the Wizards did not win (it was Wizards 2, Toronto 3). But there's always going to be a next time. Maybe that's the lesson.
I'll close with this video of Vera Meyer on glass harmonica, which has nothing to do with anything.
Today's subject is a cosmic joke, and I'll get to that in a minute. First, though, a video that brightens my day and, I hope, yours, if you haven't already seen it. Frankly, there's just not enough art done in the medium of sheep.
Anyway, on to the joke. I've been thinking some more about the Deepak Chopra book. (I cannot believe I'm saying this.) And it strikes me that I have been the subject of a huge cosmic joke this past week. When I started this blog, the idea was to look at all the bad stuff happening out there--the stock market, the unemployment--and match it up with traditional self help literature. The huge dissonance between the two would provide me with miles of material. I'd have a few laughs and perhaps make a few bucks off ads to buy a stove. As for the pessimism...I did want to quit being so negative, in a way. When you can't convince yourself that the years spent raising kids were worth it, you've crossed some kind of line that was never meant to be crossed. But I knew if I quit being a pessimist, I'd miss the satisfaction of always being right.
So I decided to try and have it both ways. I would lament about my minuscule problems and fears, while sniping at the silliness and hypocrisy that is the self help industry. All the while, I'd be safe on my blogger's perch--delivering judgement and snarkiness from above it all. (Snarkiness always sells, doesn't it?) In short, I'd be like many in the blogosphere: Grotesque and alone in the dark hours on end, spewing gibberish and leaving everything they touch reeking in malodorous slime.
Then came the big joke. Financial crisis. Uncertain future. For real, not just in my imagination. A cutback--better than a layoff in some ways. Worse in others. Suddenly, an attitude of detached irony is no longer an option.
I've had a week to deal with it. I've trembled. I've walked in the dark netherworld of attack writing. I've stayed awake worrying. And now that that week is done, I find the experience has been...liberating.
Really. Deepak was right about the whole fear thing. It is an illusion. The bad thing is not nearly so bad as the fear of it was. Now, at least, there are actions that can be taken to save ourselves. I've even stopped checking the stock market, so that must mean some healing is taking place.
I doubt I'll ever become the caricature of an optimist that so infects the writings for sales reps. I'll never be able to jump out of bed, fling open a window and scream, "This is the best day ever! I feel happy, healthy and terrific!" Because that's just not me. I'll never stop being a smart-ass, probably. But the kiln fires of this week have wrought some kind of change. I am, at least some hours of the day, not afraid. So bring it, Cosmic Joke God!
It's come to my attention that some out there may be reading this with more than just the passing curiosity I imagined when I set up this blog January 26. So maybe this is the time to post a few short reminders about what's what.
1.Purpose--This is a blog about finding optimism in hard times. This is my personal journey, so it necessarily involves my personal struggles. It wouldn't be honest, otherwise. It's humor oriented because humor helps me deal with unpleasant things. It is my modest hope that in some way this blog can help others out there who are feeling scared and desperate. After all, why would anyone write a blog who didn't want to help others? For a more complete explanation of this, click on my first post.
2.I sometimes use a returning motif to stand in for a larger, wordier idea. This should not be read literally. For example, "The Destroyer." Here's the first reference. And here is the second reference.
3.I encourage comments, including anonymous ones. I hope I fixed the issues with the comments settings so that people can post. But I do have a policy: No race baiting. No gender baiting. No excessive profanity (and I will be the one to decide what that is.) I reserve the right to remove comments that do not abide by this policy.
Hope this helps those who were unclear on these questions and were not able to find the answers in older posts.
I've heard some people have had trouble accessing the "comments." so I went in and changed the settings. Hope this solves things. I've had comments posted successfully earlier, so didn't realize there was any problem. Sorry, to all who have tried to post.
Today I'm celebrating the true beginning of spring break. I slept a full night for the first time in five days, got up and planted some garden, went to the art museum. And I don't have to teach during the break, which is nice. So my head feels like it's clearing out and things look a lot better today. Time to get back to the purpose of becoming an optimist.
I'll be calling on an expert for advice in the art of optimism today. I have chosen to look at a book by Deepak Chopra called, Why Is God Laughing? (2008, Harmony Books).
This modest tome has been on my grandmothers end table--surely I won't have to sell that table on eBay--for about a week now, and every time I pass, it mocks me. Why is God Laughing? Obvious answer: "Because He's an a@$%^&!" Because He's mean and enjoys our suffering. Or maybe the conservatives had it right all along. Maybe God is a conservative and is laughing at the idea of this family of liberals getting it's payback. I'm sure there are people out there who would go along with that.
Such was the thinking of the old me--the stressed out me getting along on 3-4 hours of sleep a night. But after a little of the downsizing dust had settled, I picked it up. Okay Deepak. I'll bite. Why is God laughing?
I'll get to that in a second. But first a Deepak Chopra disclaimer:
Chopra has written over 50 books on various spiritual and health topics (this book claims "more than 50" but it's from 2008. There may be well over 100 by now.) Until this week, I'd never read a single one of them. I don't, in general, trust someone who is that big of a publishing phenomenon. Especially not a self-help guru. Sounds too much like snake oil.
If you look under his entry in the Skeptic's Dictionary, you'll find some strange stuff. (Note, in particular, his recommendation for treating cataracts) And then, there was the hilarious bit where Conan O'Brien visited the Chopra Center a few months ago. (You can find it here, but be warned, you'll have to view a short commercial first.)
But I wanted to look at the optimism books to see if they would help me, and Deepak seemed like a good place to start. The book had the word "optimism" in the subtitle, it was about laughing (which is fun in yoga) and it has a forward by Mike Myers, a comedian I like. (It also had an ad for Myer's movie, "The Love Guru" on the last page, so I guess there was a little cross promotion going on.)
At first, I had to keep checking the spine of the book. Yes, there was a Dewey decimal number (200, for religion). But this is mostly a fictional story about a successful comedian (like Myers?) who's visited by the spirit of his recently-dead father. The comic then meets with a mysterious guide who gives him riddles and tests as part of the "process" of discovering his true soul. The nonfiction section of the book is at the very end, where Chopra identifies 10 principals of spiritual optimism. And it's a good thing, too, because that part is a much duller read.
My philosophy on books is this: Even if it looks like a fair amount of BS, I'll keep on wading through because I've invested a lot of time and there's got to be something I can get out of it. In this case, there was a fair amount of confusing stuff. The comedian used jokes as a role to defend himself against pain, which sounded at first like it was wrong. But then later, Chopra said the soul was playing the role of a human, and realizing this is a key step.
Or something like that.
But there were also some good and helpful things that spoke to me. The first chapter, for example, was about fear. Most people in a dentist's waiting room imagine pain, but only a small percentage actually feel pain. Even so, the imaginary aspect of fear causes people to suffer disproportionately. Yeah, I can see that. The picture of the girl curled up on the motel bed has been with me a lot this week. The idea of not being able to help your children when they are suffering is just...terrifying to me. But now that we know about the work cutback, this image doesn't scare me so much anymore. It could happen to us, yes. We don't have a lot of close relatives for a fallback. That part hasn't changed. But...I can't explain it. As a thing like that gets closer, you start thinking of solutions. It's not an abstraction. And it doesn't seem so scary.
Also, Chopra's first spiritual principal at the end of the book was, "The healthiest response to life is laughter." This, I have also found to be true. Although my laughter hasn't always been genuine (laughing yoga) or kind, it has always helped me in some way. So I plan to continue seeking out laughter and fun wherever possible.
Why is God laughing? According to Chopra, it's because the concept of human beings believing they are separate from him/her/it, is so artificial as to be comical. Which I admit, makes no sense to me. I'm willing, though, to try to stop being so afraid.
I've tried. Lord knows I've tried to get back to the optimism that is supposed to be the object of this blog. Positive ideas. Self help. Etc. But it's hard, y'know? This morning I had every intention of getting back on track when my attention was diverted. It seems this blog was mentioned in something called Tony's Kansas City. (Note to female readers: Tony is one of these guys who must constantly prove his manhood by putting up centerfold-type shots with lots of cleavage. Well, I guess in fairness he may not be compensating. Maybe he just wants to be able to brag about the hits on this mess of a site and hope we won't realize it's just the same 10 teenagers in their moms' basements clicking in over and over again.) But he mentioned me so of course I had to spend some time looking around his site and quid pro quo, I'll link him (ewww) just this once. Tony is a bitter and unhappy blogger. He does not like the Star. Even so, as the names of those laid off began to dribble out, he played it all solemn. "Damn," he wrote, after announcing the first few names. Of course, he called Mike a d-bag, as he seems to have a case of d-bag Tourette's where Mike is concerned. That whole shtick has become something of a yawner. Really, he goes after my husband with a stalker's intensity that's a little..uh...weird to be honest. But here's the reason I'm writing anything at all about old Tony. In an earlier post, at the end of "Five Reasons to Fire Mike Hendricks!!!" he wrote about the Star:
"...the Kansas City Institution (the Star) deserves every bit of financial hardship that comes their (sic) way as I link their stuff, make their content my own and chuckle as their business model is cleaned away from the digital age."
"As their business model is cleaned away from the digital age." The last part of that sentence is a mystery (seriously Tony. I can recommend some good English usage textbooks). But it's clear enough that TKC has been spending some time alone, working himself into a sort of auto-ecstasy over the mental anguish of not just Mike, but everyone who got bad news yesterday. That's what gets me. To the Tony's and the Rush Limbaughs and the Ann Coulters of this world, this whole thing is a big game. No real people are involved. Just cardboard cutouts from the imagination impaired. And oh, how it messes with their minds when you don't fit into the perfect little category they have picked out for you. That's what comes, I guess, of sitting at a computer all day and never venturing out of your comfort zone. In the meantime, people who've been dealt the indignity of layoffs and cutbacks worry about paying the mortgage and feeding their families. Should they also have to deal with these little Rumpelstiltskin creatures dancing around and cackling about it?
I've seen a lot of hateful stuff on this site before but never replied because until recently, I assumed Tony was 15, and how would that look? I decided today, though, that enough was enough. Dwelling on this is seriously damaging my optimism vibe. So this will be the last time I write about this site. Ever. I have bigger flies to swat. Tony, best of luck with your career. Hope you get a girlfriend or a high colonic--whichever is most effective. Adieu.
Today's post will be dedicated to all the people at the Kansas City Star who will stare into the eyes of their personal Destroyer today. Going from full time to part time and losing one third of our income is bad, but some people today will have it far, far worse. So all my thoughts and best wishes go out to them. I spent most of the weekend in a sleep-deprived fog, but by last night I began to feel my head clearing a little. I can say that all the optimist advice is right about taking action. Once you can visualize what specific things to do, things seem--if not exactly hopeful--then a little less grim. So maybe it would be appropriate to pass along a few things I've learned over the weekend. Granted, I'm no optimist. Yet. I'm not Leo Babauta. I don't have it all together. But maybe something here will help someone, I don't know.
1. It was worthwhile to get out amongst people as soon as possible.
As circumstance would have it, I had to spend most of the day Saturday shuffling paper at a piano event called Junior Festival. I spent all morning and part of the afternoon greeting nervous students and helping keep the scores straight. It was, without contest, the longest five hours of my life. But it did help to tell my tale of woe to some people not connected to the newspaper business. And it turned out that both my adjudicator and the doorkeeper had their own stories of past severe setbacks. In the doorkeeper's case, the layoff happened soon after they'd built a new house. Yet both were there talking to me, not dressed in rags. Not living out of their conversion vans. So apparently there is some mercy left in the world.
2. The sleep has been getting better with each passing night.
That first night it took me until 2:30 to get to sleep. First I rewound the day's events, then dissected the economic impact. Where can we cut? Can I afford to teach piano or will I have to drop it so I can get a 9-5 job? Will we be able to keep the house? Remember that picture in the New York Times of the sad teenager whose parents had to move into a motel? If we had to do that, we'd have to give away our cats. Irene would cry and cry. No, no, don't do that. Tearing up in bed leads to a headache. Maybe I'll just go down and look at the checkbook. What could we cut? As long as I'm down here, let's turn on the computer. Those porpoises have it figured out, don't they? It's like they know things. Maybe we should worship them. That one who comes close to the camera seems like he's trying to speak to me. (Maybe he's trying to tell me he's a dolphin, not a porpoise.)
I'll have some Tylenol now; I do have that headache. Then I'd doze off and a little later, a small noise would awaken me. What's today? Oh yeah, Saturday. You have Junior Festival in a few hours. And what was that other new thing? Thirty-three percent pay cut. I'm awake now. The good news is that the bad news becomes old news after a while, and it gets a tiny bit easier to sleep. The second night, it only took until 1:30 to fall asleep and I didn't keep waking up after that. Last night, I fell asleep as usual but woke up only 2 hours ahead of schedule.
3. Ghoulish as it sounds, there is still a bright side.
A lot of other laid off people can't go back to work without the help of a large factory or firm. If you get laid off from GM, for example, you can't get together with your peers and start making your own cars and pickup trucks. Such is not the case with writing.
4. I have the best family in the world. Spending time with them was the best thing about the weekend.
Many Sunday nights we have a big family supper. In our case, that means Mike and Irene and I, plus our middle son who moved back in after graduation from KU and our oldest, who is into his second year as an artist at a KC advertising company and lives the good life in KCMO. But last night our artist son, Sam, invited us to come and he'd cook for us. I offered to bring wine, but he said no, he had some. Then I thought about it. An optimist wouldn't bring wine anyway. An optimist would bring champagne in celebration of the good. So I hurried out to the liquor store before it closed, imagining myself pounding on the locked doors. "You must open up and sell me some alcohol so I can be an optimist!" I found some Korbel on sale for $13. In your face, Destroyer! And then we went over and ate chicken alfredo and salad and sat on his floor and couch, talking about music and various things and it was just the best time. My kids are smart and hard working. Sam's getting established and has done well with his work. Pete, who wants to go to medical school, is smart and hard working and even offered help from his income at the cancer lab where he's working now. (We declined.) Irene is funny and conscientious and I know that no matter what happens, everything is going to work out for them. There's nothing--no amount of evil financial problems--that will ever be able to take the joy of my family away from me.
5. Putting a face on the Destroyer really helped.
I know this sounds a little wierd and new-agey, but I'm going ahead with it anyway. Imagining the forces against us as the Sta-Puft Marshmallow Man has turned out to be an apt--and helpful image. It's apt, because like Sta-Puft, Mike's demotion seems soft and benign. But when you look at it, you realize it can hurt you in ways you'd never thought of before. He gets to keep his job, but at a cost. Because of that, I can't really write a lot of what I've been thinking this weekend. (But anyone else is welcomed and encouraged to in the "comments") So putting a picture in my mind of the angry Sta-Puft and then imagining it ablaze actually helps me, in some weird way.
So let's see...How did the Ghostbusters get out of this? Oh, yeah. They crossed the streams. Maybe that's what we'll have to do, too.
Can someone please tell me why this video soothes me so much? I found out about it the other day on a tv show and have not been able to stop looking at it since. I bet I've watched it 10-20 times since then. As I walked the darkened house at about 2 a.m., it occurred to me: Why not boot up the computer, watch the dolphins oh, a dozen more times? Does that seem weird? I guess I'm just losing it, but I find myself getting all indignant, seeing all that intelligence and spirit, and us not honoring it nearly enough. I don't know. Maybe it's the lack of sleep. My brain feels a little cloudy today. Cloudy with a chance of brain storms. Oh Don Harman. Where are you now, to lighten my day with your news of a catastrophic solar event?
Laughing yoga takes on a whole different feel when you have just learned your income is going down by 33 percent. Yes. 33 percent. The Destroyer has come. Actually, the day got off to a pretty good start. I did the bills and we ended up a little better than usual. That plus the fact that we're making a dent in the credit card (which was driven up last year by--believe it or not--our late dog's medical care) put me in a more hopeful, less scared mood. It was when I was driving to the grocery store that I got the call. Mike's employer, the Kansas City Star, wanted him to come in. This could not be good. I had to turn around and bring the car back (we have one car) so he could go downtown. When we met at the house, we resumed our traditional roles of optimist (Mike) and pessimist (me.) Me: Oh God. You're still don't think you'll be laid off? Him: No. I think they like me. I bring in readers. It's probably about the pay cut. Maybe they're rearranging and I'll have to work more from downtown. Let me insert here that we'd gotten an official email warning us that people below a certain pay level would get a 5 percent pay cut. Others might get more. We fit easily below the 5 percent line. Me: You sure we can handle the pay cut? What if it's more? What if the email was a complete lie? Him: I'm below the limit. Me: If they make you work downtown how will you get there? We'd probably have to put up for a second car. Or I'll be stuck here with no car. (Trust me to always think of myself.) Him: Let's not get three steps ahead. It will be okay.
Later he called back with the grim news. A pay cut of 33 percent. Full time to part time. No more life insurance benefit. No more vacation days. Accept it or take a buyout. But if you accept, there may not be another chance for a buyout. No promises. You have until Wednesday to decide.
Now, I was all prepared to be stoic about a 5 percent pay cut. I wasn't happy to lose the equivalent of two years, but I figured with some more piano students and perhaps monetization of this blog, maybe we could swing it temporarily. But 33 percent. Holy @*&# shit! Nothing in the email said anyone would get a 33 percent pay cut or that anyone would be knocked back from full to part time. And there's no way--no possible way--that my piano teaching can make up even half of what we're losing. Forget the two-year setback. Hello 1997.
And so, only 20 short minutes after pressing a cold cloth to my swollen eyes, I found myself driving my daughter and her friend to laughing yoga. I had promised. It wasn't so hard to fake laughter. I'll probably be doing a lot of that in the future, so I guess it doesn't hurt to practice now. But...I don't know. It was different. I felt good afterwards, like before. Just not content. Not at peace. Not connected to the resonant good vibe of the past sessions. Maybe it's the shock.
Yesterday I vowed we are going to live not just good but better. We are not going to be just happy but happier.
Yesterday was not a good day for me. I woke up exhausted after an endless dream about being trapped by a maniac killer. It was one of those nights when you wake up every 40 minutes or so, look at the clock and think, "2:30?! How can it only be 2:30? I've been dreaming this same dream for hours." Then I looked at that damn New York Times again and--this is getting to be a recurring theme--I was completely drawn in by a story about laid-off families losing their homes and having to move in six to a motel room to get by. (Here's a link) These were formerly middle class families just like us who lost all income, were foreclosed or evicted and didn't have a good enough credit record to get an apartment. Now they're stuck because the high cost of the motel eats up every cent they have. It wasn't so much the story, although that was bad enough. It was the picture. A girl about my daughter's age is lying on a motel bed crowded with the family's stuff, staring dejectedly into space. I just couldn't take my eyes off that picture. Even now, I can feel the tears forming behind my eyes when I think about it. It didn't get any better as the day wore on. Later I was informed of a local blogger who ranted at length about how Mike should be fired from the Star, and how he links to the Star's reportage and cackles with glee at the paper's financial troubles. And then, in the evening, we had to lend comfort to a family member with a career setback. So I thought of writing yesterday, but I just didn't have it in me. I didn't have what it takes to put everything at arm's length and be humorous. Announcements are coming, maybe soon, about the layoffs and cutbacks. In the meantime, the whole notion of converting myself to an optimist seems ludicrous, impossible. Today, though, is another day, and even though I don't feel like it, I am committed to not being a pessimist. So today seems like a good time to return to more serious fare. Here's a site that gives a five-step approach to my problem. A, name the adversity. B, name the belief about the adversity that troubles you. C, name the consequence. D, dispute the negative belief and think of a more positive one. E, energize yourself with the more positive thought. So okay. Adversity--We don't know, but we strongly suspect we may soon be earning far less money than our budget calls for. Belief--We'll be homeless and our kids will have no future. We'll be stuck at lower pay for years to come as inflation eats it all away. A serious illness will bankrupt us. Our daughter won't go to college. Our hardship will be mocked by obnoxious types who believe we deserve it because we are of inferior stock. Do I really need to go on? Consequence--Wait. Haven't I just been going on about the consequence? I could add that as a result, the only thing my children will remember about me was that I was permanently depressed and never had any fun. Dispute--Well, maybe by eliminating our 401k contribution, we'll survive without being tossed into the street. But the threat of inflation, medical bankruptcy, no college all seem real and reasonable enough. And the mocking. It's not hard to find people out there already with the mocking. Even with the rosier picture (no layoff, pay cut dealt with) the Consequence seems all too possible. I truly could be remembered by my family as always depressed and never any fun because no matter how it all comes out, I'll never feel safe and secure again. And I don't want to be that. So Energize--I can't think of anything here except that I'll have to try extra hard to not be always depressed. I thought that was the whole point of this little exercise. If I followed the steps, I'd feel better. Instead, it seems to be saying to me: Just try not to be depressed.
This doesn't seem to be helping. So I'm going to abandon it and just distract myself, which seems always to work best. Let's see. Tomorrow begins spring break for my daughter. No more getting up at 6 a.m. for a whole week! I can get behind that thought. Spring...I saw a forsythia almost in bloom today. It's cold now, but it is supposed to be warming up later in the week. So yay for that. That means our utilities will go down (at least they will if the state doesn't grant the huge rate increase they've asked for). And maybe I'll be able to plant some early garden during the break. I'm one week closer to having the credit card paid off. The Wizards season opens in just a week. And the tickets are paid up. One more row and I will have the afghan done that I've been working since Christmas. My daughter had a friend over for a couple of days this week while her parents were out of town. That made it necessary for them to practice together. So for one pleasant evening, I got to hear the violin/cello version of some of their orchestra pieces, plus some scales. And really, they can't take that away from me. We own the cello, the piano and the ability to make music, and those bastards whoever they are, who have done this to the economy cannot take that back. Okay. Yeah, that does make me feel better, tedious though it may be to anyone reading it. And you know what? I do feel energized. In fact I feel energized in an angry sort of way. Who are these people, trading stocks and derivatives, who would take my fun away? Well, they don't get to. Manifesto: I resolve that no matter what happens, we will not just have fun. We will have more fun. We will not just get by, we will live well. I will become completely and selfishly a fun seeker. And I will apologize to no one about putting our family's happiness first.
The idea was I would spend the weekend not thinking about our impending financial ruin. I would just take time off from the worry and enjoy myself. And how did that go? Saturday morning: "Job Losses Hint at Vast Remaking of U.S. Economy" was the first thing that met my eyes on the New York Times front page. I was down to the part where an economist says the lost job "aren't coming back" before remembering. This is my worry free weekend. By that time I'd also seen the Kansas City Star headline about people foregoing medical care as they lose their jobs, and another one about a bad season ahead for home sales. Well, at least the stock market isn't open. Hey, it's about time I checked in how it's doing today. Ok. The DOW is down, but only by 52 points. To continue: Little bits of info have started to seep out that there will be an announcement about McClatchy and how new cutbacks will be handled at Mike's work. So right now we're like the Ghostbusters in the final battle at the top of the skyscraper. What form will our personal Destroyer take? Will it be a layoff or a pay cut? At least for the time being, it appears a furlough is off the table. Given those options, I'd gladly take the Stay-Puft marshmallow man. I suppose a real optimist would not refer to this as a "destroyer." A real optimist would call it an "opportunity," or a "temporary setback." But what the hell, I'm not a real optimist today. My mom said on the phone this weekend, "We'll just have to pray nothing bad happens." I know she meant well, and I normally accept people's offers of prayer with good grace. So I can't explain why hearing that put me into such a sour mood. Yeah, we'll run to our prayer closets while those Wall Street cheaters decide whether my daughter goes to college.
But then I thought about it. There's a well-established tradition of magical thinking even amongst Christians. It wasn't so long ago I read about various house-flippers burying little statues of St. Joseph upside down on their properties to ensure a good sale.
Surely there is a similar good luck charm for employment, and I set out to look for it.
It turned out to be harder than I thought. There are tons of superstitions about prosperity. Most of them involve eating specific foods or wearing specific clothes on New Year's Day. Black-eyed peas, lentils or pork are all good luck. Chicken and turkey are bad because you'll scratch all year for money like they scratch for food. I even found one web site that says Colombian women wear gold panties at midnight for prosperity. I realized with a sinking heart that we probably hadn't eaten any of the correct New Year's foods. And I do not own a pair of yellow underpants. So it's too late to save ourselves that way.
Back online, I looked up various combinations of "luck," "employment," "unemployment," and "jobs." I found a website advertising products you consume to have good "luck" with your employee urine drug test.
Then I found something called the Internet Book of Shadows. On it was a long list of herbs and the various things and spells they were supposed to cast. Again, there was tons on "prosperity," but I went right past. Looking for "prosperity" at this point is setting the bar too high. I found that mountain mahogany and holly are good for "anti-lightning," an herb called honesty repels monsters and skunk cabbage is good for legal matters. Hound's tongue is good for--well tying dog's tongues. And if you can find some thistle milk, it's useful for snake enraging. (Seriously. Snake enraging.) Three things were listed as voodoo or hoodoo charms for employment: devil's shoestring,lucky hand and pecan.
Devil's shoestring and lucky hand, coincidentally, also are good for gambling. I've never seen them grow around here, so I would have to order them at an occult store. And I don't want to get on that mailing list. Pecan, though. I have some pecans in the freezer right now. We're having them on our salad tonight.
Still, that doesn't seem like enough. St. Joseph is a patron saint of house hunters, among other things. Maybe we could turn away from the occult and look to Christianity for our employment superstition. It turns out there is a patron saint for journalists and authors. He is St. Francis de Sales. Sales. I like the sound of that. St. Francis was not a journalist but he was an author and an amiable man, by some accounts. He wrote some things that were, apparently, readable. Of course, "sales" doesn't mean the same thing in French as English. In French, sales could be a form of the verb "saler" which means "to salt." If a story is "sale" (with an accent on the e) it is salty, spicy or juicy. Sale can also be an adjective that means "dirty." So dirt, salty or juicy--it all works.
Maybe there's a statue of him somewhere I could bury. Or maybe I'll just print out a picture and set up a little table with some dried lentils, bacon and pecans. Hey, maybe that lemony looking Buddha's hand would be a stand-in for Lucky Hand. I think I've seen it at Whole Foods.
Enough with the stimuli and the bank stress tests. What we all need, and I think I speak for everyone here, is a weeks' rest from business. Post some guards along Wall Street and close that sucker down for a week so we can have a few minutes to feel safe and think about other things. The merciless DOW had it's worst week in a while, jobless claims have been revised sharply higher. Do I have to keep caring? Yes. Yes I do. Because the stock prices affect what will happen with my husband's job (and, indirectly, mine). They've done layoffs and buyouts before. But we know something more is coming. We just don't know what or when. It's out there, like the creepy mist "destroyer" in the Ten Commandments. We huddle in fear, wondering if the moving finger will write our name on the wall. Oh, hold on. That's a different Bible story. We talk about how we'd survive pay cuts, furloughs, even "the worst." We could cancel our contribution to the 401K, or cut off the cable TV. I make mental lists of things around the house that might get us some money on EBay. But I'm tired of dreaming up more ways to disappoint our daughter and make life less fun. I'd just like to be...excused. Please?
None of the "money saving tips" ever seems to help, either. Skip the lattes? Learn to cook and eat at home? Launder your own shirts? Please! That's about as helpful as telling me to fire all our servants and put the polo ponies to plow.
So--purely in an effort to cheer myself up--I've come up with a list of my own money saving tips that have a little more, shall we say, muscle.
1. Recipe for a lard sandwich: Two slices bread. Sugar. Lard. Take the lard and spread it on the bread. Sprinkle on some sugar. Top with second slice and eat. (Var. for Sunday. Add some cracklings) This is something my grandmother, who lived through the Great Depression, spoke of often. And wistfully. (The idea for the Sunday sandwich is mine.)
2.Ditch harvesting. If you've already scrapped the expensive bag salads and are wondering how to bring down the price of greens even further, learn to forage for purslane, dandelion and nettles, which make excellent eating. 3.Shoe repair. Forget the expensive duct tape. Newspapers fill in the holes nicely. And--here's a plus--they'll help keep the industry alive until it figures out how to make money.
4.Car too expensive to drive and insure? Take heart. In the summer months, you can easily convert the undriven car into a solar cooker. If you don't want to go to the work and expense of building a solar oven out of cardboard and insulation (as we've done) the car could be the second oven you're looking for. If it'll cook your pets in the summer's heat, it'll probably cook that quiche.
5.Ever been frustrated that you have to throw out dryer lint? Surely it could be put to good use. At our house, we mix it with paraffin for fire starters. But this doesn't seem very imaginative. Could the lint be re spun into yarn a la Knitting with Dog Hair? There's a MacArthur grant waiting for someone to claim. 6.Use your exercise time to look for tools. No--not that kind. I mean the countless wrenches, sockets and screw drivers that bounce out of trucks every day. If you ride a bike often, you've seen them and perhaps even built up a little collection. Maybe you can sell them on EBay.
7.Weave rugs out of old bread bags. No I'm not kidding. My grandmother used to do this all the time. You ended up with a colorful braided rug to wipe your muddy farm shoes on, and then when it was destroyed, you didn't feel guilty about throwing it out. I can't figure out how it's done, though. Wait! Couldn't we also use the plastic bags newspapers come in?
Ok. There. I feel a little better. There are still ways I can cut my budget. But just for good measure, I'm not listening to or reading any financial news until next week.
Just about everyone who gives advice to the eternally pessimistic eventually comes around to this: Count your blessings. Look at your life and be grateful. At the risk of sounding like a completely horrible person, I have to admit that this is hard for me. First of all, I have a rule about not resorting to "it could be worse" as a fall back, and just about everything I can think of falls into this category. Yeah, it could be worse. But it isn't. So that thought is meaningless. Then, the items I do come up with turn out to be two sided. My joy in our big garden plot morphs into worry about runoff from the chemicals the church next door uses on its grounds. My happiness at finally saving enough for full-season Kansas City Wizards tickets becomes concern that the economy could stop them from ever getting their new stadium built. I guess the problem is I think about things too long. Now that I've been trying for about a month to be an optimist, I figure it's time. Time to make that list of things I'm grateful for. I'll just do the best I can and try not to linger too long or expect the list to be too perfect. After all, I'm new at this optimism stuff.
1. I'm grateful for the tight credit market/banking crisis because it may postpone the destruction of earth via a black hole. When scientists cranked up the Large Hadron Collider last fall in Switzerland they did it over protests from some people that their attempt to study particle physics by smashing atoms could end in the creation of tiny black holes. Said holes could then join together into one big black hole that would eat us all. The economic downturn would slow some of the massive amount of money it takes to keep the thing going. (This is my assumption. I have absolutely no sources on this.) 2. At last rich people may be forced to shut up about themselves and quit flaunting their money at the rest of us. The New York Times carried a story this week about a real estate broker who will give up her Rolls Royce--a part of her "brand"--because it looks too ostentatious. (Read about it here, for those of you with subscriptions.)
3.Deflation. Economists are all concerned it's a bad thing but I'm ecstatic some things are coming down in price. Especially gasoline. Seeing the price at $1.86 makes me smile every time I pass a station. (Then again, our electric utility wants a big rate hike and...Oh. Lingering too long.)
4.For years I've been toiling in the garden, canning and freezing everything I can get to grow. But I've had to keep quiet because...well because people tend not to like to hear about it. They think you're some kind of food snob, or that you think you're superior. (And let's be truthful. I am and I do.) Now I find out from the Kansas City Star that there are lots of us. Enough that we're a movement and we have a name. Urban homesteaders. Yee haw!
5.And finally, I'm thankful my grandparents aren't around to see what's been happening. The Great Depression left them both ultra cautious, afraid of taking a risk on a dream or anything that wasn't "practical." Neither would speak their mind in a group for fear that word would get back to their employers or business contacts and they would be out of a job. I remember in the 1970s when the stock market had a bad day, hearing my grandfather bay, "Nooooo!" When I came in to see what was up, he was gripping his armchair tight and may even have had tears in his eyes. I can only imagine, if they were still around, how all this talk of "global meltdown" would affect him.
Five things to be thankful for. Only five? Well, like I said, I'm still new to this.
Last week was stressful. Unusually stressful. We dealt with rumors of more work cutbacks, a minor health problem, an unexpectedly high bill to repair the rototiller and of course, the continuing stock market saga. So as the week marched on, we had a decision to make: Should we return to laughing yoga? My husband and son had scheduling conflicts. My daughter, though, surprised me. She'd been assuming all along we would go again. And--little did I know--she'd been busy inviting friends. Going to laughter yoga once out of curiosity is one thing (read account here). Going back is quite another. And going back in the company of two or more teenage girls...well, that puts it in a whole different dimension. Irene, my daughter, is at the age when it becomes obvious that your parents need to be reined in. They should be told to keep their public actions more tepid, beige and uninteresting, lest they embarrass you. To that end, we have a long list of things we've been asked not to do in public: Sing Whistle Dance Gesticulate excessively with the hands Smile too much Or generally do anything else deemed too goofy. Now, I am to believe that I will be doing all those things and more, not only in public but in the company of her girlfriends. What's happening here? Am I being punked? Will I see a secretly-taped video of myself shooting "laughter arrows" later on Facebook? Since I was a little leery about her motives, we had a talk before going. Just to make things clear. You can't isolate yourselves in your little group, I said. You can't talk to each other. You have to do everything the instructor says. And I better not see you making fun of anyone else there, either. But she seemed sincere and, just in case she was, I didn't want to be the harsh cop much more than that. So off we went, with two of her friends. The class was essentially the same, but with some changes in the exercises. It wasn't any harder to laugh the second time around. We still got tired and we still felt good afterward. Everyone behaved. And--surprise, surprise--a laughter yoga class seems custom made for 14-year-old girls. Giggling and acting goofy are things they are well practiced in. I also was happily surprised that there were no meaningful nods or elbow prods at the expense of others in the room. I guess when everyone is laughing together, it's harder to play the critical observer--another thing that teenage girls are often well practiced at. Which brings me to the reason I like this yoga. It isn't so much the laughing, or even the goofiness of the exercises. It's the fact that you get to spend 45 minutes in a room full of people and they're all smiling and making eye contact with you the entire time. How many other times a month--or a year, for that matter--can you say that? You're in a room where no one is casting disapproval. (Well perhaps they are, deep in their minds. But you could never tell from their faces, which are smiling. Anyway, I'm not so sure it's possible to be disapproving when you're laughing and doing crazy things.) For a social phobe like me, that's healing balm. The person who thought this up, I am told, thinks it could hasten world peace if enough people do it. I don't know about that, but I could see it improving the clique-conscious climate of high schools and the anxiety of work. Who knows, maybe it would help the Pentagon as well. President Obama, are you listening?
Welcome to my journey. I am a piano teacher and composer and former newspaper reporter who took time off to raise kids and never made it back. Inexplicably, I am not a natural optimist. Is it possible to change?
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