I'll never forget the first time my mom put me on a bus to go to school. She waited with me at the stop until the bus arrived, and as I began the ascent up those rubber coated stairs she said to me, "Whatever you were before, you are entirely alone now."
She may remember the experience differently and perhaps those were not her words verbatim, but that was certainly what I felt as I navigated my way through the noisy metal box. Once I sat down though, I looked at my lunchbox and realized that I was not entirely bereft of comfort. On my lunchbox was the image of He-Man holding his sword aloft as his allies stood at his back in the face of the onslaught of skeletons and monsters in the lower corners of the case.
There are a lot of lessons that my young self could have taken from that moment. I could have learned that as long as I was brave, just, and true that I could stand up to anything. Or that I too could find friends and allies to unite with against the terrors of the unknown. But instead I thought, "I wish I were home watching He-Man".
Between fight or flight, I had opted into flight, but since mobility was limited I practiced mental escapism into an imaginary world. When I got to school I continued this strategy by finding a book and fortifying myself against the world within its pages until the bell rang. Over the weeks this behavior attracted like minded children. Now, with a small gang, we felt more confident venturing into other parts of the playground and talking out in class.
I have always been fortunate in this way, that my introverted behavior has still been rewarded with very close friends. So when I saw on facebook that a friend was seeking counsel for what she should do about a son who was being bullied, the advice that I wanted to type was that he needed to get a gang together. I was never bullied in school, despite personal and aesthetic peculiarities. I think I insisted on wearing sweatpants to school well into my elementary school years, and spent much of second grade reading babysitter club books rather than talking to actual girls. But again, I was never bullied, probably because I always rolled 5 or 6 deep, making the true loners the more likely targets for misdirected aggression and insecurity.
We have a problem with the term 'gangs' as they are associated with escalating violence, peer pressure, and bullying themselves. But in a scenario where you are basically in a prison with one guard per 30 inmates, and less than that on the playground. You would be well advised not to try to go it alone. Plus, Red Rover doesn't work by yourself.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Thursday, November 7, 2013
What was to be extinct
The Western black rhinoceros was declared officially extinct today as no one has recorded the existence of a living specimen since 2006. Apparently, absence for 7 years is the benchmark to declare a species extinct. This is interesting as it is the same amount of time that a person must be missing before they are declared 'dead in absentia' in the United States and England. If you want an example of the wrong way to do it, you can (as per usual) turn to Italy where you must be missing for 20 years.
This is a time of mourning and serious contemplation regarding the conservation efforts we make to save such species. Even if you are a Northern white-supremacist rhino, you cannot wholly rejoice in the extinction of your enemy because you, and all of the other Northern white rhinos, are also teetering on the verge of extinction.
Or you may be like me, the typical armchair skeptic at his desk in his pajamas, robe, and slippers, sipping his tea, rubbing out scratches in the wood with walnuts, and shaking his head thinking, "Well, what could have reasonably been done? It must have just been their time."
Except that the Southern white rhino was culled down to a population of less than 100 at the end of the 19th century and now has an estimated population of 20,000. But the conservation measures taken to achieve this were not implemented in the Western black rhino's habitats.
I know that we live far away, and that we are extremely busy, I myself have dozens of square feet of desks that require constant finishing with walnut oil as I persist on scratching it as I set down my many remotes, devices, and tea cups on it.
There is also an excruciatingly limited portfolio of action we can take, living where we do. The biggest threat these animals faced were poachers, and as political instability increased in those areas, so did the poaching instances. I know we all love the idea of sitting atop a black rhino, our rifles trained on the jeep of approaching poachers, as we swayed from side to side as our terrible rhino mount glared at the poachers, shaking his head in disgust. But these regions have harsh political realities that makes this scenario unlikely.
In the case of the Northern white rhino, 5 of the surviving specimen are being moved from their home habitat in the Democratic Republic of Congo to a preserve in Kenya, as the security of the Congo park can no longer adequately ensure their safety.
So, again, I come to. "What can we do?" and I've reached the end of this post, and I still don't have a satisfactory answer. Maybe donate some money to the http://www.olpejetaconservancy.org/ which is the park in Kenya where the white rhinos are being taken. But our finances are stretched, and there is a lot of human suffering that is also asking for monetary relief. On top of that, the IUCN reports that 25% of the world's mammals are at risk of extinction, so there is a lot going on outside of the world of rhinos.
In an interview a few days ago I heard a congresswoman from Florida say that what we need is for everyone to pick one issue and get really passionate and involved in it, she sees this as the way to get people back in government. And I mention it because I couldn't disagree with her more completely. We need to all strive for the Renaissance Ideal, we need to become people who can speak and debate intelligently across disciplines and issues. We need to move our debates away from derisive comments about one ideologies conclusions, and towards a debate and discovery about the assumptions that led to the conclusions, because that is where sharing and learning happens. An argument is only negative if you walk away from it without learning something.
If Oprah Winfrey wanted to save the Western black rhino, she probably could have done it, she probably had the money to buy them that time. But even if she gave every dollar she had, she could not have stemmed the root cause of their extinction. That is going to require an informed populace pushing political leaders to make intelligently aggressive decisions across the board.
Getting there is beyond the scope of any blog, but I think it has to start with making our communication more informed and informative. We must owe the rhinos as least that.
This is a time of mourning and serious contemplation regarding the conservation efforts we make to save such species. Even if you are a Northern white-supremacist rhino, you cannot wholly rejoice in the extinction of your enemy because you, and all of the other Northern white rhinos, are also teetering on the verge of extinction.
Or you may be like me, the typical armchair skeptic at his desk in his pajamas, robe, and slippers, sipping his tea, rubbing out scratches in the wood with walnuts, and shaking his head thinking, "Well, what could have reasonably been done? It must have just been their time."
Except that the Southern white rhino was culled down to a population of less than 100 at the end of the 19th century and now has an estimated population of 20,000. But the conservation measures taken to achieve this were not implemented in the Western black rhino's habitats.
I know that we live far away, and that we are extremely busy, I myself have dozens of square feet of desks that require constant finishing with walnut oil as I persist on scratching it as I set down my many remotes, devices, and tea cups on it.
There is also an excruciatingly limited portfolio of action we can take, living where we do. The biggest threat these animals faced were poachers, and as political instability increased in those areas, so did the poaching instances. I know we all love the idea of sitting atop a black rhino, our rifles trained on the jeep of approaching poachers, as we swayed from side to side as our terrible rhino mount glared at the poachers, shaking his head in disgust. But these regions have harsh political realities that makes this scenario unlikely.
In the case of the Northern white rhino, 5 of the surviving specimen are being moved from their home habitat in the Democratic Republic of Congo to a preserve in Kenya, as the security of the Congo park can no longer adequately ensure their safety.
So, again, I come to. "What can we do?" and I've reached the end of this post, and I still don't have a satisfactory answer. Maybe donate some money to the http://www.olpejetaconservancy.org/ which is the park in Kenya where the white rhinos are being taken. But our finances are stretched, and there is a lot of human suffering that is also asking for monetary relief. On top of that, the IUCN reports that 25% of the world's mammals are at risk of extinction, so there is a lot going on outside of the world of rhinos.
In an interview a few days ago I heard a congresswoman from Florida say that what we need is for everyone to pick one issue and get really passionate and involved in it, she sees this as the way to get people back in government. And I mention it because I couldn't disagree with her more completely. We need to all strive for the Renaissance Ideal, we need to become people who can speak and debate intelligently across disciplines and issues. We need to move our debates away from derisive comments about one ideologies conclusions, and towards a debate and discovery about the assumptions that led to the conclusions, because that is where sharing and learning happens. An argument is only negative if you walk away from it without learning something.
If Oprah Winfrey wanted to save the Western black rhino, she probably could have done it, she probably had the money to buy them that time. But even if she gave every dollar she had, she could not have stemmed the root cause of their extinction. That is going to require an informed populace pushing political leaders to make intelligently aggressive decisions across the board.
Getting there is beyond the scope of any blog, but I think it has to start with making our communication more informed and informative. We must owe the rhinos as least that.
Monday, September 30, 2013
What was to be donated
I was lured into my company's Health and Wellness center today with the promise of $50 gift card if I would let them give me a flu shot, weigh me, measure my waist, measure my body fat, take my blood pressure, and take a blood sample to gauge cholesterol/glucose etc.
After being poked and prodded, I asked for my gift card and was directed to a website where I could redeem it, but here is what I found there:
I wanted that $50. I didn't need it. I've never needed $50. But I wanted it. And what really was the difference between taking this $50 and not donating it. I have hundreds of $50 in various accounts that I don't donate everyday. What was one more? I mean, what if Microsoft started pitching all my incentives this way:
"Congratulations, your 2010 stock award has vested! Click here to redeem OR look at these pictures of 100 dying babies and donate this to save their lives. Or you know, buy a hot tub, and just know that you are soaking in the blood of innocents every time you get in it."
I ended up donating to fund the vaccinations. And while my suspicion is that these vaccinations would have been given out somehow anyway, this money came too easily to really feel that attached to it.
I'll probably spend $50 this month on desserts and treats ( it's fine, my glucose is below 90 and my triglycerides are less than 45) and won't feel like I've taken food from anyone's mouth. I'll buy a beautiful new desk set without feeling like I left anyone homeless. Maybe I should, but I won't. I lack that level of compassion or empathy. But when the money comes that easy and it is easier to give it away than give them my address, open a letter one day and put a card in my pocket, even I can reach beyond my 3? inch waist and click the kindest option.
After being poked and prodded, I asked for my gift card and was directed to a website where I could redeem it, but here is what I found there:
"Congratulations, your 2010 stock award has vested! Click here to redeem OR look at these pictures of 100 dying babies and donate this to save their lives. Or you know, buy a hot tub, and just know that you are soaking in the blood of innocents every time you get in it."
I ended up donating to fund the vaccinations. And while my suspicion is that these vaccinations would have been given out somehow anyway, this money came too easily to really feel that attached to it.
I'll probably spend $50 this month on desserts and treats ( it's fine, my glucose is below 90 and my triglycerides are less than 45) and won't feel like I've taken food from anyone's mouth. I'll buy a beautiful new desk set without feeling like I left anyone homeless. Maybe I should, but I won't. I lack that level of compassion or empathy. But when the money comes that easy and it is easier to give it away than give them my address, open a letter one day and put a card in my pocket, even I can reach beyond my 3? inch waist and click the kindest option.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
What was to be happily ever after
During the Spanish colonization of California, the Franciscan and Jesuit orders built missions to spread their religion and confirm territory for Spain. As you would imagine, they started in San Diego merged onto I-5 then took the 405 exit north and onto the 101 in Los Angeles, this they followed North, building their missions and eating at In-N-Out along the way until they got to the Sonoma Valley where they stopped.
Why did they stop? Why not continue to consolidate their dominance of wine country and journey into the Napa valley? All historians in my office as I write this agree, that to do this they would have had to take highway 29 through Robert Louis Setevnson State Park. And though these were men who had ridden the stormy Atlantic, could force unpaid laborers to build without ever feeling sick to their stomachs; that road just made them way too queasy.
The map below probably does not do justice to the experience, because what you need to understand is that this is straight down/up hill at 40 to 60 miles an hour if my dad is driving late to a wedding.
Being braver or more foolhardy than any monk or conquistador, we traveled this road at breakneck speeds to make it on time to my cousins wedding at a vineyard in the Sonoma Valley. We got there about a minute before the wedding was scheduled to begin, but luckily other more important people were late too, so there was time to say hello and take our seats before the procession began. Which was good, because I was feeling very sick from my journey down the road which could have served to uncork any of the fine bottles of wine at the bar.
So I was not particularly focused as the family members and friends came down to the aisle, and it would be a few minutes before I was really up to taking in what truly beautiful scenery surrounded us. And now, if you'll allow me (and I think you will because it's my blog) I'm going to get sappy for a bit.
You spend so much time watching Hollywood's approximation of wedding-day love in the eyes and faces of two people that it is almost surprising when you see it for real in person. Not the manic passion of adolescent infatuation, not the disturbing fervor of the co-dependent, and not the sort of unexpected resignation so common in today's romantic comedies. It's a kind of excitement, muted by time and commitment, but enhanced by the events of that day.
It's has a light to it that somehow makes the sunniest day and most beautiful vineyard a little dimmer in comparison, and you almost wish you were in a plain cellar somewhere so there wasn't so much distracting you from their faces. And you definitely wished it on that day, because it was hot as hell out there in that suit.
Why did they stop? Why not continue to consolidate their dominance of wine country and journey into the Napa valley? All historians in my office as I write this agree, that to do this they would have had to take highway 29 through Robert Louis Setevnson State Park. And though these were men who had ridden the stormy Atlantic, could force unpaid laborers to build without ever feeling sick to their stomachs; that road just made them way too queasy.
The map below probably does not do justice to the experience, because what you need to understand is that this is straight down/up hill at 40 to 60 miles an hour if my dad is driving late to a wedding.
So I was not particularly focused as the family members and friends came down to the aisle, and it would be a few minutes before I was really up to taking in what truly beautiful scenery surrounded us. And now, if you'll allow me (and I think you will because it's my blog) I'm going to get sappy for a bit.
You spend so much time watching Hollywood's approximation of wedding-day love in the eyes and faces of two people that it is almost surprising when you see it for real in person. Not the manic passion of adolescent infatuation, not the disturbing fervor of the co-dependent, and not the sort of unexpected resignation so common in today's romantic comedies. It's a kind of excitement, muted by time and commitment, but enhanced by the events of that day.
It's has a light to it that somehow makes the sunniest day and most beautiful vineyard a little dimmer in comparison, and you almost wish you were in a plain cellar somewhere so there wasn't so much distracting you from their faces. And you definitely wished it on that day, because it was hot as hell out there in that suit.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
What was to be a sword of Damocles
I have always felt that the problem with the message of the legend of Damocles is that really we all live our lives under the threat of violence, misfortune, and tragedy. It is not only those who are well off or in positions of authority. It is absurd to think that at any time during or after the period of this legend there has been a higher mortality rate/lower life expectancy among rulers than the average person in the area.
So instead of complaining or devising clever ways to make his courtiers look stupid, you'd think Dionysius, would just enjoy the things he had while he waited to be assassinated. Though maybe terrorizing his court was the way he did this, in which case, good for him, I suppose.
As I sit in my own palace this week, with the sharpened point of rejection hanging directly above my heart, I should apply the lesson of my own critique and not feel sorry for myself but recognize that really all my fellow beings are in something like the same scenario, and the way to expunge my dread is to course with them, shoulder to shoulder, on life's road.
But that is not what I am going to do. I am going to spend a lot of time in silent thought, remembering the times this has happened before. The feelings of those events will return to me, and I will chew on nothing as the bitter taste refills my mouth. I will draw sharp, rapid breaths as the crushing feeling returns to my chest. Pavlovian responses to the ringing bell of "I think we need to talk..."
So instead of complaining or devising clever ways to make his courtiers look stupid, you'd think Dionysius, would just enjoy the things he had while he waited to be assassinated. Though maybe terrorizing his court was the way he did this, in which case, good for him, I suppose.
As I sit in my own palace this week, with the sharpened point of rejection hanging directly above my heart, I should apply the lesson of my own critique and not feel sorry for myself but recognize that really all my fellow beings are in something like the same scenario, and the way to expunge my dread is to course with them, shoulder to shoulder, on life's road.
But that is not what I am going to do. I am going to spend a lot of time in silent thought, remembering the times this has happened before. The feelings of those events will return to me, and I will chew on nothing as the bitter taste refills my mouth. I will draw sharp, rapid breaths as the crushing feeling returns to my chest. Pavlovian responses to the ringing bell of "I think we need to talk..."
Monday, June 3, 2013
What was to be a b'ar in them thar hills
I went back to the office late last Wednesday night, mostly because I had a call with a colleague in Italy, but I had let myself get pretty far behind on some other projects as well, and I didn't end up leaving until about 2 am on Thursday. As I was about halfway home, something darted out of the tree line on my right about 100 to 150 yards up the road. In no time, it was halfway across the road then disappeared into the bushes on the other side before I could get level with it to stop and get a closer look. But the image burned in my mind is the large black bear halfway through the road illuminated by my headlights.
It was one of the most awesome experiences in my life. The combination of the shock of the unexpected and the surprising speed it displayed contributed to the initial excitement, but the significance of it has been growing for me.
The bear ran across the street about here. If you zoom out a bit, you notice that where it was running to (the north) is full of trees and largely uninhabited, but to the south is practically a subdivision. It is not clear to me what the bear was doing there, but I suspect either he was comparing house prices and wishing he had bought a few months ago when interest rates were lower or HE WAS DOING WHATEVER HE WANTED BECAUSE HE IS A BEAR!
This bear has become a hero of mine. Life is not what it should have been for him. Not long ago his family was roaming these woods and mountains at their leisure; kings of all they surveyed. The only time they had to run in those days was when they wanted to catch up with some fast food. Now, if he wants to pursue game a little further south than usual he has to book it for all he is worth across a hard smelly surface just to avoid some nerd in a Prius.
But the bear does not let these inconveniences, indignities, or dangers impede his life. He charges through them with power and grace, and I wish him the best of luck. I am back in my office at too early of an hour trying to get a head start on monthly reporting, but mostly I think I wanted another shot at seeing my friend sprinting through his town.
I would like him to come visit me closer to home so I can observe him again (hopefully through the safety of my windows) but there is a family of deer that lives near my house and spends a lot of their time in the Fall in my yard or on my street. I enjoy it when I have to stop my car until they decide that they are ready to move out of my way. It is inspiring to watch them up close and feel a little connected with nature, but now I worry about them meeting my bear.
If they could put aside their differences, I think they would have a lot to learn from each other about living amongst the humans, and I for one would love to see more of him ambling about the neighborhood, eating our berries, and digging up roots. But the deer, cats, dogs, and toddlers in the area might look more appetizing.
So, I am torn. I want to see more of him, but I'm not sure there is a setting where we would both be comfortable and our activities would be mutually beneficial. So, maybe I should just be grateful that I had that moment where I was privileged to observe him at the peak of his physical prowess and should stop looking for reasons to come into the office at 2 am.
It was one of the most awesome experiences in my life. The combination of the shock of the unexpected and the surprising speed it displayed contributed to the initial excitement, but the significance of it has been growing for me.
The bear ran across the street about here. If you zoom out a bit, you notice that where it was running to (the north) is full of trees and largely uninhabited, but to the south is practically a subdivision. It is not clear to me what the bear was doing there, but I suspect either he was comparing house prices and wishing he had bought a few months ago when interest rates were lower or HE WAS DOING WHATEVER HE WANTED BECAUSE HE IS A BEAR!
This bear has become a hero of mine. Life is not what it should have been for him. Not long ago his family was roaming these woods and mountains at their leisure; kings of all they surveyed. The only time they had to run in those days was when they wanted to catch up with some fast food. Now, if he wants to pursue game a little further south than usual he has to book it for all he is worth across a hard smelly surface just to avoid some nerd in a Prius.
But the bear does not let these inconveniences, indignities, or dangers impede his life. He charges through them with power and grace, and I wish him the best of luck. I am back in my office at too early of an hour trying to get a head start on monthly reporting, but mostly I think I wanted another shot at seeing my friend sprinting through his town.
I would like him to come visit me closer to home so I can observe him again (hopefully through the safety of my windows) but there is a family of deer that lives near my house and spends a lot of their time in the Fall in my yard or on my street. I enjoy it when I have to stop my car until they decide that they are ready to move out of my way. It is inspiring to watch them up close and feel a little connected with nature, but now I worry about them meeting my bear.
If they could put aside their differences, I think they would have a lot to learn from each other about living amongst the humans, and I for one would love to see more of him ambling about the neighborhood, eating our berries, and digging up roots. But the deer, cats, dogs, and toddlers in the area might look more appetizing.
So, I am torn. I want to see more of him, but I'm not sure there is a setting where we would both be comfortable and our activities would be mutually beneficial. So, maybe I should just be grateful that I had that moment where I was privileged to observe him at the peak of his physical prowess and should stop looking for reasons to come into the office at 2 am.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
What was to be a chosen adventure
Choose Your Own Adventure books were a big part of my 2nd and 3rd grade school reading experience, and sometimes I miss this infuriating and recursive genre. So in case you feel the same:
You sit alone in your office, flipping through jewels pictured in a game on your phone so they would line up and disappear. Time runs out on this level: game over. You look up at the absence of any client in sight. Maybe they all lined up too well and disappeared like the jewels. The phone vibrates to alert you to a new email from the property management company. Rent is four months late now, times run out: game over.
Call the bank for a loan
Start selling your office furniture on Craigslist
Rob a liquor store
You sit alone in your office, flipping through jewels pictured in a game on your phone so they would line up and disappear. Time runs out on this level: game over. You look up at the absence of any client in sight. Maybe they all lined up too well and disappeared like the jewels. The phone vibrates to alert you to a new email from the property management company. Rent is four months late now, times run out: game over.
Call the bank for a loan
Start selling your office furniture on Craigslist
Rob a liquor store
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