The Fear Factor

Our big boy kitty Flow knows his home very well, it's sounds and smells and shapes.  He is comfortable and at ease here.  The only times he is afraid is when there is something new, something different.

We humans, too, are programmed by Nature to be afraid of what is new; it's a natural instinct.  Think about our lives in this modern age.  How many new brands and their advertising, new ideas, new people, new information we are subjected to every moment of our days.  How many different situations and people we are told to pay attention to and be afraid of.  Our leaders change regularly.  We change jobs and where we live.  Our technology is constantly updated, whether we want it to be or not, so we have to adjust to new keystrokes, new icons, new apps.

We are assaulted by change at every turn.  Change in itself it not bad nor dangerous, except there is that instinct in us, not always recognized, to be afraid.  And so, in the face of our changing, shifting world, we become defensive or even offensive, turn to tribalism, or bury ourselves in avoidance behaviors: video games, drugs, celebrity worship, binge watching TV, social media, overeating.

This explains a lot. 

What I've Learned During Lockdown

I'm not particularly a jazz fan nor a baseball fan, but because someone lent me Ken Burns' magnificent documentary series on both those subjects and because there is All This Time, I have - well, not so much learned as been reminded that any story on any subject can be made interesting by how it's told.  I have been fascinated by every moment of those series, and have learned a great deal about both those subjects.

I've learned that it is just as important, albeit somewhat stickier, to clear out one's no-longer-friends as it is to clear out one's closet.

I've learned, or am learning, to chew more slowly and savor my food more.  Sweet Hubby suggested that a few weeks ago, so now one of us reminds the other at every meal.  And what a difference.  I wasn't aware how quickly and thoughtlessly I wolfed down food, always having the next bite on my fork while I barely chewed the one in my mouth, until I began to become conscious as I ate, to be present, to truly taste what I was eating.  It's going to be a while before this new habit overtakes the old, but in a way, it's almost like a spiritual practice, making mealtime more significant, calmer, more enjoyable.

I've learned that I love to have a puff, put on music, and dance my ass off.  I wish I'd known this a long time ago.  It's like the perfect antidote to almost all demonic problems.

Thanks to Zoom, I now know what I look like when I talk.  It's really tough not to be shatteringly self-conscious.  It helps to remember that everyone who knows me is already used to this face, as I am to theirs, and so far no one has turned away in disgust, so I do my best to put my attention on listening to whomever I'm talking with instead of going down the dark internal tunnel of "Oh my god, when did I get jowls?  Why didn't I inherit my mother's generous lips?  My eyes are so tiny!  If I suck in my neck, I can't talk but one of my chins disappears, sort of."

The biggest eye opener, though, is that I've had a chance to see what life is probably going to be like for me and Sweet Hubby when we get older.  At some point, we are no doubt going to want to - or have to - live more quietly, stay home more, ease into a more elderly pace.  Sort of like we've been living the past few months during the COVID lockdown.  And I've discovered that I rather like this pace.  I like kicking around the house, doing a few chores, reading, taking walks or working out to a tape, writing when I feel like it, snugging in with Sweet Hubby and kitty Flow at the end of the day to watch a movie.  I'm not ready to slow down quite yet; there's still travel I want to do, friends and family to visit, and, once it's safe, I very much want to start going to theater again, and out to eat, and have friendly gatherings.  But I know now that the quieter life of the elderly which probably awaits us is going to be pleasant, and better than pleasant, and that I don't have to be afraid of the future.  I know we might get sideswiped by disease or losses or various infirmities.  I don't really know what's coming.  But still, I am liking life right now, even including its imposed limitations, and if this is what's in store, that's okay by me.

Chauvin

What was he thinking, Derek Chauvin, as he knelt with his knee on George Floyd's neck?  What had happened to him that he was capable of this abuse of power?  Didn't he know that the moment would be filmed and posted and watched?  The horrifying moment lasted too long for adrenaline to take the blame.  There was time for thought.  Floyd was unarmed, handcuffed, prone.  What was happening in Chauvin's mind?

Did he not remember all those other instances of white police killing unarmed black men and the ensuing riots?  Was he sorry he killed Floyd or did he think the punishment was righteous?  Did he foresee his career going down the drain along with his reputation or did he somehow imagine himself a hero?  What kind of man was he out of uniform?  Did he hate black people?  Was he strung out on lack of sleep?  How much did relentless tension over this pandemic contribute to his stunning lack of restraint and forethought?

I don't presume that he actually intended to kill - no, murder Floyd.  So I am also intensely curious about what the moment was like for him when he realized he had.

And what of the other cops with him?  What was in their minds as they watched?  "Good for him."  "Shit, I'm glad I'm not the one doing that."  "What the fuck, man?"  One of them has been quoted as saying of Floyd "He's talking, so he's breathing."  Did none of them realize how momentous this one incident was going to be?  As they hear news of the rioting in cities all over the world, do they feel at all responsible for lighting the match that caused the explosion?

The pandemic lockdown and subsequent financial depression have acted as a pressure cooker for several months now and one could say that some sort of explosion was inevitable.  But the pressure began long before the virus.  At least half of this country and much of the rest of the world has been traumatized, divided, enraged, disgusted, aghast, and horrified by the loathsome corruption and ignorance of the Trump administration.  And in the background of all of that, there lives the constant racial inequality that has characterized the US since before the writing of the Constitution, which codified rather than eliminated that racism.

Other countries are dealing with similar divisions, suppression of freedoms, autocracies, alarming financial declines.  Perhaps the current violence is necessary.  I do not applaud it.  I will not take part in it.  But I understand that at some point, there has to be a rising up of the people to say "Enough".  Not all of us are protesting the same people or ideas, but we are a country in which there is subterranean protest going on inside every person's heart and soul.  I feel it in myself.  I hear it in every conversation that touches on politics, which, until the virus captured our attention and made us its captives, meant every conversation.  I myself live and have been living in a constant state of outrage.  It is exhausting, especially the relentless question of what can I do, what should or could I be doing, to help right the terrible wrongs being committed by my so-called leaders.  Perhaps I shouldn't be too hasty in assuming I wouldn't take part in a violent riot.  I didn't think I had it in me until Trump took office.  Now I'm not so certain.

One side note: It is interesting that this policeman's name is Chauvin.  Not meaningful, but interesting.

More this and that

Despite my fantasies of becoming an Internet sensation, I don't really expect anyone to read my blog, for the same reason I'm not reading theirs.  Life is short.  We have to be careful how we use it.  We have to choose.  (PS If you're reading this, thanks!)

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During this time of quarantine, I'm afraid that a lot of people - people with guns - are going to get very angry over the lockdown and take it out of the rest of us by making a mess of everything.  I'm much more scared of that than of the virus.

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I can imagine the first White House security briefing at the beginning of Trump's presidency, the horror, dread, and disbelief that must have come over his security council as they came to realize that the new President knows nothing whatsoever about diplomacy, statesmanship, international affairs, treaties, history, the Constitution, and that he has not the slightest intention to learn.

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I wonder if Ivanka ever says to Trump, "Dad, sometimes you make it really hard to be your daughter."  Surely she must recognize that this man is a buffoon.  Or did she drink the Kool-Aid a long time ago?

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It's hard not to feel bad for Kool-Aid that their brand name is now forever linked with Jonestown. Even those who don't remember where the phrase "drank the Kool-Aid" started know that it means signing on to a foolish, dangerous venture, sect, plan, cult, etc.

The fragility of the brittle

Last night I had a thought that wasn't very original, but it took me to some places I wasn't expecting.  The thought, or observation, was that we are most fragile in those places where we've already been hurt.

I don't think that's because of the scarring, both physical and emotional, but because we harden ourselves to future hurts, and that hardening makes us stiffer, more brittle.  When we are assailed again, instead of bruising, we are more likely to shatter.

It takes an awful lot of courage to be able to stay flexible and soft, open, in the face of life's many inevitable hurts.  But that softness means that we don't have as far to go to heal when those hurts arrive.

If only someone with a big microphone and a big audience had said something like that after 9/11.  If only we had all been guided toward healing instead of toward hatred.  This would be a different country, and it would be a different world.  That day made all of us in the U.S. terribly afraid, the violence of it, the horrid mess it made.  We were traumatized, no doubt, and look at what we've become since then, how divided, how insecure, how hard and brittle, how afraid.

We should remember that when we drop bombs ourselves.  Those we drop them on are terrorized, as we were, and they will harden themselves, as we have, becoming angrier and more righteous, as we are.

What on earth do we think is going to happen, with all this growing anger and righteousness?  I don't mean just we in this country, I'm talking about the world.  There seems to be more fighting and more and more, more blaming, more closed doors and walls, more accusations and threats.  Do today's global leaders actually want a war, so that they can strut around and feel like big men?  What do they - and we - think is going to happen if we don't all learn to work with each other?

Gratitude and apology

This post is dedicated to 2 women, girls actually, who made a difference in my life in different ways.  Robin Clark, to whom I owe a thank you.  And Pam Huang, to whom I owe a deep and embarrassingly overdue apology.

I was playing all girl volleyball one day after school, 7th grade.  The ball came close to the line on one play and members of the two teams began to debate somewhat hotly about whether it was in or out.  Robin Clark said "Let's ask Barbara.  She's always honest."

I didn't know Robin well.  We were in some classes together, but didn't socialize.  I'm not sure how she got the impression I was an honest person.  I had only lived in this town for about a year, so we had very little history.  But when she said that, I suddenly had a new sense of what it is to have a reputation; I understood that people are always forming and reforming impressions of one another, and that those impressions carry some weight.  I was a little anxious about being called on to decide the play, because it had looked to me as though the ball had been inside the line, which would benefit my team.  I can still remember that it flashed through my mind that I ought to call it for the other team, just so that no one could accuse me of being prejudiced for my side.  But that would have been faux honesty, exactly the opposite of what Robin thought of me.  So I called the ball as I had truly seen it, and the game went on.

I credit that moment and Robin for inspiring me to shape myself as an ethical person.  My parents had always modeled honesty and uprightness, but there is something about hearing someone my own age speak of ethics that brought home to me the fact that honesty is not some grown up trait that I was supposed to grow into.  It's here and now and always.  I began to see that every moment is an opportunity to choose how to act, and all those moments make up a life.  I wish I could tell Robin how much her statement meant to me at the time and that I have carried it with me since.

Pam Huang was one of my best friends in sixth and seventh grades.  We had sleepovers and played games and got along without a hitch - until the summer she and I and our friend Kim went to camp together.  Kim and I had a crush on one of the counselors, and kept ditching Pam so that we could go off and talk about him and our newfound, adultish feelings.  I know it was terribly hurtful to Pam to be excluded after how close we had been.  Even at the time, I knew I was being cruel.  But I was too full of myself and my blossoming adolescence to care.  I changed and didn't take Pam with me.

I have very few regrets in my life, but this is one of the big ones.  Pam, I wish I could tell you how sorry I am to have hurt you so carelessly when you thought you were safe in our friendship.  I hope you have forgotten me and that summer and that hurt.  I certainly haven't.

Looking at these two incidents together, I can see that I have in me both a very ethical side and one that can be thoughtless and self-absorbed.  This is still true, and probably true for every one of us.  I wish I could remember that when I'm busy judging someone for how they're behaving, remember that they, too, have in them all possibility for both good and wicked.

Letting It Come Naturally

I have really become a fan of the "let it come to me" school of writing.  I was quite recently stuck on the last several scenes of my new Santa play.  The last scenes of any play are so important, and I knew what I'd written was weak and flabby, but didn't see how to fix any of it.
Instead of wrestling with the scenes, I decided instead to just go about my life.  I baked cookies, took walks, Zoomed with friends, watched Ken Burns' remarkable series about jazz, did the laundry, etc.  I didn't give writing a thought.  At least, not a conscious thought.  But the play must have been in there brewing, because last night, as I was dancing my ass off, of course, I suddenly saw it, the answer to the question of what sorts of beings Mr. and Mrs. Santa are.  That cleared the way for me to start working on the play again.
Of course, I'm not going to tell what my discovery was.  But it's really good.  I would go into my office to make notes, then, as I would go back to dancing, I was actually clapping my hands with joy.  I'm always just a little bit blue when I'm working on a play that isn't flowing smoothly, and always just a little bit golden when I see what I need to see to keep writing.