It's Halloween and I'm not spazzed out of my mind on sugar. This demands a lifestyle reevaluation, I think.
So anyway, this weekend in the airport I was looking for a new book to read. I picked up one called the Happiness Project. When I read the back, it told me it was about a woman who realized she had “everything” but was still not happy. And so she set out to spend a year working on understanding why that was and how she could change it.
I didn’t buy it—I suspected I’d have the same trouble with it I did with Eat Pray Love, which was that by about page 200 I wanted to throw the book at Elizabeth Gilbert and scream, “STOP THINKING ABOUT YOUR FRIGGIN’ SELF!!! GET A FRIGGIN’ LIFE!!!” That was about the page when she spent a paragraph describing how her new lover described how she was during their first time having sex. In the first place, EWWWW. In the second place, I’m all for self-empowerment and self-discovery, and clearly I don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to the public displays of navel-gazing, but it all does make me really uncomfortable. I often think we have way too much time to think. And to then get so wrapped up in existential stuff that we lose track of all sense of perspective.
Don’t worry, I’m not complaining about having time to think. Being able to sit alone in my comfortable living room and work through existential philosophical thoughts in my blog or my fiction (which who knows, someone may someday get to see) is one of my favorite things. I just worry that having all this luxury of contemplation of the higher plane can have negative consequences—namely, the forgetting of the fact that it is luxury.
According to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, humans are incapable of worrying about things like philosophy until they have their basic requirements for survival met—air, water, food, shelter. If this is true, and I feel it is in at least some ways, then those of us who are around to worry about whether or not we are being our “best selves” or “living our best truths” or whatever else self-help will tell you to fixate on are already very lucky. Take the author of the Happiness Project. She was an employed married mother living above the poverty line. Again, I didn’t read the book, so I won’t use her as an example, but she represents many of the people we interact with everyday. We are fundamentally lucky people.
I thought of this again today at work. I run three art classes a week to work on fine motor skills. Today in one of them I was helping a 12-year-old boy named R. R has very severe quadriplegic cerebral palsy. He can’t talk or control his bladder. He has very low muscle tone—if you support his body weight in upright he can bring his legs forward to walk, but he cannot do anything as simple as sit up independently. His arm movements typically look like flails, even when they are voluntary, which they aren’t, always. He needs someone to do basically everything for him. The extra sad part is, he is aware. He’s very smart—he’s got an intellectually functioning brain in a physically dysfunctional body.
--Side note—I always really wish I could spend some time in the brain of each one of my kids—how do they see the world? What does life seem like to them? Some of them aren’t totally aware, so it’d be interesting to see what they did process—I’d be fascinated to feel what sensory defensiveness feels like. Or if they are “with it,” what kind of emotions do they have? To what extent are they bitter, or happy, or resigned? I mean, heck, I’d like time in ANYONE’s brain, everyone’s so different, but it’s my students who I really wish I had the chance to see. Anyhoo, back to the main point—
So R loves to paint. Thinking of him, I’d organized a craft where we would fingerpaint paper plates and cut construction paper legs to make a Halloween spider (it was really cute, trust me). One of the classroom aides held R’s plate for him so he wouldn’t knock it away, and I held his hand so he could bring it to the paper. My God, you guys. If you could have seen him. He was so focused. The look of intent on his face as he fought to keep his arm from flailing, the determination and patience he had to try to move his hand in the way he wanted to make his marks on his paper—that kind of moment is both uplifting and haunting. How, I wondered as I tried to strike the balance between holding him steady and holding him back, could I—so far up on Maslow’s hierarchy—watch him paint and then walk away and start wondering how I could make myself “happier?”
It’d be nice, wouldn’t it? If gratitude was the sole key to happiness. If all we had to do to be completely fulfilled was to remember what we could have, or not have, if listing all the ways we were blessed automatically made us complete. But it doesn’t work that way. For one thing, it is almost impossible to make that feeling last. When that woman almost hit me by cutting me off in traffic and making me miss a light (grrr commuting), do you think I thought, oh, that’s fine, my hands work well enough for me to drive, I can afford to buy gas, and I’m at peace? Hell no. I thought, and said, cause I talk to myself in the car, GodDAMMIT this is annoying, people SUCK, I want to go home, etc etc. Maybe I’m just a whiner, and I know I have some road rage issues, but I don’t think most of us find it possible to walk around our lives and react to every annoyance with a calm sense of gratitude for what we’re NOT dealing with. For another thing, we are simply programmed to want more. Our brains are capable of complicated thoughts and the drive to go further, to do more, to know more, etc etc, is innate. It’s a fundamental piece of human nature to not just rest on what is but to wonder—and work towards—what could be.
So I guess I feel that books like the Happiness Project are just a natural extension of what human nature can be when we’re fundamentally blessed. I just think that, as the author very well may say, a huge part of “happiness” is remembering those blessings. And despite the individualistic bent of our culture (using this line of thought, one could argue Jersey Shore is a natural extension of human nature, and isn’t THAT a terrifying concept), I don’t think that navel-gazing is equivalent to happiness. I don’t think it’s all about self, in fact, when we focus too much on our own selves, it’s a bad thing. It’s so easy to lose perspective, but it’s so important not to.
Ok, preaching over. Hope your Monday made you happy! Candy helps with that... Lol. Much love.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
Deep Thoughts from Driving
So I’ve been thinking a lot about human nature….
No, seriously. And specifically, about commuting and animal rights.
I swear they’re related.
I spend a lot of time in my car—5 hours alone yesterday, which is where I had time to mentally blog. I drive about 45 minutes each way for my work commute. This is nothing compared to what a lot of people do (I have one friend who drives over an hour each way) but it’s city driving, and I find it very stressful. Put a ton of people in giant metal vehicles in streets not really designed for that kind of volume (and, I swear, outfitted with streetlights preset to all go off at the precisely wrong moment), tell them they have to go somewhere they don’t really want to (aka work) at a very certain time which happens to be the exact same time everyone else needs to go somewhere right next door to them, and it gets ugly. I find that as a rule, when under stress, commuters regress to their lowest possible selves. That car trying to merge simply can’t be allowed in front of you, because it will slow you down, and that is just unbearable. The people on the other side of the intersection can wait and miss their turn because it is much more important that you go on ahead, despite the fact that you can clearly see you won’t make it all the way out of the intersection before the light changes. I had a coworker tell me she followed me home the previous day and I pre-emptively apologized in case I’d done something bitchy, since commuting brings out the worst in me. On the road, when you feel so invulnerable in your big vehicle and where everyone else becomes an impersonal “it” in another car in your way, it’s shockingly easy to be a narcissistic, impatient scrooge.
I worry that, when human beings get challenged, we tend to react with our lower selves. The part of us that is self above all others, and “winning” (no matter how it’s defined—in commuting, as getting through an intersection or to work on time) over kindness.
The story about the Chinese toddler that’s been in the news feeds this worry. I haven’t watched the video (and yes, if you have, I’m judging…why the hell does anyone need to watch a child be fatally injured? What kind of sick voyeurism is that? I don’t even believe it needs to be publically available) but I’ve read about it. The people walking by on the street—the “passer-by’s”—either didn’t notice what was happening or in that second decided something else was more important than stopping to help. Both options have pretty horrible implications—either way, it seems, it’s a case of complete and total self-absorption. And it’s terrifying.
And I see the same thing when I think about how we treat animals. The news story about the wild animals hunted down in Ohio was deeply disturbing. (Maybe I should just stop watching the news…. ) Obviously, innocent people needed to be protected. But let’s be honest here—in the battle of man vs animal, we have decisively won. It’s not even a contest. Sure, your random person/statistic may get stung by a bee or bitten by a shark, but in reaction to the ancient feelings of vulnerability, we have developed weapons that have rendered us completely in control of the animal world. So now it’s become a question of how we use our power. And more often than not we use it thoughtlessly or cruelly.
Think about it. The man who owned the animals released them to their certain death rather than simply leave them in their cages while he took his own life. The majority of people tracking down the animals in Ohio grabbed shotguns instead of tranquilizer guns.
And it is true on a more general level as well. We have achieved mastery over the animal kingdom, and we’re very clearly dictators. The main school of thought is “control” rather than “coexistence.” I mean, it’s fine if there are wild animals in a box in the zoo, or if dangerous creatures live on a refuge in the middle of a country on the other side of the world. But if comes closer to home, our priorities are the priorty, with little concern for animal environments or lives.
Don’t get me wrong. We know how much I love me a good shopping mall that most likely is built in the middle of what used to be an open field with lots of cute cuddlies wandering through it. And I am no where near a vegetarian. I’m not trying to be a hypocrite, and I’m not sitting here saying human endeavors need to take a backseat to animals’. I’m just saying that, while survival of the fittest is just a dandy concept, guess what, we’ve survived. So why can’t we focus on other dandy concepts like, oh, “conscience” or “compassion.” Since we have the upper hand, we ought not to abuse it by being thoughtless or cruel to those creatures we control.
The way we treat the majority of our animals bred for food is appalling. The idea that we test cosmetics on animals is horrendous—let’s keep a monkey in a cage and make sure it doesn’t go blind so that we know our mascara will really make our lashes look voluminous. The sheer number of domestic animals abandoned or abused on a daily basis should make any being with a brain sick to their stomach. And yet, this stuff happens. Partly because we have some pretty big issues that take up more of our allotted national consciousness, true. But also because there are no consequences. Because we are invulnerable, and they are impersonal. Because even if we’re not out there scaling trees to avoid creatures with larger and stronger bodies, we’re still at war—now, having enough land and food for our species is the battle we’re trying to win, and apparently, kindness can be damned.
I know, my heart is bleeding its liberal blood all over the place. So I’ll stop. I just think it’s worth thinking about. I don’t think human nature is inherently evil, and again, there are definitely bigger issues to worry about. But we reveal ourselves most truly when we feel we are in power, and there are places where we just fall short. It never hurts to be kinder than you actually have to be, and it’s never a bad thing to show mercy and compassion to the beings sharing our space, especially when they’re weaker than us.
So let’s end where we began—me!! If you take nothing else from this block take this message—when you see me driving next to you, let me merge into your lane. It’ll make us all much happier ☺
Much love!
No, seriously. And specifically, about commuting and animal rights.
I swear they’re related.
I spend a lot of time in my car—5 hours alone yesterday, which is where I had time to mentally blog. I drive about 45 minutes each way for my work commute. This is nothing compared to what a lot of people do (I have one friend who drives over an hour each way) but it’s city driving, and I find it very stressful. Put a ton of people in giant metal vehicles in streets not really designed for that kind of volume (and, I swear, outfitted with streetlights preset to all go off at the precisely wrong moment), tell them they have to go somewhere they don’t really want to (aka work) at a very certain time which happens to be the exact same time everyone else needs to go somewhere right next door to them, and it gets ugly. I find that as a rule, when under stress, commuters regress to their lowest possible selves. That car trying to merge simply can’t be allowed in front of you, because it will slow you down, and that is just unbearable. The people on the other side of the intersection can wait and miss their turn because it is much more important that you go on ahead, despite the fact that you can clearly see you won’t make it all the way out of the intersection before the light changes. I had a coworker tell me she followed me home the previous day and I pre-emptively apologized in case I’d done something bitchy, since commuting brings out the worst in me. On the road, when you feel so invulnerable in your big vehicle and where everyone else becomes an impersonal “it” in another car in your way, it’s shockingly easy to be a narcissistic, impatient scrooge.
I worry that, when human beings get challenged, we tend to react with our lower selves. The part of us that is self above all others, and “winning” (no matter how it’s defined—in commuting, as getting through an intersection or to work on time) over kindness.
The story about the Chinese toddler that’s been in the news feeds this worry. I haven’t watched the video (and yes, if you have, I’m judging…why the hell does anyone need to watch a child be fatally injured? What kind of sick voyeurism is that? I don’t even believe it needs to be publically available) but I’ve read about it. The people walking by on the street—the “passer-by’s”—either didn’t notice what was happening or in that second decided something else was more important than stopping to help. Both options have pretty horrible implications—either way, it seems, it’s a case of complete and total self-absorption. And it’s terrifying.
And I see the same thing when I think about how we treat animals. The news story about the wild animals hunted down in Ohio was deeply disturbing. (Maybe I should just stop watching the news…. ) Obviously, innocent people needed to be protected. But let’s be honest here—in the battle of man vs animal, we have decisively won. It’s not even a contest. Sure, your random person/statistic may get stung by a bee or bitten by a shark, but in reaction to the ancient feelings of vulnerability, we have developed weapons that have rendered us completely in control of the animal world. So now it’s become a question of how we use our power. And more often than not we use it thoughtlessly or cruelly.
Think about it. The man who owned the animals released them to their certain death rather than simply leave them in their cages while he took his own life. The majority of people tracking down the animals in Ohio grabbed shotguns instead of tranquilizer guns.
And it is true on a more general level as well. We have achieved mastery over the animal kingdom, and we’re very clearly dictators. The main school of thought is “control” rather than “coexistence.” I mean, it’s fine if there are wild animals in a box in the zoo, or if dangerous creatures live on a refuge in the middle of a country on the other side of the world. But if comes closer to home, our priorities are the priorty, with little concern for animal environments or lives.
Don’t get me wrong. We know how much I love me a good shopping mall that most likely is built in the middle of what used to be an open field with lots of cute cuddlies wandering through it. And I am no where near a vegetarian. I’m not trying to be a hypocrite, and I’m not sitting here saying human endeavors need to take a backseat to animals’. I’m just saying that, while survival of the fittest is just a dandy concept, guess what, we’ve survived. So why can’t we focus on other dandy concepts like, oh, “conscience” or “compassion.” Since we have the upper hand, we ought not to abuse it by being thoughtless or cruel to those creatures we control.
The way we treat the majority of our animals bred for food is appalling. The idea that we test cosmetics on animals is horrendous—let’s keep a monkey in a cage and make sure it doesn’t go blind so that we know our mascara will really make our lashes look voluminous. The sheer number of domestic animals abandoned or abused on a daily basis should make any being with a brain sick to their stomach. And yet, this stuff happens. Partly because we have some pretty big issues that take up more of our allotted national consciousness, true. But also because there are no consequences. Because we are invulnerable, and they are impersonal. Because even if we’re not out there scaling trees to avoid creatures with larger and stronger bodies, we’re still at war—now, having enough land and food for our species is the battle we’re trying to win, and apparently, kindness can be damned.
I know, my heart is bleeding its liberal blood all over the place. So I’ll stop. I just think it’s worth thinking about. I don’t think human nature is inherently evil, and again, there are definitely bigger issues to worry about. But we reveal ourselves most truly when we feel we are in power, and there are places where we just fall short. It never hurts to be kinder than you actually have to be, and it’s never a bad thing to show mercy and compassion to the beings sharing our space, especially when they’re weaker than us.
So let’s end where we began—me!! If you take nothing else from this block take this message—when you see me driving next to you, let me merge into your lane. It’ll make us all much happier ☺
Much love!
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Least Complicated: 10-Year-Reunion
This weekend I went to my ten-year high school reunion.
Pause. Holy crap, I am old.
Ok, we’re back. Anyway, so, yes, it was my ten-year reunion. And it was…anticlimactic. In a really good way.
Let me explain. For months I’d been getting encouraging invitations and reminders from the wonderful classmates organizing the party, and one of my best friends, Xenia, had been mentioning it casually to try to get me to say I was going. And for months, I resisted all these invitations.
Why? Not to be high maintenance, but because I was really REALLY scared to go.
I attended the same school from first to twelfth grade, and for much of the latter part of that time period I was miserable. From about sixth grade on (the Awkward Growth Spurt and then the prolonged Recovery Period), I felt like a social leper, so lonely and isolated I could barely stand it. I’ve come to realize this is much more of a universal experience than I could have believed when I was going through it, and there are positives to not having high school be the best time of your life. For one, at least I know I didn’t peak then! And for another, the real friendships that were created and have lasted since high school are very precious to me. Finally, it was one of the best learning experiences I’ve ever had. I would not be who I am today if I didn’t have those memories to grow from.
Still, it was traumatic for a hyper-sensitive person like myself, and ever since I’ve had kind of a Pavlovian response to reminders of high school. Obviously I didn’t hold any real grudges against my classmates—no one was ever “out to get me” and it was certainly not their fault that my nature was so poorly equipped for the whole situation—but whenever I would run into someone who knew me back then, I would be swarmed with all those old feelings of inadequacy. So not pleasant. I went to the five-year-reunion and felt so shy and “lame” that the idea of repeating the experience was not exactly appealing.
But the convincers were…convincing. And as often happens when I get so worried about something, I got mad. At myself. I was being a ninny. I’m in a really good place in life. Sure, there are aspects of where I am that are not what I’d like, but overall, I’m probably the happiest I’ve ever been, and as a result I’m the most confident I’ve ever been as well. So what the heck was my problem? Why was I letting myself be scared of a friggin’ party?
Fine, I thought. I’ll go to the stupid party. Always so gracious, aren’t I? Lol.
So I’ve been getting myself mentally prepared. I’m so in my head all the time that if there’s something I’m struggling with I have my standard arsenal of coping mechanisms. I bought a new top I knew I’d feel good in. I came up with my little mantras of self-worth that I won’t be repeating here, thank you very much. I even made a “reunion playlist” on my Itunes filled with my favorite “you go girl” and “relax your neuroticness for just a second” songs (Indigo Girls feature strongly on these kind of playlists). It was like bootcamp for the ego.
Then the day itself arrived. And I got a little nervous as I started walking in. But then, once we were inside, something weird happened. Nothing. No panic, no waves of “I’m back in high school……waaaaahhhh….” I was totally calm. And I actually really enjoyed myself.
Somehow, the fact that these people were reminders of that bad time of my life didn’t matter at all. They were just people, not triggers. And for the record, they’re awesome people! Friendly and welcoming, all very accomplished and smart and really great to talk to. I’m sure they’ve always been that way and I was just too wrapped up in my personal narrative to notice. And now that I was no longer so trapped, I was able to enjoy the situation for what it was—an opportunity to see how great everyone has turned out.
So here’s my moral—yes, as you know, as a former Religion and Literature geek, I can’t rest until I find the meaning in things, but this one I think is valid. How many of our insecurities are self-created? Yes, there are actual events that I can point to that made me so unhappy back in the day, but the whole Ghost of High School Issues Past that’s been haunting me for years is entirely my own creation, a fact I can realize now that I’ve seen it be so easily vanquished. Obviously not everything can be so nicely solved, but sometimes what we find so defining and confining is actually completely in our control. Now I’m getting kind of self-help-y so I’ll stop, but this weekend reminded me to always be aware of whether my baggage is legitimate or just stuff that is solely the result of my own over-thinki-ness.
PS, thus the title of this post. Indigo Girls classic: “the hardest to learn was the least complicated.”
Anyway, so, yes, I survived my 10-year-reunion. I have to admit no one did anything regrettable. No dancing on the bar or falling off stools. I had one glass of wine too many (read: two glasses of wine—I think I need to drink more—there, two morals in one post!!) which was kind of dumb. When I have two glasses of wine, I tend to be ill-advisedly and completely unintentionally flirty. Xenia tells me I wasn’t bad, but I really hope I didn’t accidentally proposition someone—or embarrass someone! It’s happened before, but never with someone I’ve known since before puberty. Also, my verbal filter completely disappears—it’s never really all that good a filter ANYWAY but still—so if anyone reading this was embarrassed or weirded out, I apologize. But seriously, that was the only poor decision I saw! Apparently interesting things happened at the preparty the night before, but I missed that. Sigh.
Oh well. It was fun and I’m so glad I went ☺. Thanks to the people who organized and to my classmates for being wonderful. I wish you all well, and really liked seeing you. Take care!!!
Much love.
Pause. Holy crap, I am old.
Ok, we’re back. Anyway, so, yes, it was my ten-year reunion. And it was…anticlimactic. In a really good way.
Let me explain. For months I’d been getting encouraging invitations and reminders from the wonderful classmates organizing the party, and one of my best friends, Xenia, had been mentioning it casually to try to get me to say I was going. And for months, I resisted all these invitations.
Why? Not to be high maintenance, but because I was really REALLY scared to go.
I attended the same school from first to twelfth grade, and for much of the latter part of that time period I was miserable. From about sixth grade on (the Awkward Growth Spurt and then the prolonged Recovery Period), I felt like a social leper, so lonely and isolated I could barely stand it. I’ve come to realize this is much more of a universal experience than I could have believed when I was going through it, and there are positives to not having high school be the best time of your life. For one, at least I know I didn’t peak then! And for another, the real friendships that were created and have lasted since high school are very precious to me. Finally, it was one of the best learning experiences I’ve ever had. I would not be who I am today if I didn’t have those memories to grow from.
Still, it was traumatic for a hyper-sensitive person like myself, and ever since I’ve had kind of a Pavlovian response to reminders of high school. Obviously I didn’t hold any real grudges against my classmates—no one was ever “out to get me” and it was certainly not their fault that my nature was so poorly equipped for the whole situation—but whenever I would run into someone who knew me back then, I would be swarmed with all those old feelings of inadequacy. So not pleasant. I went to the five-year-reunion and felt so shy and “lame” that the idea of repeating the experience was not exactly appealing.
But the convincers were…convincing. And as often happens when I get so worried about something, I got mad. At myself. I was being a ninny. I’m in a really good place in life. Sure, there are aspects of where I am that are not what I’d like, but overall, I’m probably the happiest I’ve ever been, and as a result I’m the most confident I’ve ever been as well. So what the heck was my problem? Why was I letting myself be scared of a friggin’ party?
Fine, I thought. I’ll go to the stupid party. Always so gracious, aren’t I? Lol.
So I’ve been getting myself mentally prepared. I’m so in my head all the time that if there’s something I’m struggling with I have my standard arsenal of coping mechanisms. I bought a new top I knew I’d feel good in. I came up with my little mantras of self-worth that I won’t be repeating here, thank you very much. I even made a “reunion playlist” on my Itunes filled with my favorite “you go girl” and “relax your neuroticness for just a second” songs (Indigo Girls feature strongly on these kind of playlists). It was like bootcamp for the ego.
Then the day itself arrived. And I got a little nervous as I started walking in. But then, once we were inside, something weird happened. Nothing. No panic, no waves of “I’m back in high school……waaaaahhhh….” I was totally calm. And I actually really enjoyed myself.
Somehow, the fact that these people were reminders of that bad time of my life didn’t matter at all. They were just people, not triggers. And for the record, they’re awesome people! Friendly and welcoming, all very accomplished and smart and really great to talk to. I’m sure they’ve always been that way and I was just too wrapped up in my personal narrative to notice. And now that I was no longer so trapped, I was able to enjoy the situation for what it was—an opportunity to see how great everyone has turned out.
So here’s my moral—yes, as you know, as a former Religion and Literature geek, I can’t rest until I find the meaning in things, but this one I think is valid. How many of our insecurities are self-created? Yes, there are actual events that I can point to that made me so unhappy back in the day, but the whole Ghost of High School Issues Past that’s been haunting me for years is entirely my own creation, a fact I can realize now that I’ve seen it be so easily vanquished. Obviously not everything can be so nicely solved, but sometimes what we find so defining and confining is actually completely in our control. Now I’m getting kind of self-help-y so I’ll stop, but this weekend reminded me to always be aware of whether my baggage is legitimate or just stuff that is solely the result of my own over-thinki-ness.
PS, thus the title of this post. Indigo Girls classic: “the hardest to learn was the least complicated.”
Anyway, so, yes, I survived my 10-year-reunion. I have to admit no one did anything regrettable. No dancing on the bar or falling off stools. I had one glass of wine too many (read: two glasses of wine—I think I need to drink more—there, two morals in one post!!) which was kind of dumb. When I have two glasses of wine, I tend to be ill-advisedly and completely unintentionally flirty. Xenia tells me I wasn’t bad, but I really hope I didn’t accidentally proposition someone—or embarrass someone! It’s happened before, but never with someone I’ve known since before puberty. Also, my verbal filter completely disappears—it’s never really all that good a filter ANYWAY but still—so if anyone reading this was embarrassed or weirded out, I apologize. But seriously, that was the only poor decision I saw! Apparently interesting things happened at the preparty the night before, but I missed that. Sigh.
Oh well. It was fun and I’m so glad I went ☺. Thanks to the people who organized and to my classmates for being wonderful. I wish you all well, and really liked seeing you. Take care!!!
Much love.
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