What Do We Do Now?

It kind of feels like Dumbledore died all over again, and Voldemort has risen.

Sadness, fear, and uncertainty are pervasive, and one question lingers, “what do we do now?” The answer is we do exactly what Harry, Ron, and Hermione did-we hunt horocruxes.

The Republican version of a horocrux isn’t quite as hard to find as those in the JK Rowling series. The life blood of a red states is hatred, division, and lies (mostly lies told to kind, trusting Americans to convince them to support Voldemort). We destroy these with truth, love, and acceptance. Defeat the bad with good.

The trickier part of the hunt comes when faced with actual threats of racial bias, intimidation against those of different sexual orientations, misogyny, religious persecution, and a populace educated with an overkill of mis-information.

“If you see something, say something” takes on an additional meaning going forward. It requires each of us stand up for marginalized citizens being persecuted. Not getting involved is the equivalent of condoning bad behavior.

Remember that the final horocrux presents the biggest challenge. To eradicate bias in another person requires each of us to acknowledge our own bias. None of us is perfect. Everyone has a valid perspective. We can learn a lot from others, especially when their words are not the ones we want to hear.

Take a walk in the other person’s shoes. Send your love before you. Be respectful of all.

Give Some to Get Some

Most days I have better conversations with my 8 year old nephew than I do with other adults. Kids are pretty easy, though. Give them a little attention and you’ve secured a captive audience. The same rules don’t always apply with adults.

Some people never give up chasing flashy things, and not being an expert in attention grabbing, I tend to end up too easily overlooked. But, if I take a stab at self promotion, I feel like an imposter.

How can you be memorable without being famous?

I had been pondering this dilemma when I ran into an old childhood friend. I had not seen much of him as an adult, but we stayed in touch on social media and began to communicate regularly over email. 

As one conversation led to the next, I teased him for being so chatty, but in truth, is he is friendly. With very little effort he demonstrated the secret for how to be memorable, in a not-at-all-flashy-or-self-promoting way. He acknowledges people rather than waiting for them to notice him.

He is simply interested, and that makes him interesting. 

Lesson learned. Just like with kids, when talking to adults, all you have to do is give some to get some.

Scratch Below the Surface

The other day, my nephew was playing with his Lego figurines. His brow furrowed in concentration as he swapped heads and legs, helmuts and hair. The activity mirrored my niece swapping outfits and shoes on her dolls. Same game, different toys.

It occurred to me that adults focus so much energy highlighting the differences among us. Perhaps, if each of us looked more closely, we might notice more of the ways we are alike.

We all have opposable thumbs and pump red and white cells in our blood. We all cry the same salty tears. Too many tears, lately.

The next time hate, anger, doubt, or fear focuses the attention on what separates us, pause and take a breath. Then, try to note some of the ways we are alike.

Different hair color, eye color, skin color: same fears and insecurities. Different religion, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status: same hopes and dreams.

Scratch below the surface, and recognize we are all human.

Something is Missing

Last night I woke at 2:30am convinced that I’d forgotten something at the dry cleaner. What was it? And where was the little green paper slip I would need to pick it up?

In the dark, I scrawled a note to myself planning to deal with it in the morning, but I was unable to get back to sleep. After turning on the light, I stumbled to the closet, and started pushing through all my hanging clothes. Nothing was missing.

By morning, the incident was like a metaphor. It felt like a whisper from the past, reaching out to remind me of something I once had that was now missing.

Do I continue to search for it? Or embrace the loss knowing that having less makes room for more in the future.

Stumbling Toward Enlightenment

I attending a wedding a few weeks ago, and ended up cloistered at a table with other singles: all divorced or widowed, and at least 25 years older than me. I was able to make polite conversation, but often glanced around at the other tables full of my contemporaries. They were all coupled up.

My friend, the groom was beaming. After searching for a wife (including two engagements that never made it to the altar), he finally achieved his goal by getting married at age 44.

The newlyweds union was born from online dating. They seemed like a really good match. Not the same, and not without flaws, but two hearts that compliment each other well.

As the band played and I watched all the couples dance, I reflected on my own uncoupled conundrum.

My fatal flaw is obvious-I’m a sucker for a pretty face. Anytime a cute guy smiles at me, I let him sell me the Brooklyn Bridge, and I pay top dollar, too.  It doesn’t matter how many times this illusion has been proven completely, and utterly false, I dismiss my own history and believe THIS one is different.

On the drive back to the airport, I stopped to fuel up both the car and myself. The cashier tried to help me select something to eat, but I was distracted by the black, blue, and purple balloon where her left eye should have been. The fist that broke her face had struck not too many hours beforehand, but here she was hard at work. It looked painful, but she did not complain, a true physical abuse veteran.

I drove off wondering why anyone would stay with a man who speaks with his fists, but I quickly dropped my judgement. Who am I to point a finger? The emotional abuse I’ve suffered at the whim of narcissist companions doesn’t show outwardly, but it does leave a mark. Yet, I walked away only half of the time, and only after a long debate with myself. The other half of the time, I was left behind with my heart ripped to shreds.

Why do we tell ourselves we are not worthy?

I’d argue that I do believe in myself, but my reality tells a very different story. I want to blame the guy. I need to believe he doesn’t understand me, or he just wasn’t the right one, but the truth is I lack a clear understanding of my value in this world.

Since Ann Landers says I can’t accept my dog’s admiration of me as conclusive evidence that I’m wonderful, I’d better set my sights on looking within.

“He who knows others is wise, he who knows himself is enlightened.” -Lao Tzu

Mother’s Day Perspective

It’s Mother’s Day, but Hallmark doesn’t make a card for the children who don’t have June Cleaver for a mother. I am one of them.

I remember growing up both confused and awed by the close relationship some of my friends held with their moms. At the time, I couldn’t appreciate how my mom endured sickness, injury, tantrums, and the selfish, ungrateful energy from her four children. She packed picnics, wiped snot, threw parties, swabbed skinned knees, offered encouragement, and restricted empty calories often without a thank you from anyone. I took without giving back. I pushed, tested, and undermined, as my mom struggled.

It’s never too late to say thank you. My mother was far from perfect, but she gave me a gift of immeasurable value. She shared with me a blueprint of life’s pitfalls:

Do not let alcohol take over your life.

Do not use others as an excuse.

Do not say one thing and do another.

Do not double down and dig in when you know you are in the wrong.

Do not focus on the negative.

I spent my early years being afraid of my alcoholic mother while simultaneously mirroring her. Like a crystal ball, her mistakes showed me my future life.  Eventually, I paid attention and quit drinking. I learned to take responsibility, tell the truth, and apologize sincerely. Most importantly, I learned to be grateful. I learned to focus on the good, and find the silver lining during hard times.

Now I practice how to embrace love rather than be swallowed by fear.

As an adult, I witness children challenging their parents, and I understand how my mother’s insecurities plagued her, how her children and husband undermined her, and how her negative mindset fed the depression that pushed her further into darkness, away from the perfect person she so longed to be.

My mother died seven years ago, and I am grateful that in death she found peace.

Find the Fun

Sometime in the past year, I crossed an invisible line.

I left behind the carefree days of weddings and babies and entered a world of complaints and burdens. I kind of figured that stuff was still a long way off. My 50th birthday is still far enough in the distance that I can’t quite wrap my head around its implications yet, but chronological age aside, I learned today that a long time friend has a wife, 2 young girls, and an expiration date.

My friends are getting sick and they are dying. Instead of talking about our great adventures and big dreams, we discuss surgeries and plans for a financially secure future. Are the best years behind us already? How can I face the second half of my life watching things fall apart around me?

One of my goals for 2016 is to “find the fun”. I want to stop worrying about filling out tax forms and whether I have the right car insurance, and who I’m going to find to replace the leaking window. I want to figure out how to make the most of every moment. I want to laugh more.

A tweet I read earlier today described a man arrested repeatedly for breaking and entering. He had been found mentally incompetent because each time he broke into the house, the only thing he stole was the family cat. I laughed until, I cried. I  used to laugh like that all the time. I want to laugh like that again, everyday. I want to find the fun, but sometime in the past year it went into hiding (probably should have taken that cat with it!)

Have you seen or experienced “the fun” recently? Would you recognize it? Could you describe it and possibly point me in the right direction???

The Twitter Thing

Too Late?

I’m often a latecomer. I took my junior year abroad during senior year. I backpacked in Europe a few weeks after my 31st birthday, and I just signed up for Twitter last month. After launching in 2006 and a celebrating a successful IPO in 2013, Twitter has reportedly reached its peak and is now on the kind of slide that in Chutes and Ladders means better luck next time. Gee, my timing is off, but I’m onboard now and enjoying the benefits.

In the early years, many people attempted to explain Twitter to me, but it just sounded unnecessary. Facebook already stole my heart with daily updates on family and friends. What could Twitter do for me? I understood the benefit for a business promoting itself, but for the over 40 crowd being pulled in multiple directions (demanding kids, aging parents, stressful job), it was just another time suck.

I see now that my attitude reflected the “I’ve never tried it, but I know I won’t like it” paradox often applied to vegetables.

How I Use Twitter

Most people have multiple email addresses, right? Because at some point you figured out that you wanted a private email account to send and receive messages among friends/family, and a separate email to receive order confirmations, bank statements, sign up for promotions, and receive renewal notices. Well, think of Facebook and Twitter like your two email accounts. Facebook handles all the personal traffic, and Twitter handles the commercial payload. Having both social media accounts makes each one work better. Twitter allows you to remove from your Facebook newsfeed all those pages you liked, and things you “follow” that cause you to miss the photos of your nephew’s 5th birthday party. Move it all over to your new account on Twitter, and stay on top of pop culture when the mood strikes you. From your favorite Hollywood stars, musicians, senators, foods, lifestyle guru, sports teams and athletes, to news media, Twitter provides more up to date and diverse information than any other single source.

So, if you have a Twitter account and don’t use it, or like me, you never gave it a shot, try reframing your perspective. Think about the fact that Twitter doesn’t have to be about what you give. It can be all about what you get back.

Smoking Gun

Until the 1990’s in America, smoking was an accepted social vice. My grandparents smoked. My parents smoked. Their friends smoked. My siblings and most of my friends smoked. Despite the habit being smelly, unattractive, and unhealthy, no amount of federally mandated warning labels discouraged people from lighting up.

Change came suddenly in the form of a social movement ignited by the media’s unveiling of ways tobacco companies lured in and poisoned the population for their own financial gain. As Americans, we might fight for the right to poison ourselves, but conspiring to make us look the fool? Turning us into patsies for profit? That blow to the ego demands retribution. Like a tidal wave, the momentum of popular opinion crashed effortlessly through previously insurmountable obstacles.

Almost overnight smoking was out. The backlash was so complete that venues in all 50 states banned smoking. Anyone unable to overcome the addiction has been ushered to a “designated smoking area” as the rest of us walk by and shake our heads. There is a big difference between being told what to do (government regulation) and finding out someone has been secretly screwing you over for years. Both scenarios invoke a “put up your dukes” mentality. We won’t stand for it, and true gun reform in America will need to come to light in the same way.

I don’t consider the right “to bear arms” in the constitution as intended for individual ownership. It is manipulative marketing, not unlike Joe Cool of Camel cigarettes convincing people to smoke. At the time the constitution was written, guns were kept in local armories and used only against large scale enemy attacks. Individuals riddling fellow citizens with bullets was unheard of and would certainly confound our forefathers. The article by Jill Lepore appearing in the New Yorker on April 19, 2012 entitled, “The Birth of the Modern Gun Debate” explained how the NRA evolved from a group of hunting and sport enthusiasts to the behemoth political lobbying effort that insists members would rather die than give up their guns.

Still, nations such as Britain and Australia have overcome their dependence on personal firearms. I have faith that America can, too. No one wants the government to infringe upon their freedom. The threat of legislation to control arms is a gift to the pro-gun lobby. With the media as their accomplice, gun enthusiasts push the button on the primordial fear response to bolster gun sales. But what if the issue of gun rights was reframed? What if it turns out the NRA is perpetuating a conspiracy? What if their real motivation is to encourage undesirable in the population to kill themselves off with all those guns? Far fetched, perhaps, but surely there is a conceivable angle to turn gun ownership into a stigma. Ideas once in fashion eventually fall away like the ash from a burning cigarette. We just need a perspective shift on guns.

 

Another Reason Not to Fly

This is a real complaint I recently filed with the TSA:

Dear TSA,
On October 20, I was departing MCO (Orlando) with my 85 year old father. We arrived at the security line at 10:25am in plenty of time for our 11:42am Jet Blue departure.
I had purchased expedited security (even more speed) through Jet Blue so that my elderly father did not have to wait in the long lines that I knew would face us. My sister was with us, but she had a different flight to a different city and entered the regular security line.
Here are my complaints:
1) The expedited security line was interminably long. My sister cleared regular security before we cleared our “expedited” line. This is alone is unacceptable. If we had purchased a product that didn’t function properly, the company would give us our money back, but since Jet Blue took our money, and TSA didn’t perform properly, we have no recourse.
2) My father suffers from cancer and has an implanted port device, but takes pride in the fact that he is able to stand on his own two feet and therefore refuses a wheelchair. Due to his advanced age, he is sometimes ushered through the metal detector and given a brief pat down at security. The times he is sent through the scanner machine, he ends up with yellow boxes showing all over him. I’m not sure if the machine picks up on his radiation treatments, or if it reacts to his inability to stand still in the machine (he shakes due to overall weakness). When we finally arrived at the screening machines, I requested that my father be put through the metal detector and given a pat down (citing his medical issues and our past experiences). I was refused (as I watched a teenager and his 40-something father use the metal detector and NOT have a pat down). The TSA agent was calm and polite, but unwaivering as he forced my father to attempt to stand still in the scanner with his arms raised. Of course, the yellow boxes appeared all over him. They checked all his pockets (which I had already carefully cleared), and they MADE HIM DO IT AGAIN. Once in the scanner was bad enough, but TWICE? After standing in line for 45 minutes, suffering the scanner twice, and enduring an extensive pat down, he needed a wheelchair! When we arrived at our gate, the flight was already boarding.
     I ended up in tears after the terrible experience because I felt like my poor father had suffered unnecessary abuse. On the plane, I searched the internet and found that other elderly travelers has suffered far worse. I understand that everyone needs to be screened, but I would encourage DHS to invest in ways that the elderly can suffer less during the process. The ability to keep on their shoes is helpful, but it is not enough, and please don’t think that offering to screen the elderly 2X is a benefit. That merely extends the torture AND holds up the line.
Thank you for your time. We will drive on our next trip.
In response, I received a brief apology stating that the TSA officers at MCO “may have mishandled the situation.
Anyone else have a fun TSA story?