Old Enough

How am I only now hearing this song for the first time? I plucked it off a friend’s Facebook page. A friend who is currently in “jail,” she told me, for what seems to be a ridiculous reason. I won’t even go into it because it’s too stupid and she didn’t deserve it. Part of the song includes a refrain from another song, Wake Up Little Susie.

A tune going through my head right now: “Wake up, little story, wake up.” You’d think, after all this time, I’d have a better handle on “my story.” What if there’s no such thing, though. My story might just be a social construct someone else created to make me feel inadequate. (Ha, just kidding. Or am I?) Surely I don’t just have one story. (Stop calling me Shirley, an old friend just said, in my head.) You see, our stories are always connected to other people. My friend in Facebook jail. My old friend who made lame but still funny “Shirley” jokes. What would Karen say? (Kidding, again.) I do have a friend named Karen and we’ve never once discussed that Karen, the one who has ruined things for all the Karens. (Just google news articles about Karen, you'll see.)

I’m trusting this elusive story will eventually reveal itself. Maybe if I sit here typing for long enough, coaxing it out of its hiding place, it’ll... what, steal the show? Dance out onto the stage? Throw a tantrum? Who knows. I just wanted to post something in this blog today, that’s all. No, it’s more than that. More than a blog entry.

An older post (maybe a few of them) in the archive has recently come to my attention. I’d like to explore why these ideas are coming back to me now, in a pandemic, in a time of riotous and catastrophic events. I’ve written about James Hillman before: here (2006), here (2007), and here (2008).

I spoke to him once. To Hillman. In December 2009, I was part of an audience listening to him speak. When we were given the opportunity to ask him questions at the end, mine was concerning the meaning behind something he had written in one of his books. If you click on the link to the 2007 blog post, above, you will see the troubling words I wanted to hear him explain. When I asked my question, however, he seemed defensive and said something to the effect: I meant what I said and said what I meant. In other words, it was my fault I hadn’t grasped the meaning of what he was trying to say. Later, I found out that book in particular was one he found hard to talk about.

I recently came across this article, written in 2006. Here is where I need to get more clear on what to say. It relates to something I wrote in my other blog, Three Chairs. Need to start a new post, one that isn’t so full of links.

The Ones Who Walk Away

Have you ever read the short story by Ursula K. Le Guin, The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas? It further illustrates the message I was alluding to in yesterday’s post. If you haven’t read it (or if you would like to read it again, as I did), click on the linked title above. It’s a fairly quick read and yet opens a world of thought about demagogues and other beasts.

I tried my hand at writing a follow-up short-short story. Thanks for indulging me. Comments welcome, as always.

What happens to the ones who walk away? Suppose they find each other and start a new community, Salemo. These new citizens scheme and plan how to repair, to make right the city they abandoned. Omelas, the one whose citizens had, for generations, tacitly agreed to torture a single child at all times. Rumor has it that some of the many children who are chosen for the foul basement closet eventually get transferred out. To a special home or institution, a place where the deranged imbeciles can retire when they outgrow childhood. Here they are kept alive somehow, maybe on intravenous drips. Perhaps attendants periodically flip them over in their beds, a feeble attempt to stem infection from the inevitable sores. Further stories suggest the chosen child is typically left to die with no human intervention at all. After the amount of time it would take for the child to starve itself to death, a few obedient citizens of Omelas would come in and dispose of the ruined body. They would then ready the room for the next occupant. The Salemoans had actually completed successful kidnappings of the trapped child. But another unfortunate boy or girl was always in the wings. A replacement offering to the city of conditional joy. So, whether by fatal neglect or compassionate ‘rescue,’ the tragic child situation is handled. The terrible room is routinely emptied then quickly filled. A perennial maintenance plan to keep the vibrant city alive. The ones who walk away can never forget what they left behind. The guilt they were never allowed in Omelas hits them full-on in Salemo. 

Sharing the Joy and Sorrow of Others

"If you enjoyed this podcast episode, feel free to share it with others, write a review...."


Well, okay. I will. I did enjoy it and will post a link and a brief review.


I came across this episode earlier in the week when I was looking for a secular meditation to help me calm the fuck down.


It did just that, even though it wasn't really a meditation. More a teaching. A lesson. I'm going through a tough time, a really difficult situation, and needed to step back from it.


Unconditional Joy


(Click on the link above to listen. The episode is a little over 30 minutes long.)


You can also read along as there is a transcript at the link, too.


Although the podcast episode was a great thing to listen to while taking a walk, I thought about it again today when I heard someone expressing dismay over her mother's fervent wish that she, the daughter, would regularly attend church. That one lifestyle change, going to church, would apparently make the mother happy; it would bring her joy. The daughter doesn't quite see it that way, though. If she chose to go to church just to make her mother happy but her heart wasn't really in it, what kind of happiness would the mother experience?


So, that conversation sent me back to the podcast episode again. Which is when I discovered the transcript. A few sentences are relevant here.


This one:



"I don’t approve of what you’re rejoicing about."

And:



"Why do I not find joy in that?"

Then:



"What conditions have I placed on joy, that prevent me from experiencing such a natural emotion?"


I am compelled now to say I don't find much joy in anything anymore. Nope, not looking for sympathy or pity. It's just a fact. And it's complicated, of course.


At the risk of simplifying the contents of the episode, I will say I do not believe it can be easily summarized. Please listen to the whole thing. Experience it, and comment here if you are so inclined.


In conclusion, and only because I don't have energy to say more, the podcaster urges listeners to be honest with ourselves and notice how we are actually feeling about someone else's joy or sorrow. Perhaps ambivalent?



"Why don’t I feel that? I wonder why? What did it take for this moment to arise? What kind of mental conditioning is preventing me from feeling that sorrow [or joy] that you’re feeling, for what you’re going through."

Thank you for reading. I haven't posted in awhile.

Hello! Long time no see, right? I haven’t blogged here in ages but wanted to write out some “thoughts about life and other mysteries” and remembered an old post, Heroism. So, to start, I will share a paragraph from that:

Returning to Hirsch (2002, The Intermediary chap.), he makes a distinction between duende and what has come to be known as demonic. At the same time, though, he notes they might be unconsciously related. As an example, he points to Martin Luther and the struggle he had with the “theological demon of doubt,” which resulted in him throwing an inkwell at the devil. I use the example of Luther to note the important difference in duende and the demonic. Hirsch states that duende “bypasses the negative Judeo-Christian implications of demon” and that it “side-steps the moral terminology of foul possession.” I also use this example to point out something else common to heroes, their fallibility. Martin Luther’s heroism notwithstanding, his anti-Semitism created many problems. (The history of Martin Luther is beyond the scope of this paper, but a Google search using key words mentioned here will yield good information about it.)

Just to give you a brief recap of the nature of that post, here is a snip from the abstract: “The purpose is to show how heroism emerges in everyday life, and how it is significant in the life of an ordinary person. It covers a variety of aspects of heroism, in particular the heroes who have crossed my path, how their heroism has manifested, how heroism manifests in ordinary people, and some components that are present in a heroic life.” (Why an abstract? Because this is a paper I turned in for a class.)

I had shared the paper with a friend and he ended up pointing me to this article, The Luther Legend. The article is long and somewhat tedious but I made it through. Not sure what to think of it, actually, but it seemed significant enough to put out there into the blogosphere. Maybe I will return to it later.

My beliefs have changed so much over the past decade or so. As a secular-minded person, I don’t subscribe to belief in a God or gods. But all this religious history is significant, regardless.

That’s all for now. Thanks, as always, for reading.

National Poetry Month

I came back to this long neglected blog, searching for poetry I can share with some friends at a writers' meeting on Saturday, which is also day one of National Poetry Month.

Perhaps I will start blogging here again. Has been interesting reading through the archived posts, remembering past events and circumstances. Life was strange then, even stranger now.

please visit my new blog

three chairs

Vitameatavegamin

So, a perky woman sold me some vitamins yesterday. I opened my first packet a few minutes ago, swallowed the contents (six pills), and I'm sitting here waiting for them to kick in. I tricked myself into swallowing them two at a time by doing what the saleswoman suggested, which is to put two on your tongue, making sure one of them is slippery, then swallowing them together. I did that, and it worked. Just like a cool hat trick a magician might pull.

Swallowing large pills, bitter or otherwise, is difficult and unpleasant for me and this is one of the reasons I have never really developed the habit of taking vitamins regularly. The typical vitamin is huge. And I typically choke on them. Seriously, I have memories of painful episodes where I ended up throwing away some damn pill that had been in my mouth too long, melting into my tongue. One unsuccessful attempt after another, trying to force the foul-tasting thing down.

Another reason I have avoided vitamins is that I've long been of the opinion that food and drink ought to provide all the nutrients we need. And that may well be true, especially if one is careful to plan nutritious and healthy meals. But now that I'm taking vitamins, and I do plan to continue (I think), maybe I can slack a little on nutrition. After all, with each little packet I open, I'm getting all those vitamins and other nutrients!

I can eat anything I want now. Bring on the Twinkies, the cheeseburgers and greasy fries. Give me an extra helping of ice cream, too, because it's all I'm having for dinner tonight and that big bowl I intend to down is not going to hold me for very long.

Yikes. I hope you know I am kidding. But really, the tempting thought of how easy it would be now to really slack as far as nutrition goes, using the excuse that I'm all charged up on super-vitamins, is entertaining.

The real reason, however, that I am now taking vitamins is twofold. One, I am seeking my daughter's approval. She's been bugging me about this for a long time now. Two, I have reached the half-century mark in age and realize my body is in decline.

As I stood there in the health and nutrition store, listening to (and especially watching) the saleswoman rave about how great those pills make her feel, I could almost feel myself perking up, even though I had yet to down a single pill. Just think, I could come to feel as good as she seems to feel. And wouldn't that be great. I'd get so much more done, would stop feeling so lethargic and depressed, my crankiness would be all but gone.

I might not even recognize myself! Hey, maybe I'll become a whole new person with this sudden burst of new energy. We'll see. In any event, it sounds like a good idea so I'll give it a try.

The Ghosts That Haunt Me, Part III

Think I'll wrap this one up today. I started this series of posts as a writing exercise, suggested by one of the writers in my little bard club, to explore the territory covered in "Superman's Song," by the Crash Test Dummies. I had never heard of the song when it was suggested, and actually wasn't too familiar with the band either. My daughter thinks they "suck" but I am willing to give almost any band a chance, not being much of a music snob. This is not to suggest that my daughter is a snob when it comes to music. She is a musician and rather discerning about her likes and dislikes. This morning, I had the pleasure of sitting on her bedroom floor and listening to her pick away on her oud. Quite lovely, soothing.

Anyway, here is the subversive bit of controversial nonsense I came up with this morning:

Supe's Dead, the headline reads. Superman represents the ideal arbiter of truth and justice. Real men aren't supermen, though.

The city is its own jungle. Real men adapt to their environments. If criminals are the "norm," men conform to that norm. If they refuse, they fight a losing battle.

It's not fair that people are taxed for things they don't use or care about, but just try to avoid paying taxes. We adapt to cultural norms, all the while railing against them.

Marriage and monogamy, disgusting. But just try breaking free of a family unit and see what happens. No thanks. I've seen it at a distance and I'll keep the monotony. Triangle of M: Marriage, Monogamy, Monotony. The holy trinity of cultural strangulation, choking the life out of many of us who choose, yes choose, to live this way.

Where's Superman when you need him? He's an ideal; he's not real. He provides a kind of service for the comic book characters with whom he shares the stage (frame). Supercop, defeating super-badguys. In real life, even the supposedly good guys are badguys. Gotta be a criminal in society to be a contributing member of it, propping up "the system" with our monetary obligations.

Don't take me there. I'm pissed off enough as it is, without consciously thinking about the war machine, such as it may be. This beast, created by mankind, for the purpose of defending liberty and democracy. Yeah, right. Like I said, don't get me started.

Of course we need Superman! How could we live without an ideal figure representing truth, justice, and the American Way? Oh, ha ha ha ha. An American writer created him, remember? Let's not get started on that theme! America the superpower. Now there's the root of all our problems: American power. Sick, twisted, perverted "justice" that allows criminals to keep running things and the goodguys to suffer.

Oh wait, who are they? The good guys. I keep forgetting. We need memorials erected to keep them in our minds and hearts. War heroes? No, those are the standard Army-issue variety. Let's come up with some real heroes.

This takes me back to a blog I wrote awhile back, Heroism. Actually, it didn't start out as a blog entry. This was an academic paper I turned in to one of my professors, in the fall of 2006, when I first went back to school to get my master's degree.

The Ghosts That Haunt Me, Part II

I killed a bunny today. It darted out under my vehicle as I was driving along a road that is surrounded by natural plants and wildflowers. I should have known, or at least thought about the possibility of something alive passing by in front of us.

My daughter and mother-in-law were passengers and thus witnessed the sickening event. We all felt the impact, the ugly thud of a tire passing over a small body. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the still and furry lump in the road, a being that only moments before had been animated with bunny life.

Goddamn it. I did that! Ended a poor rabbit's life because it didn't know any better and ran into the path of an oncoming death machine. Stupid rabbit!

It's too late to do anything about it now, though. I felt the need to validate myself afterward and questioned my daughter, who was sitting in the backseat. Could I have avoided the accident? At first, she was just upset about the bunny being killed and it seemed like she wanted to blame me; but later she blamed the rabbit for its destiny as roadkill.

It's a grim reality we sometimes must face. Things happen that are mostly out of our control and the consequences bring pain into our lives. All three of us experienced the death of the rabbit, but the "smoking gun" was mine because I was driving the vehicle that ran over the unfortunate creature.

What is also unfortunate is referring to this animal as "it" when, in fact, he or she has a gender. That is unfair, and yet who knows whether a boy bunny or a girl bunny died? Will another bunny come along and discover the corpse? Will some other bunny miss the dead bunny, or will the death have no impact on anybody but him or her and the humans who witnessed the death, who were somehow responsible for it?

How does a person process something like this? If I had been on the lookout for an animal in the road, I might have seen it and been able to avoid hitting it. But the thought did not cross my mind and I wonder who is at fault for this failure to recognize the possibility of something like this happening. Despite the nature of the area we were passing through, I was not thinking about a sudden need to swerve, slow down, or come to a stop.

Poor bunny rabbit. I regret hitting him or her, but there is nothing I can do now. RIP. I ended the life of a living creature, a little sweetheart. Somehow, this became my destiny and it makes me sad.

The Ghosts That Haunt Me

The thing about Superman is he is a myth to begin with. And with this in mind, it exists in people's minds as a concept and not as a real person. The point of a "super man" is that if such a person did exist, how might our lives be different?

Well, that is a point I think about. My preferences in life tend toward reality, and yet mythology is reality, too. Superman is a fun concept, I reckon. The realm of imagination, of what can be imagined, is itself a mythological reality. Carl Jung touched on the idea with his "collective unconscious" storyline.

Each one of us is capable of imagining Superman. And since he exists only in our imaginations, we each see "him" differently. Some might imagine him as being close to (but not quite) all-wise and all-powerful, semi-godlike. In any case, he is magical with his "super" powers, extraordinary abilities, things nobody living on earth is capable of doing.

Now Clark Kent, that's a guy who seems real. And this is the part of the Superman storyline that draws us into the idea of Superman as just an ordinary guy in disguise. Speaking of "the thing is," the other (or just another) thing is, when a person imagines that another person could come to possess superhuman powers, the realization dawns that people actually do come to possess "superhuman" powers under some conditions, and this has been demonstrated many times in real life situations: saving a trapped child by lifting weight that, under normal conditions, a person could not possibly lift, for example.

I would attribute this to a positive use of the power generated by fear. In this example, the fear is for the child's life, which the rescuer wants to see continued. In other words, in life-or-death situations, fear can instill supernatural power in a motivated person. But Superman's powers go way beyond that which a normal human being is capable.

But wouldn't any properly (or appropriately) motivated "normal" person be capable of developing powers similar to those extraordinary powers displayed when faced with danger? In other words, can fear be transformed to strength in situations that aren't quite as dire as life-or-death situations?

Yes, of course, for this is a basic tool of even the beginning artist.

(Inspired by: Superman's Song - Crash Test Dummies)

A Charmed Life

From Shakespeare's tragedy Macbeth, 1605. Act V, Scene 8.

... I bear a charmed life, which must not yield, To one of woman born.

My brother breezed into town last week for a couple of days. We only got to spend a few hours together, but my time with him always leaves me very thoughtful because of the various places we go in conversation. One of the things he said to me this time is that he views our childhood as charmed. "You know, we lived a charmed life," he told me with astonishing authority.

Hey wait. I was there, too. Our lives were far from "charmed." Indeed. He pointed to the fact that we never really lived in any way that could be considered impoverished, in a financial sense. And this part may be true, but I wonder what either one of our parents would say to this "charmed life" theory of his. Our father is no longer living. He was disabled for many years and we lived on my mother's salary as well as on whatever disability payments came in as a result of Dad's illness. Quite frankly, I have many depressing memories of those days. But I kind of get his point, that we never really lacked any material thing we needed. But charmed?

Something about that idea really sticks in my craw. I think of a charmed life as being one in which things have been more or less handed to you, with very little of your own effort involved. A silver spoon kind of existence. Is that a charmed life?

What do you think. What exactly is a charmed life?

Going to California

This is my favorite photo of the ones I took recently in California. The view out the window is of Newport Beach.

more thoughts about cognitive dissonance

So, as I mentioned earlier, my daughter and I have had this ongoing dialogue about cognitive dissonance. She brought it up and I have kept it going since we have had some difficult moments with it. Mainly, the difficulty was me not really understanding it completely. And I admit I probably still don't get it, not quite. The idea intrigues me because it seems to explain some of the more perplexing mysteries of life. Like how people can see things so differently from each other and yet not be "wrong" in their perception.

For example, consider this conversation we had the other night. I had proposed the idea to her that cognitive dissonance is not like when life gives you lemons you make lemonade but rather: when life gives you lemons, look at what bad decision you made that brought them into your life. She replied that it is more like this (paraphrased and somewhat embellished): You spend a bunch of money on lemons, thinking they will be delicious. But to your chagrin, you discover they taste terrible. Rather than having to face the awful reality that you truly made a Bad Decision, you lie to yourself and pretend that all is peachy. Or lemony. That is cognitive dissonance.

That little bit was influenced by something she had shown me, from Wikipedia:

A powerful cause of dissonance is an idea in conflict with a fundamental element of the self-concept, such as "I am a good person" or "I made the right decision." The anxiety that comes with the possibility of having made a bad decision can lead to rationalization, the tendency to create additional reasons or justifications to support one's choices. A person who just spent too much money on a new car might decide that the new vehicle is much less likely to break down than his or her old car. This belief may or may not be true, but it would likely reduce dissonance and make the person feel better. Dissonance can also lead to confirmation bias, the denial of disconfirming evidence, and other ego defense mechanisms.

All of this has me thinking about the nature of bad decisions. Who judges decisions and on what are those judgments based? What goes into the making of a decision judged as being a bad one? These questions, of course, cannot be specifically answered except in the context of specific situations and decisions.

One thing that seems significant here is belief, what a person believes to be true about a situation. Beliefs are built on other beliefs. And decisions, good or bad, seem to be irreversible in that they are final at the time they are made. This being true, those decisions are effective until they are replaced with new decisions that change the outcome or maybe just the perception of the previous decision. Again, this is generally speaking and not referring specifically to any particular situation.

Applying it to the situation described above (the Wikipedia excerpt), let's say I am that person who paid too much for the car and in order to make myself feel better about it, I focus on how the new car is in better mechanical condition than the old car. I cannot undo the purchase of the car (the bad decision), will never get that money back. But not only can I appreciate that I feel safer in this new car, I can also focus on the real value of that money. So I "wasted" it; money is money and I can get more. Maybe I will have to spend a little less in some other areas for awhile, maybe even for a long while since I am now making those high monthly car payments. But rather than resent or berate myself for the decision to buy the car, I could instead focus on the enjoyment of that car, despite the cost of it. Or, if it bugs me that much, I could sell it and buy something I believed to be of a value appropriate to the amount of money spent.

But I am getting out of my element here, for money is something that I am not comfortable talking about. Maybe this is because of the way I fear money's influence on the decisions that I make, some of them very personal and others quite ordinary. One of my mother's favorite expressions was always: money isn't important unless you don't have any. I guess this holds true for me as well. Very true, in fact.

My financial situation right now is that I am not bringing in any money at all while my husband is carrying the full weight of our financial burden. This will not be the case for much longer, I hope, because my intention is to find a paid internship, now that I have my degree and am preparing to take the state licensing test.

Meanwhile, back to cognitive dissonance, I am experiencing a lot of it lately, which I suppose is a good reason to want to explore it further. Here is another quote from the same source I referenced above:

The theory of cognitive dissonance proposes that people have a motivational drive to reduce dissonance by changing their attitudes, beliefs, and behaviors, or by justifying or rationalizing their attitudes, beliefs, and behaviors.

Yes, I'd say reducing the "uncomfortable feeling" resulting from a situation where "one idea implies the opposite of another" is something I would definitely like to see happen in my life. This being true, I am making the decision to be grateful for the decisions I have made that have brought truly good things into my life. Some of these decisions were not easy to make; I knew people I cared about would object to them (or at least feel uncomfortable with them); but they turned out to be the "right" thing for me to do after all.

Blog Time

It seems about time for a blog entry. Today is supposedly "Black Friday," and I have no idea who came up with that term. But it certainly seems appropriate, for the idea of rushing out and shopping after one day, a single solitary day, of stores being closed for a national holiday, just seems ... well, let me put it this way: sadly American. We spend Thanksgiving Day feasting, gorging ourselves with food glorious food, and yet go on a "fast" from shopping that same day. Hardly anything is open on Thanksgiving, but the day after....

Okay, enough about that. I started this month with the intention to write a novel in thirty days. Yes, I laughed as I wrote that last sentence. It is embarrassing. But I did succeed at doing just that two years ago: NaNoWriMo 2007 Winner

Please forgive me, I needed that pat on the back. I feel sort of redeemed by this past success but still slightly embarrassed by what I did this year, which is start the project knowing it was the month I would also be faced with finishing my master's degree. If I had put my efforts into the novel this year, perhaps I wouldn't even have graduated. As it stands now, I am 40,546 words away from the 50,000 word finish line! The project ends in a few days and, needless to say, I am one of those people Chris Baty classifies as being in...

Group Three: The Go On Without Me's. For you, November turned out to be a very bad month to try and write a novel. Life went completely crazycakes, and you faced a never-ending series of demanding work or school projects, health emergencies, social obligations, and/or tech meltdowns. You managed to get a few good ideas down on paper, but never quite found your novel's rhythm. You're thinking of bowing out, and planning on giving it a try next year.

That's me. That's the group I'm in: Go On Without Me. But I got something I know you didn't get: a watch. That's right. The president of the school I graduated from handed me a nifty watch after I walked across the stage to signify my achievement. It's a pretty watch, too. I am wearing it now. We all got watches. That was my prize whereas the NaNoWriMos won whatever they won this year. I don't care. (Oh, okay. Yes I do care. I hope they won cool stuff this year, too.)

But this isn't what I came here to talk about. No. The topic on my mind since early morning ... actually, since last night when my daughter and I were talking about it, is cognitive dissonance. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Cognitive dissonance. Say it out loud. Go ahead. See how it feels to say ... cognitive dissonance. (Ha.) It means "the state of having inconsistent thoughts, beliefs, or attitudes, esp. as relating to behavioral decisions and attitude change."

Is that ever me! As much as I truly want to change particular attitudes and behaviors, the reality remains: I am what I am, and this is pretty much the person I have always been. The one who still gets stuck in the same behavioral patterns, putting myself into situations where I don't belong, where I need to remain neutral in order be effective. But who can be neutral? I mean really. Come on. Neutrality is for people without feelings or opinions. So, inevitably I insert myself wherever I go.

But this isn't what I really wanted to talk about here either. I want to cover the ground between the time I stopped working on the ill-fated month-long novel and now. I knew it was going downhill when I wrote these final words:

"Officially, as of now [sometime on November 12th], this project is HISTORY. I don't have the will to finish. NaNoFiniTo. It is a sense of RELIEF. Now I can look at all these characters (me) and see who 'they' really are: a bunch of psychopathic losers; now I can see where this is going and it isn't a pretty place. 'Nobody loves me and nobody cares,' Gloria whined to her dad. 'That's right, kiddo.' Brad looked at Gloria with a homicidal glint in his eye, pulled out ... a piece of paper and wrote ... THE END."

And that is how my story died. After that happened, I just started writing whatever was on my mind, putting it all out there in the notebook I bought expressly for the novel wrtiting project. Life on life's terms. It seems to exist in a place of perpetual cognitive dissonance.

I'll come back and write more later, I hope.

Graduation

It has been awhile since I updated this blog. But since my "status" has changed (I am no longer a student), I figured what the heck. Here is a photo from my graduation ceremony on November 20th.

The Compassionate Caregiver

People go see shrinks because they can no longer go on in their lives without help. They have either come to realize this on their own, or their circumstances have forced them to this decision. It is also true that the matter might have been decided for them, in a courtroom or even in a living room. Whatever the reason, though, the fact remains that people do end up in therapy, in a room with themselves and another person: a counselor or therapist. Me. I am going to be that person.

Why did I choose to become a counselor? I actually am not one yet but am on the verge of starting my first practicum (or internship) at a drug and alcohol recovery center. It is a sobering thought.

My daughter and I saw the image above on a refrigerator magnet a few years ago and both found it quite amusing. This was actually before I made the decision to become a counselor. I am thinking about displaying it in my office to help crack the ice with my clients but am not sure whether the humor would be appreciated by everyone. Humor is "funny" that way, you know.

Farewell to Eigenvectör

(Their final playlist.)

Two reasons to listen to Eigenvectör this week

Miriam and Harrison

Eigenvectör

Friday

4 to 6 p.m. CST 

5 to 7 p.m. EST
3 to 5 p.m. MST
2 to 4 p.m. PST
10 p.m. to midnight BST
11 p.m. to 1 a.m. CET
midnight to 2 a.m. EET

Hope?

Did someone say ... wait a minute. I think hope could be a good thing, if only we'd agree on what it means. 

I have no hope whatsoever that politicians in general will ever really be nonpartisan, nor do I have hope that they will not be cynical. The ones who are so sure that President Obama represents everything they deplore will (and do) seek to discredit him however they can. 

He promises that our economy will recover. Well, that would be nice, but what is the reality of this country's economic strength? The smirks on people's faces last night, ones in the audience of the president's congressional address, reveal their contempt; they also reveal that they are just waiting and not really listening to the president. 

I have serious doubts that people who don't really support the president, for whatever reason, can swallow their pride and work with him or trust him to lead our country. Their arrogance will prevent it. But I only believe this because I sympathize with him and would probably be sitting and smirking with the cynics had the "other" candidate won. So,....

That is the tragedy of our American system of governance. Each one of us is a partisan. How many Republicans (besides the ones who voted for Obama) are glad to see him in office? For the most part, they are either opposing him or reluctantly supporting him; but they are not happy about it. These people are now being forced by circumstance to work with him; and they are likely looking at his supporters as smug and elitist because "their" candidate won the election. 

Let's face it: pride is something each one of us has to face. I find myself in a somewhat smug position, of liking and supporting the president. What I don't like, though, is knowing that there are people out there who truly want him to fail, so they can say, "told ya," and (if he does fail) gloat about how "right" they were. In no way are these people going to go along with an agenda that includes actions that fall outside of their philosophical and political belief system, whether that be capitalism, republicanism, or any other ism. Universal educational access to all children? Job assurance for adults? Ha. Fat chance this can happen without the country turning socialist or communist. Right?

People stick to their isms. If only they (we) didn't, maybe we'd really have hope of creating a country we can all live peaceably within.

Immediate Peace

"Better indeed is knowledge than mechanical practice. Better than knowledge is meditation. But better still is surrender of attachment to results, because there follows immediate peace."

Bhagavad Gita