Okay, so maybe this is going to be a thing. I think I put my vanity in a box and on a shelf because I don’t wish to be vain. I am, somewhat. I am saved from being an ass about it by being basically too lazy to really attend to it, at least to the extent of making myself an object of derision. But it’s there, I admit it.
Most of my vanity has to do with the interior. I want to be a certain kind of person. I wish people to see the kind of person I’m trying to be. And I want what they see to be genuine. Maybe “vanity” is the wrong word, since too often it attaches to matters of surface only. And maybe I use that word to caution myself to pay attention to what matters.
In any case, I work at maintaining certain standards, both physically and mentally. I am not as successful at any of it as I would like to be, but it’s the journey, right? Whatever.
I turned 63 this year. I cannot quite get my head around that. In another generation I would be two years from falling into an actuarial expectation of being dead. I would be spent, replete with health problems, fading. When I was a child, 65 was the age at which people died. Today?
But that’s not even the weirdest part. The weird part is the history that I have personally lived through, knowing it as history, and being in a position to represent some of that history. The other weird part is that, intellectually, I still see myself as somewhere around the mid to late 30s.
As I say, weird. However, I’ve been posting annual updates like this–not as regularly as perhaps I should, but I see now that it might be a useful thing.
So. This morning, after coming home from the gym, I asked Donna to take a couple of pictures.
I’m weighing in at round 160. I no longer bother getting on a scale. I go by how well my clothes fit and how out-of-breath I get running down the street. (Yes, I occasionally break into a sprint when I’m walking the dog, just because. I can still do three blocks at a good run.)
The hair is thinner, grayer, the wrinkles a bit deeper, especially when I’m facing into the sun.
I feel tired a great deal of the time.
But aside from working out regularly, I work a full-time job, still play music, and I’m still trying to make the best-seller lists.
And chores. Don’t forget chores.
But–most importantly–I still feel like I have options. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
Someone people might possibly be glad to know.
The thing is, how to know when or if any of that is achieved? I have to be comfortable in my own skin first. And my skin is…
Well, not, perhaps, for me to say. But I have every intention of sticking around long enough to find out.
So this is 63.
Let me post another photograph, to follow, of something maybe a little more interesting. (Remember, one of the things I want to be is photographer…?) And leave off with something more abstract to contemplate.
Thank you all for putting up with me all this time.
The last several weeks have been alternately nerve-wracking, inspirational, depressing, too-cool-for-school, enervating, elating, and disappointing. The drain on resources has left me unable to judge overall. Consequently, I’m being very chary what I write here. So I’m going to put what energy I have into some fiction.
In the meantime, here’s a new picture. Enjoy.
One of the few lessons I learned in all the years I held even minor management positions is basic to human psychology. People are inconsistent, emotionally. Not that most circumstances will reveal that, but when you push something it comes out. This is fundamental and in order to navigate life beneficently you need to understand this. You also need to understand the process of what I call Issue Transition. That is, you begin with a situation that constitutes an Issue. Depending on how you respond, the next step often becomes a completely separate issue. But because it stems from the initial issue, it can appear to be the same issue. If you don’t recognize that it is not, the next several steps will carry you so far from any possibility of resolving that initial issue as to define Sisyphean.
Why is this important?
Trump just dressed down his chief of staff. In front of an audience.
The one thing I learned, as mentioned above, is that you never, ever do that. If you’re going to chew someone out, take them to task over something, or otherwise express your displeasure with something they have done, you do it in private! You take them to a space where you can close the door and be alone. This is vital in human relations.
Why? Because if you do in front of others, you have just created a whole new issue, supplanting whatever problem you thought you were addressing in the first place. Because now you have humiliated that person in front of others, some who may be his or her subordinates who will have to work now with a damaged relationship. By upbraiding that person in public you have fractured their ability to retain respect. Either with their subordinates, certainly with you, and probably between you and their subordinates. By keeping it private, you have the best chance of keeping the issue on topic and resolving it. Sure, things could still go wrong, but you have not embarrassed them—or yourself—in front of others.
That embarrassment is a whole new issue.
And if you blithely go on as if it isn’t, the problems will compound.
Disciplinary action must be kept to a minimum. No audience.
This is basic, unless your intention to begin with is not discipline but to undermine that person’s ability to function effectively, thereby setting them up for further such moments in the future, leading to eventually dismissal.
It’s a good way to make people quit.
But it’s also a good way to cause people to retaliate.
If there is one thing that tells us this man is unsuited to being in the position he holds, this is it. He’s a lousy manager. This has been out there to be known all along, but in the private sector, while it can cause considerable collateral damage, we don’t usually see the entire country suffer as a result. That is no longer the case.
This is simple. You have an issue with someone, anyone, you take it up behind closed doors. Otherwise you will create worse problems which people will mistake for aspects of the same issue.
As for Issue Transition, we see examples of that all the time. Depending on our biases we may not acknowledge them as such, but there it is. It can be a very expensive blindness.
Next year, it will have been 30 years since I attended Clarion, the science fiction and fantasy writers’ workshop, in East Lansing, on the campus of Michigan State. It has since moved to San Diego.
While there, I not only acquired–somehow–the requisite skills to write fiction, but also a cadre of lifelong friends with whom I share a bond that is unique. I can think of only one other instance where I made a friend so fast and so solidly. But I have several from this six week experience. Kelley Eskridge, Nicola Griffith, Brooks Caruthers, Andy Tisbert, Peg Kerr…others…and this guy.
Daryl is crazy. He writes fantastic fiction, after all. Also Fantastic Fiction. Sharp, funny, erudite…snappy dresser on occasion. He was at the St. Louis County Library recently, hawking his new book, Spoonbenders. He’s a pretty good hawker, too. He might have had a career in carny had actual words on pages not grabbed his attention.
Anyway, two of the denizens of a special bunch.
Recently I had an exchange with someone over climate change. It was short and frustrating. The basis of the exchange was a report—recycled from 2007 and given a new lease on life because of the recent book and film—on Al Gore’s presumably exorbitant energy use in his home. Depending on which non-news site you chose, he either uses 34 times more than the average American or 21 times. The intent of the articles was to show Mr. Gore as a hypocrite, someone preaching the sermon but then balking at the walk.
It’s true, he lives large. He has a ten thousand square foot home, which is more than five times the size of the average American home, and that doesn’t include the grounds. But there was also no mention made of the carbon offsets he buys or the investments he makes in green energy or the money he spent upgrading a century old house to more modern energy efficiencies or the way he has specified the source of much of his energy so that a lot if not most comes from alternate sources. This was a standard-issue bit of simple-minded criticism that says if you do not live in a hovel when preaching about certain things, you’re automatically a hypocrite. It is not, I should point, about forcing Al Gore to reduce his lifestyle but to force him to shut up. None of these people would care if he moved into a double-wide with solar panels and a hydrogen cell to live off the grid. Their purpose is to get him to stop talking.
As I said, the exchange was short. This was with a climate change denier fully invested in the belief that it is all a hoax. I was reminded of the mindset of occultists and alchemists, who at their base believed fervently that answers were unobtainable, that if you thought you had found the truth you were automatically wrong. No, few if any ever stated it so baldly, but it’s obvious from the way they would avoid genuine experiment, deny all arguments that might contradict received wisdom, and generally evaded any conclusion that suggested they were in pursuit of the unattainable. Science had to rid itself of this obdurate self-imposed blindness before it could flourish and it seems clear that we are burdened with some variation of it still.
But I wondered, just what drives this kind of selective self-censorship?
Well, obviously a lack of understanding. The science is complex and people often have difficulty grasping causal concepts that seem to contradict personal experience. When your city is frozen in the grip of a record-breaking snow storm it’s difficult to reconcile the assertion that global temperatures are rising. Difficult but not impossible, especially if the following summer comes with record-breaking heat, for perhaps the fourth or fifth consecutive year. (Climate has changed in St. Louis. When I was a kid, three feet of snow in December was not unusual, snow that lasted through February sometimes. Now? People are stunned when we have a foot that lasts a week, if that. Summers are hotter. Certain insect patterns have shifted. Things have changed and when I look for explanations the only model that conforms to experience is global climate change.) Lack of understanding can be corrected, though. People can learn. They may not want to but they can.
Sometimes, though, they go down a cul-d-sac and get stuck in a plausible dead-end. Staying there, though, depends on things having little to do with evidence or logic.
Consider: the rejection of climate change makes no sense. Addressing the problem of where we get our energy is a technical issue, a matter of engineering. There are several reasons, perfectly sound ones, to change the way we do this. Pollution is the simplest one. What kind of a world do you want to live in? One with soot, particulates, toxicity? The expense of defending against such things is high, depending where you live. Environmental degradation is another. Tearing up mountains to extract coal, leaving ugly holes, spilling the effluent into waterways, drilling—and fracking is worse. Look at satellite images of fracking-intense areas and the clouds of waste gas. And of course earthquakes where few if any had occurred before. And the damage to water tables.
Jobs is the cry. Displacing workers. Well, building a whole new industry would seem to be a jobs-positive thing. The technology and industries to not only build solar and wind would expand the jobs market, but also the construction of the networks, distribution, and upgrading and maintaining the grid (which needs it anyway, regardless of the energy source), all these things mean jobs.
The expense! The expense we currently shoulder in artificially maintaining obsolete systems should by now be common knowledge. The expense on taxpayers subsidizing industries that are collapsing not to mention the downstream expense of cleaning up after the pollution. The expense of people made sick. The asthma rates in coal country are rising. We pay an exorbitant amount to maintain the illusion that coal and oil are the only means to accomplish what we want to.
Someone like Al Gore comes along and starts pointing this out. You might quibble with some of his details, but in essence he has a sound argument. Instead of attacking the argument—which might lead to some edifying consequence, like all of us learning something useful—his character is attacked. This is not an uncommon tactic. Some people seem to feel a person has to be virtually a saint in order to hold and disseminate an opinion. But if what he says is supported by the science, what difference does it make how he lives? What is it about his lifestyle that invalidates the message?
He’s asking other people to change but, presumably, he won’t.
What exactly is he asking most people to change? If tomorrow your electricity came from wind turbines instead of a coal-fired plant, what has changed for you? Electricity is electricity. The costs? Costs aren’t rising anyway? Your taxes aren’t going to subsidize the industry? Or is this more akin to the fear of “death panels” presumably inevitable with universal health care? We go along with this and next year someone from the government will take away your car or truck? Transportation is already changing, it will continue to do so, and in ten years you may find you don’t even want your car, but that’s beside the point. Such a fear is a boogeyman used to keep us from addressing the problem. My question stands: what exactly is he asking you to change?
The question of costs is not irrelevant, but as I say, they’re going up anyway. Maybe in the long run there might be some relief if part of the cost is not in cleaning up so much detritus. But that requires long term thinking outside your immediate sphere. You have to consider the community, the country, the planet. Most people find that difficult, if not to achieve then to sustain.
Lifestyle. Your lifestyle will change.
That is almost unanswerable because it’s so nebulous. As I suggest above, change is coming anyway, but probably not what you expect. On the simple question of how you get your energy, what changes? Still, not an irrelevant point.
There will, perhaps, be less available energy. To do what? We’ve been undergoing a small (perhaps not so small) revolution in energy efficiency for lo these last few decades. Our houses are full of devices that operate on far less electricity than their ancestors required. That’s not likely to stop. But we can look at Europe to see the numbers and discover that the very thing which will provide jobs will also suffice to power your lifestyle.
But I suspect the thing feared in terms of change has nothing to do with actual resource. What will change is some aspect of identity.
From what to what?
Basically, the changes in policy required to address climate change would be a net positive whether the science is flawed or not. Breathing cleaner air, securing the potability of our water, lightening our touch on the ecologies are all desirable and come with economic benefits regardless. If it turned out by some odd oversight that we got the climate change model wrong, so what? We would have built a new energy grid based on cleaner models and generally improved the well-being of the commonwealth. If we aren’t wrong about climate change, we can add saving the world for humanity as a bonus.
But like someone who doesn’t want to give up steak for dinner, we treat climate change like vegetarianism. It doesn’t matter that the science may be correct about the health benefits, we still want our meat. It’s a question of identity.
We burn oil and coal! It’s American! All this wind and solar is somehow…somehow…feeble.
Perhaps the deniers can’t imagine building with such tools. Perhaps they can’t accept joining in a global cooperative effort not being invented or run by America.
Whatever the reason, short-term vested interests love you. Because they are able to count on you as foot soldiers in the fight to forestall the imposition of regulations on them. They do not want to be told what they can or cannot do and this is just another species of limitation on their personal vision of Who Counts.
But that’s understandable. That’s greed and avarice. What’s the denier’s excuse? Being somehow joined with the mighty by association with the self-styled giants of industry?
I accept the science involved. A cold snap here and there isn’t enough to convince me all the rest is a phantom. But it doesn’t matter. Accepting the need to change the way we use this planet means so many other things, including eventually taking the power to dictate from people who have no business having it in the first place. Climate Change Denial costs so much more and fails to address everything else that goes to the need to change.
When Reagan ripped the solar panels off the White House in a fit of thoughtless national pomposity, he empowered a mindset that we’re still having to put up with. A mindset that won’t debate, won’t consider, won’t yield, and won’t change. not because the thing it rails against is wrong but because it cannot stand not being right.
Recently I learned that the church I attended as a child is holding its last service in September. Emmaus Lutheran Church, on Jefferson Avenue. I say the “church I attended” with a certain degree of disingenuousness. I attended because I had to. I went to the grade school affiliated with it and every Wednesday morning all the students were ushered into the church to hear services. There were three pastors I recall. The first was a Reverend Wilson. I didn’t know much about him because he wasn’t there very long after I started at the school. I recall a slim man with salt-and-pepper hair and a ready smile. He could have been 40 or 50, but I seem to remember a wife that looked on the young side, so he might have been prematurely gray. He left and duties were shared between the considerably older (and semi-retired) Pastor Summers and the school principle, Mr. Oberman. They didn’t get a permanent replacement for Wilson till after I had left.
I rarely went on Sundays. The only time I did so regularly was during a short time when I had a girlfriend, a classmate, and I went with her. In hindsight, obviously I wasn’t going to be edified.
I remember being fervent in my faith at the time. (For a brief period, I even testified to strangers, on the street.) I know, that may sound like a contradiction, but even then I did not equate faith with regular attendance.
Well after leaving Emmaus I did a personal assessment of the things I took from there. It should be born in mind that my feelings about the place are mixed thoroughly with my memories of going to school there and the times I went through, so it is difficult to tease apart the church bits from the rest. It may be pointless to do so in any case. Halfway through high school I understood that the only thing I wanted from that time and that place was distance. Judge me if you wish, but all I got from Emmaus Lutheran School and Church was a deep sense of self-loathing and confusion and a bitter resentment over how much time and energy was and would be required to get all that protestant hellfire and guilt out of my brain.
My sense of personal shame was as much a result of my peers showing me time and again how little they thought of me as it was the thunderous Old Testament retributive doctrines, but since we were all being handed the same things it may be that the whole experience is the point. What I learned there was a pervasive intolerance.
I had one brief interaction with them years after leaving, which resulted in my threatening a lawsuit for harassment. That did the trick and I never heard anything from them again. That was desired and appreciated.
The school closed first, of course. I believe the building was sold. Something is going on in it anyway and it is not parochial school classes. (I think.) I was surprised to learn last week that the church had still been in business. Like old actors you haven’t seen anything about in years and think are dead, I was surprised to hear that services were still being held. Despite the tenacity of the congregation, I am not surprised they are shutting it down. Demographics. People move, die, neighborhoods change. The demographics mutate and unless an institution is willing to change with them, they do not survive. My memory suggests that this was not a parish interested in modernizing. Maybe they tried.
But it is also a fact that traditional churches of almost any denomination are struggling. This is neither new or uncommon. That Emmaus had lasted this long is a testament to persistence.
Some may feel they failed in their mission. No, probably not. They simply failed to adapt their mission to new conditions and needs. That particular manifestation of the Lutheran Church just faded out.
Plus, no doubt, they ran out of money.
I would never have known anything about this had I not been added (without permission, as often happens) to a Facebook group of fellow classmates. I hadn’t heard a peep out of them for however long I’d been a member until this shattering news came across Messenger. Good heavens, now that it’s too late, they’re all shocked. Maybe. I could have happily gone on knowing nothing about it. But I lurked on the thread for a few days, watching the comments, and then quietly left the group without saying a word. Why say anything? I don’t care but there’s no reason to rain on their party on that account. I didn’t want to be the curmudgeon who tells the truth about Uncle Phil at the funeral, so to speak.
But I do have one friend from those days who made a point of contacting me about it. Even though we had talked about my experiences and feelings about the place for literally decades, he was offended by my indifference. Not, I think, over the religious aspect, but over the nostalgia. Be that as it may, I was once again made to feel a smidgeon of guilt over my lack of interest, and here it is going on half a century since I left that place and the caul of it still clings. Amazing.
I know other Christians who came up through their churches in wholly different conditions and look at me oddly about this, but I came away from Emmaus with a burden of guilt based on the whole “you are a worthless smear of shite on the heel of god and steeped in sin for which there is no cure and unless you beg, beg beg forgiveness the fiery pit of perdition awaits” school of religious behavioral conditioning. I was furious with them for years. Life is hard enough without being made to feel that way by people supposedly preaching love.
I also came out of it with a more subtle but in some ways worse set of cultural biases that reinforced a White Christian West is the Best attitude that relegated anyone who didn’t accept that view to a lesser status, the status of the benighted who require “saving.” This is, bluntly, imperialist, racist in many cases, certainly a view soaked in the kind of privilege that, to take one example of many, saw the decimation of native American cultures.
And for a short while it acted as a set of filters through which alternate views had a hellish time getting through.
All these things clogged my brain like taffy and it took a long time to flense the pathways. They may not be entirely cleaned out to this day. The only part of that period of education for which I am grateful, at least as it concerns my intellectual development, was the opportunity it afforded my father and I to engage in intense quasi-Socratic dinner table dialogues that eventually spanned far more than just what I was taught in Bible studies that day. (I did take some measure of delight in asking uncomfortable and mostly unanswered questions in class.)
My subsequent studies in religion and theology left me even less enamored of Lutheranism, but this is nothing special. I have little use for any organized, institutionalized religion. They are all of them built by men for the purposes of men and to pursue those purposes they need money and money displaces the mission in time. (I choose my adjectives purposefully.)
Emmaus served one purpose for me—it catapulted me out of the narrow chute of parochial thinking. It was not the result they would have approved.
I was already reading science fiction then. My 5th grade teacher, a rangy man with flame red hair, told me it was a waste of time. When I asked why, he informed me that all those space stories were worse than fabrications, because there was nothing else Out There. No aliens, no other civilizations, nothing. All that Up There had been made by his god for our edification. It was just there for us to look at and admire.
Emmaus showed me the door out. On the other side was a future. Several futures. One of them was mine. I look back as seldom as I can.
Just in case anyone is interested.