Coming up for writing air

So on Monday, I missed an entry on this blog for the first time since October 1. I've been trying to publish something on here every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, as a way to maintain a regular writing practice, and I'd been successful up until Monday. A couple of times I was a day late, but I still got in three posts a week. The Monday post is usually an installment of the play I'm working on, and this Monday I just couldn't face it. I'm experiencing some real writing fatigue, and I'm trying to find my way out of it.

I've been working for a few months now on a book chapter, and the month of February focused on the revision process.  I moved through many drafts, agonized over it all, and finally submitted it to the editor on February 29. Then I went directly into writing a grant narrative that I submitted on March 7. I had been able to keep writing on this blog throughout the process until Monday. I usually write the Monday post on Sunday, and I didn't have it in me. It's kind of like when I tried to pedal faster in my spin class this morning, and I just didn't have anything else. I don't usually think of writing and exercising as similar in this way, like getting too tired to write, but I think that's what I'm experiencing.  It's like after running a marathon, I don't run for a week or so, as a way to recuperate from the 26-mile slog.  Maybe I need to think about giving myself the same sort of break when it comes to writing or any kind of creative output. I don't want to stop writing completely (obviously, that's why I'm writing now), but maybe that missed Monday should feel less like a defeat and more like a recognition that sometimes a missed day is a gained opportunity for something else?  Like sleep. Or thought. Or whatever.

I'm #grateful that these two writing projects are off my plate for now. That said, about 60 papers come onto my plate to grade before March 21. I'm on the other side of the equation now, and I'm not sure how that's going to feel. But I think I'll at least embrace the change in energy. Hopefully, reading the writing of others will stimulate my own urge to write. We'll see.

Reframing "uneducated"

I'm staying away from television as much as possible and reading what I can about this primary election process, as I feel it's become more like something we'd see in Ancient Rome in the Coliseum. I don't get into that kind of violence: Bull fighting, dog fights, Republican debates. However, I am trying to read a lot, and that at least allows me to make some informed decisions and have somewhat thoughtful conversations. Even that's becoming more and more difficult.

I'm also trying to find some reason to be #grateful for what's unfolding, rather than simply dwelling in the terror-mongering and doomsday language that permeates so many Facebook posts, headlines, and tweets that I read. In many ways, this primary season is doing us a huge favor. The positions of several candidates that seem to resonate so deeply with so many people point to some unsettling things about our country. But I'm a little surprised by the number of people who find this all so shocking. People are behaving as if they can't believe that so many people have these feelings about immigrants, minorities, religion, marriage equality, and economic disparity, and I keep thinking, "Where have these people been? Are they paying attention?"  Advances? Yes, we've made many.  Problems and deficiencies still exist in a big way? Absolutely. We are not in some utopia where everything is better just because we think it is.

So in a naive response to these issues, many have simply attributed more conservative viewpoints to the so-called "uneducated," to the "backwards thinking," to the "evangelicals," and whatever other category they can lump people they disagree with into. Over the summer, as the candidates tried to secure their initial positions, I was thinking the same things, but I soon realized that I was making a huge mistake. People who have these positions and beliefs are not necessarily uneducated or evangelicals or backwards-thinking. I disagree with what they think, as much as a person can disagree with another, but that doesn't mean that I have the right to call them uneducated.  And even if a person does have less formal education, what does that really mean? I struggle with this question because education has such a profound impact on one's social mobility and class status, but I work in higher education surrounded by people with a lot of formal education. We're not always the best at making rational decisions, coming up with solutions that can actually work, or dealing with difficult situations. Yes, on paper we're very smart. However, paper smart and life smart aren't always in alignment.

So what's my point? We need to stop using the term "uneducated" to categorize people that we disagree with. It's not the right descriptor. And we also need to think about what it means to be "educated," and stop thinking that formal education automatically means "better."  It's this elitism that people are so angry about. When Donald Trump proclaimed that he loved the uneducated, his supporters cheered. So many people were mortified, but they missed the point. People cheered because Donald Trump somehow reclaimed and took back that term. A term that has turned into an elitist slur to put down people that we disagree with or feel so alienated by that we don't know what else to do. When we use the term "uneducated" as a slur, we're not being very forward thinking. One thing we could do is stop looking down our noses and start realizing that the path forward is not about forcing people to think what we think, to "educate" them about our much better ways.  Rather, we should be spending a lot of time listening and trying to understand why people feel so disempowered and helpless and formulating solutions that take everyone into account.

What is greatness? And what happens after that?

I'm hearing a lot of questions about America's diminished greatness in this election cycle, and in some ways, I think this speaks to legacy as well as to our current situation. As I listen to people who keep talking about how bad off America is, I can't help but wonder about the point of comparison. What is their point of reference? These people appear to have working body parts, shelter, consistent food on the table, steady income or government subsidies that arrive on a regular basis. Some people projecting this message even seem to have power and prestige. So what is it specifically that we need to make great again? And who are we making it great for? Is it for all men who are created equal? Are we substituting in "people" for "men"? Just curious. I like to be clear about these things.

Also, how long does greatness have to last? History tells us that societies rise and societies fall, and this cycle happens repeatedly. Do we always have to be nostalgic about how things used to be? Or is the sign of true greatness cultivating an understanding and acceptance that people evolve and what matters to the individual and to the collective changes over time?

Sure, let's worry about the next generation and consider what we're leaving them to deal with. But history certainly tells us that no matter how much we worry about and plan for the future, it always comes up with something even more disruptive or destructive. Example: Nuclear arms race ends; people figure out how to crash planes into buildings. All the planning in the world doesn't stop the inevitable quest for power and the evil that emerges as a result. Planning for the moment seems far more pragmatic than planning for the future.

And finally, what ever happened to acknowledging that America's greatness emerged on the backs of immigrants? Am I aware of this because I live in a city where I walk past historical buildings built by immigrants?  Or because I encounter immigrants every day on the subway? And actually shouldn't I be saying "people who immigrated to the US" rather than simply defining someone by where they were born or is that too politically correct? And shouldn't I be considering that my great grandparents emigrated from Italy and Ireland? Or that my ancestors came to the New World on the Mayflower because of religious persecution? Is that why I have empathy when I look at all the people around me today? Or should I forget about all that history and make America great again by building walls, ostracizing people who have a dream, who are willing to work jobs that others aren't willing to take? Again, I'm just trying to get clear on this.

See, I have a problem. I can't forget about history. Maybe some people can, but I can't. History is how I know who I am and why I have what I have and why I'm #grateful for all of it. But I refuse to get stuck in nostalgia or self-pity or simple flag waving at a rally. America has always been and continues to be about action. Mud slinging and cheering at a rally is not action. Yes, voices are getting heard, but what happens after that?

You see, this is where I have this problem again. What happens after that?

What happens after that?

My prediction?

Nothing.

Vapidity: is that a word?

This morning I took a spin class at 7:30am. That time of the morning for me presents all sorts of challenges, but it also gets my metabolism going. I do it because I'm a glutton for punishment, but then my metabolism runs higher for the rest of the day. Or so I hope...

The morning is not my best time, as most of my tolerance levels are lower earlier in the morning, so I'm not the most pleasant person if someone crosses me. After the spin class, I was waiting in line to use one of the four showers at this spin studio, and it was an exceptionally busy morning. It seemed like many of the people in line knew each other somehow, and they were chatting up a storm. The line had kind of split in two, and as I moved my bag forward, this young woman shot me a look, which I interpreted as "You're butting in line." So since I had some extra time this morning and the line order was ambiguous, I let her and her friend assume the next two places.

Big mistake.

For the next 15 minutes I was forced to endure their vapid conversation. I tried to do email, check Facebook, look at Instagram, but nothing blocked out the conversation. I started wondering if I sounded this shallow when I chat in the shower line.

Oh, wait.

Hold it.

I don't chat in the shower line. At least not at 8:15am in the morning. Nor do I talk about what these people were talking about.

Direct quotation:

"We talked about going to MoMA and making fun of all the ridiculous modern art, but I wondered if that would be too intense for a first date."

I just kind of stood there, trying not to roll my eyes or sigh audibly. Then one of them mentioned something about a building at a school that I recognized, and suddenly in my mind they were students, probably graduate students based on minor details I picked up from their conversation. Which was getting to be more and more about dating.

Back in graduate school, my playwriting teacher gave us the assignment to go eavesdrop on a conversation in a public place, jot down two or three lines from the exchange, and then continue the conversation. So I have an affinity for this, and I frequently jot stuff down on my phone. Subway is great for this, elevators are fantastic when they're packed and I'm riding up to my class on the 3rd floor.

But wow. Today's conversation just made me feel terrified about the future. Sure, maybe they were being ironic. Maybe these are great people, and I'm the vapid one for judging. In the shower line. At 8:15am.

That's where this musing leaves me. What does being vapid really mean? 

I suddenly feel like Carrie Bradshaw. (sigh)  My shoes aren't nearly as nice...

What's behind Door Number 3? I hope not the next POTUS...

About a month ago, I shut off my cable television. I was tired of paying way too much money for way too many channels that I was barely watching. And when I was watching, I often found myself sucked into the 24-hour news cycle, and that was literally bad news. I wasn't sleeping well from all the broadcast sturm und drang, and that cable bill was jacking up my credit card debt for no good reason. I decided to try and survive without cable television. Now I have a digital antennae that barely works, and I get almost no channels. My evenings consist of watching very old episodes of "Let's Make a Deal" with Monty Hall on the Buzzr channel, which somehow comes through loud and clear.

In all honesty, watching those episodes has given me a real education. They're from the early 70s, so they reflect an entirely different, much simpler sensibility. Less complicated, less sensitive, less careful. I'm not saying this is necessarily a positive thing or that these times were "better," but I've been struck over and over again by how relaxed everyone on the show seems to be. One could say, "Well, Joe, it is the 70s after all," but I'm not sure that explains it entirely.

There are any number of costume choices in the contestant area that would be deemed culturally insensitive today. The banter between Monty Hall and some of the female contestants on the show presses all sorts of sensitivity buttons for me, but no one on the show, female or male, blinks an eye. I always thought of these early game shows as being populated largely by white participants, but in my anecdotal coding of contestants, there have been episodes with multiple contestants of color in the part of the audience where players are selected and multiple winners of color as well. And everyone seems happy to be there, happy to be participating, and grateful for the opportunity. I found myself thinking the other night as I watched an Asian American couple win The Big Deal, "This show would never survive today." Or would it? Or should it?

Of course, television makes everything look better than it actually is, right? Underneath the funny costumes, the luscious prizes, the glitz and glamour, everyone back then was really unhappy and disgruntled and weighted down by society's ills. No amount of kitchen appliances in the world was going to lighten that weight. But maybe I'm applying a 21st century sensibility on this. Was a new pool table and $25 dollars worth of Creamettes macaroni enough to right society's wrongs and make everyone happy?  Sure does seem like it when I watch the show.

What has happened to us? Why are we perpetually unhappy and dissatisfied with our position in life, no matter our background? We keep hearing how unhappy people are all the time. Our presidential candidates are capitalizing on it at every step of the way. Is this a good thing or a bad thing?

In this current election cycle, I'm starting to wonder if rather than making everything look better than it actually is, television makes everything look worse. Kind of like fluorescent lighting.

Last night I felt so grateful that I couldn't watch the election returns on television. Seeing notifications come through my phone was enough (#1stworldproblems). I didn't want any analysis of the returns from blondes, brunettes, redheads, silver foxes, or anyone with a touch of grey. I didn't want to hear from Sally New Hampshire Pants about why she voted for who she voted for. And I didn't want to see any of the candidates talking about how great it all was, and how great they were. Reading about it all this morning was far more relaxing. I felt way less frustrated with stupidity, and I could process what actually happened on my own and FORMULATE MY OWN OPINIONS. What a concept? No one told me directly or subliminally how to think about the results. I just looked at the poll numbers and then decided whether to read on.

It might be great if more people shut off their cable television, stopped reading Facebook, and started thinking for themselves. We're letting our agency and decision-making get flushed down the toilet because everyone else is telling us how to think about things and we're listening. That's the shocking thing. We're listening to this schlock.

People used to yell out advice to contestants on "Let's Make a Deal," and Monty frequently shushed them. He redirected the decision back to the contestant with a warning that past contestants listened to bad advice all the time. And lost.

We're losing, friends. Big time. And we're not going to like what's behind Door Number 3.