On Friends, Gold and Commodities

Perhaps it is the hour or perhaps a scant pitch of melancholy, but it seems to me there was a time when men shared their happiness. When well-advanced or newly-wed or partnered, they had parties and included their friends and loved ones and sometimes, even their not-so-loved ones or even their past-loved ones to participate in their new found happiness. But it seems tis no more. As of late, several of my friends (acquaintances?) have paired up, shall we say, and then, virtually disappeared. They seem to hold on to one another as in desperation of losing one nanosecond of time together. Do you suppose they anticipate the end of such a momentous entwinement afore it occurs? “I know you’ll tire of me soon, so let’s get every nickel out of it now..”

Why is it so? Is it the economy? Does it take so much more than a cracker and a beer to have reason to get together with friends? Are friends such a counted on commodity, like gold, not to be bothered with unless the times become desperate such that an ounce of gold is an ounce of gold? What has changed? Do we bury ourselves in our amour du jour as we do in our smart phones?

Last night a friend called for he hadn’t the money to pay for his smartphone’s smarts and was forced to actually place a call on some ancient device tethered to a wall, no doubt. Now he did not call to express his concerns for me or his errant absence from my person. No, he called because he couldn’t text his sister and was far a foul for it.

Another friend has a new, shall we say, admirer for I believe in this case there is an admirer and an admireree. We had for quite some years dined together at least once a week and now, well I did see him a fortnight ago last Thursday, one day in the last nine weeks.

Occasionally, a friend from the past pops up for a dinner and maybe even a movie. But it’s rare. There just seems to be an unhappy mist in the air and we must somehow vanquish it. If I were so bold as to throw a soiree, would anyone come? Is it such a dark age that we cannot entertain our friends but not even allow them to entertain us?

Now, I’m not talking about a Roman Orgy just before the Fall. I just thought maybe 2 dollars’ worth of pasta and some tomato sauce, maybe a touch of parmesan and a bottle of what, some Southern-Hemispheric concoction from the grocery store. Would this be too pompous a display as to assuage my companions to respondez sil vous plait “Non!” Ah well, was a thought. But I guess the timing would be wrong for some reason or another. “My friend’s mother is unwell.” “We’re just going to spend the weekend in bed watching old movies.” “I look frightful without a tan.” And so on.

I suddenly have a longing to play Scrabble or put together a jigsaw puzzle. I know I can do the later by myself, but I’ve not yet tried the former. But, alas, the game pieces I have are of wood not bytes, so, perhaps it, along with I, should be relegated to the Smithsonian. I hope we can find some reason to celebrate together as a family sometime soon, maybe after the elections. We should cherish our friends as gold, just forgetting for the moment that gold is a commodity.

Black Partridge Woods

When I was in my last year of grade school I used to take many trips to a place called Black Partridge Woods, where my eighth grade science teacher would take us bird-watching early Saturday or Sunday mornings. I loved it. I had the Peterson Guide to the Birds, a small canvas-bound volume listing every species east of the Mississippi and I carefully checked off all the different species I saw that year and in the years to follow. I still have that book and I just recounted the number. In those couple of years of going to Black Partridge Woods I recorded seeing exactly one hundred and forty species of birds. That’s right, 140 different kinds in one year. We went in all seasons that year, watching the Cardinals in winter, the spring-feathered warblers, the Robins and Blue Jays of summer and the migrating water birds of autumn so prevalent in the lake that bordered the wood.  I so loved the place, it’s Maple and Hardwood forests of mixed Oaks and Dogwoods, that to this day, I have requested that my ashes be sprinkled there. I feel like I belong there, that maybe I was a member of some peaceful Eastern Woodland Indian Tribe in another life, like the Illinois Indians that lent their name to the state or some other Central Algonquian Tribe, like the Fox, Chippewa or Shawnee. All these tribes depended on horticulture, hunting and fishing to survive. Coincidently, I got my first college degree in horticulture.

According to Colin Taylor, in his book “The Native Americans” and I quote, “at least three basic central principles were shared by [the]…people of this region. The first emphasized and defined the rights of the individual such that all actions of individuals were based on their own decisions and all group actions pivoted on the consensus of the participants. The second was that everybody shared [the basics of life such as food and shelter], and in times of want the well-being of all was to be taken into account; charity and generosity were considered paramount principles by which all should abide. The third was that man was part of nature – not outside it – he was but part of the web of the natural world and the earth and woodlands could be neither owned nor exploited.”

In principle I am in harmony with these doctrines. Of course, the reality of it all is quite different. Why is it so different? I think there are three basic reasons: first, in the age of electronic communication we may know people half-way around the world, but we rarely know our own neighbors;  second, multiculturalism, too many peoples occupying the same ground with different customs, religions and goals; and, third, a misunderstanding of the ultimate concept of ownership.

Electronic communications have made it possible for us to never leave the house, never meet our neighbor and never have to be exposed to any thing or idea that we don’t wish to be exposed to. On the surface there may be some benefit to this. We can talk to people with whom we have common interests, we can watch whatever movie we want on our smart phones, while our friends watch whatever they like, and we can “chat” with only politically, religiously and physically like-minded individuals. What’s wrong with that? Well, I’ll tell you. If you never hear a different point of view, or share the experience of watching a movie you didn’t want to see because that’s the movie your two other friends wanted to see or talk to individuals in a civil manner using more than 140 characters who have radically different ideas about what kind of government they want, how they want their kids educated or what spiritually path they choose, then you constantly reinforce your own beliefs, be they right or wrong. This habituation of thinking closes us down. We lose our ability to articulate an argument which in turn causes us to lose our creativity, ingenuity and entrepreneurial spirit. And when we are challenged we become like one plagued with hallucinations who, when challenged, becomes paranoid. We begin to create a reality based on our obscurations and ideology. We isolate ourselves and intellectually wither away.

Multiculturalism is one of those “Is this a politically correct thing to talk about?” issue. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. But it must be talked about. If we isolate ourselves as I’ve already discussed, we breed contempt for those who are different. America used to be great because multiculturalism morphed into “The Melting Pot”. In other words, all those different points of view came together to make something greater than the sum of its parts. It made us tolerant and strong. We were the Promised Land. I remember travelling in Europe one time. I was going to Paris and through customs at Charles De Gaulle Airport. The Customs Signs read: EU, Americans, and Everyone Else. You know why, don’t you? They didn’t even stamp your passport. They knew that Americans would go home because the United States of America was the greatest country in the world. Do you ever hear about an emigration problem? No, only an immigration problem. We can’t keep people out. Yes, we love to travel, but we love to come home even more. Maybe this is the same for people from all over the world. I don’t know. But I know that it used to be true here. But now it seems that our virtual intellectual ghettos are reflected in our real-life existence. America has become a sea of islands with Fundamentalists living there and Jews living over there and Muslims living in Belle Glade or Detroit. Gay people live in LA or NYC or Miami and on and on it goes. We condemn our congress for not being able to come to any kind of compromise or consensus, but congress is a reflection of the electorate, so what is the surprise in that? We all have our own agenda, reinforced by our “pick and choose” method of personal interactionism.

Our third obstacle to success lies in the concept of ownership. Don’t get me wrong. I am a firm believer in capitalism. I would love to shop if I had any money. I do not vilify the rich with their private jets, for they have only achieved what we used to call “The American Dream”.  But ownership is a concept. We can accumulate lots of things, some consumable, some appreciable, and some casually referred to as durable.  I think when the Indians talked about sharing they were talking about consumables: make sure nobody goes hungry or is left out in the cold; help them when they are sick or injured. I don’t think they were talking about appreciable items like washing machines and automobiles so that leaves us with durables. As some of you know, I love to collect gemstones. Somebody asked me the other day, “How old is that Mandarin Garnet you’re wearing?” I told him, “About a hundred and fifty million years old.” My friend at the local jewelers has a “trade up” policy, that is if you buy a one carat diamond and your marriage lasts a year or ten, and you’d like to celebrate, you can trade your one carat diamond in for credit toward a larger one. One day a man looking for an engagement ring was told of the policy and asked, “What do you do with the old one?” My friend stumbled for an answer as the man walked out the door. To me, one doesn’t really own a durable. You are more of a care-taker. And if you take good care of the thing than somewhere down the road of life you can sell it or it will end of up the hands of one of your relatives. But we seem to have lost the ability to cherish durable things like rings, land and old-people. I have a friend whose father died recently and left his ranch to my friend and his sister – the  solution – sell it and divide the money. What about the land? What about the “old diamond”, what about me? I know I’m rambling a little, but my point is that there should be some point to ownership beyond pride or self-promotion. If you care for something you cherish, wouldn’t it be a joy if it landed in the hands of someone else who cherished it, maybe even just because it used to be yours? People bid on iPad covers made from Bernie Madoff’s pants pockets. What kind of weird devolution is that?

You know, the world doesn’t really care what people do. After we’ve exterminated ourselves, and if you’re a Darwinian, than some other species more fit to handle the planet at that time will become the dominate species and it won’t matter to it whether we social-networked our way into a corner, whether we killed each other off through a lack of understanding and fear, or whether we created a mind-set whereby we were defined by our ownership rather than a benefactor of it. By all means, go to Facebook and find old friends or read my blog from time to time, but get out of the house. Meet your neighbor, encourage debate and stop vilifying those with a different point of view. Take pride in your achievements, but recognize they mean nothing unless they benefit us all. Do this and you will begin to find optimism and solace.

Black Partridge Woods was a place of solace, camaraderie and joy. I haven’t been there in forty years, but I imagine it is still the same.  I counted 140 species in my book, but they weren’t mine. Their existence was a comfort and joy to all who saw them. I was looking through a bird book my grandfather used to own. I’ve recently given it to my sister to entrust to the future. It lists at least seven species that are now extinct. I hope none of my birds is extinct.  I hope each of you gets to see 140 species; it is your individual and our collective right. It will happen if we provide the basics to all living things, if we take care not to waste too many consumables and if we cherish what endures and instill a respect for the durable in our culture.

Civil Compassion Has Come So Far (Not)

When I was about 16 my mother asked me if I was gay. I said "no". Nearly 40 years later she asked me why and I said times were different. I was afraid. I didn't know any gay people. You never saw the term in the newspaper and "homo" and "fag" were derogetory terms used by bully's at school. In my day it took a lot of strength to "come out". Times have changed. Kids come out when they're fourteen and so they don't have to be distracted by an eternal struggle that tears you apart and keeps you from doing the job of a kid - learning, socializing and having fun.

Or, at least I thought times had changed. The other day in an article by Robin Wilkey in the HuffPost, Wilkey reported on a gay couple who had been together here in the US for 19 years. One guy was a US citizen and the other an Australian citizen who was here on a legitimate visa. They were legally married in Massachusetts in 2005 and moved to California when the US citizen got sick with AIDS. He has been diligently cared for by his Aussie partner since. Now the Aussie's visa has expired and so he's here "illegally". Mr. Obama specifically cited this case when he said as long as the "Defense of Marriage Act" was law, he was "legally" obligated to deport our Aussie friend, leaving his suffering partner to take care of him self.

Now, this situation upsets me on so many levels and I can see arguments on everyone's side as DOMA prohibits legally recognizing state gay marriages at the Federal level, where the only real difference in getting married counts. But I'm not writing this to argue DOMA. What really astonished me were the vitriolic comments made about the article. The hateful, fear-mongering and, frankly, frightening comments made towards gays, gay marriage and even "God's Revenge" AIDS, horrified me.

It's a dangerous world out there, still. Maybe kids do come out at 16, probably out of a gracious naivety. But they're risking their lives to do it. For a long time I've thought that most people under 40 could care less about someone's sexual orientation. I was wrong. I don't know if these people are neo-nazi's or religious fundamentalists or what. But whatever they are, they are. And that's dangerous. I realize that individual liberties are disintegrating in this society as a result of terrorism and threats from within and without the realm. I realize that there is no expectation of privacy in this virtual world we live in. But behind the bits and bytes of our new social phenomenom we are still human beings who live in an interdependent society. To paraphrase some neo-classical "American in Paris", we need to love each other, count on each other. If not now, when?

America is in financial decline, intellectual decline and we have devolved into a discourteous 140 character text-messaging hoard. I am afraid for us. We proclaim our threat from Islamic Extremists and Free Trade, but our biggest threat comes from within. In the 1960's, civil rights was the issue and in the '80's and early '90's I thought we had overcome the hurtle of being threatened by another's sexuality, but we have regressed so far that for the first time in decades, I am afraid to be gay. We have a lot of work to do. We must start with ourselves and learn to understand that who we are is not threatened by the mere fact of someone else being different.

50% of who we are is genetic and 50% is a result of environmental influences and what we're taught. We were doing so good at learning compassion and understanding. 9/11 changed us, but just as Magua in J. Fenimore Cooper's novel, The Last of the Mohicans, rallied his troops to destroy the last of a great tribe because they were different and Adolph Hitler inspired an entire people to exterminate everyone who wasn't Aryan, (It was Hitler who changed the name of Persia to Iran - a derivitive of Aryan.) will we destroy everyone we don't understand. How does my partnership threaten yours? How does my breath take away from yours?

I frequently hear people ask "What would Jesus say?". He would say that all men are children of God, every individual is responsible for, and only for, their own salvation. God will judge the rest so you needn't and shouldn't. What would the Buddha say? He would say to walk carefully, for every action you take and every thought that finds a permanent home in your mind will affect the quality and quantity of your life.

I recently wrote an article on fear. You must master your fear and understand that it is your pride, your insufficient view of  yourself that leads to fear. Fear leads to hate. Hate can have enormous consequences. Let it go. Work on your self. Settle your mind by letting go of pride and stop hating others because you find inferiority in yourself. I may be flawed, but so are you. I may be no better than you, but, I am sure as Day no worse.

HCSE this 13th of August 2011

Living With Fear

I will continue with my views and advice on rejection shortly, but with all the news lately, I thought I'd say something about living with the fear that this world can generate.  Every day we are bombarded with the catastrophic consequences of issues and events beyond our control. Over and over again we are beaten to near mental pulp about the collapse of our economy, the catastrophic consequences of our nation's failure to control itself and the resulting effects this will have on our own  individual lives. We are forwarned about the demise of the human species as a result of over-population or climate change, and we feel helpless and hopeless.
  In addition to all these world-wide cataclysmic events, we must deal with the potential personal disasters we might have to face such as impending disruptions in our relationships with others, our own bills and debts, and the consequence of ill health and inevitable aging.
  In this onslaught of input, we become overwhelmed, distressed and, ultimately, afraid. But fear is not an inevitable consequence of all of this. It is a choice we make, usually in a habitual and mindless response to perceived threats. But as we gain experience and wisdom, we ultimately see that, indeed, the sun will rise  tomorrow, we will, somehow, manage to make it through the day and, yes, on some of those days, bad things will happen. That's life. Life is change. Situations are always evolving but always impermenent.
  The measure of self, is not fearing that bad things will happen, but making it part of your daily life to mentally prepare yourself for life's defeats. And when they happen, and they will happen, it is understanding that some of life's setbacks are of our own doing and can be simply avoided, but many are not - they just happen. Acepting this and having realistic expectations and achievable goals wiill empower you.
  Fear is a perception of your own internal making. It is not a real or tangible thing. Everything you feel and how you react is a product of your own mind and is, thereby, a choice. Take time out every day to turn off the TV, the internet or your smart phone for a few minutes and to live in and embrace the moment and you will find that every day is filled with some joy and some love and, yes, some setbacks or loss. But only you can allow fear to control you and its your choice to choose to suffer through the day or emenate happiness and love and compassion.

Why Wise Words of Worth

  Although I am no more important or special than anyone else, I have lived. And it is through living that I have gained experience. And it is through experience that I have gained wisdom. I have lived a remarkable life. Sometimes filled with pleasure and satisfaction and, at other times, with loneliness and despair. It is my hope that through my writing here I may pass on some of my wisdom to everyone, I am most concerned about what I think is a lost and wandering generation of young adults from about 21 to 30. I think you, most of all, have had a raw deal, with parents mostly concerned about their own pleasures, too busy to be there for you. Because I am gay, I especially see this in my own community, but I see it elsewhere as well, with family and friends and the community that makes up South Beach, a section of Miami Beach well known among my potential followers.  Here, everyone envy's the young and beautiful. But not me. I appreciate the beauty and know of the loneliness and insecurity that lies within.

  So here I intend to address your issues from my point of view. I will try to structure my writings by giving you glimpses of my own biography and then how I feel it relates to you. You will come to find that we are all many things, some changeable, some not. But no matter, we are who we are. So let's begin.

Me:

A few months after I was born, Sputnik circled the Globe and the United States and The United Soviet Socialist Republic plunged more deeply into the cold war and the space race was on. A few months later, give or take six years, I remember watching Jack Ruby shoot Lee Harvey Oswald on live TV. It was a Sunday morning, I think. Then, my father took us skiing.

Well, that was actually two years later. My memories of the trip are formed mostly from the myriad of Kodachrome slides he took and the fact that I had the first buckle boots on the slopes. I was eight. I did something else when I was eight the bothered me for many, many years. I stole a puppet from my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Whitelsby or something. The event is so clearly etched in my mind and it made me feel so bad that I’ve never stolen anything from anybody again. I also remember, in that same year, these ridiculous drills where we crawled under our steel-tubing and press-board desks to avoid the effects of a nuclear attack. No, really!

When I was ten, my father took us, meaning me and about eight so-called friends, to the zoo. I distinctly remember this from the slides. Also, somebody gave me some goldfish.

It should be evident that I led a normal, relatively uneventful, not-quite-Ozzie and Harriett (or Brady Bunch, if you’re twenty years younger, but definitely not 2 Men and a Baby) life. My father’s father was pretty well-off and had died by the time I was eight or ten. I remember it was the only time I ever saw my father cry. But he was a hardworking, tender guy who took us to the great museums of Chicago and the Brookfield Zoo regularly to give my mom some peace.

One time, I remember, he took us to the factory he owned and where they produced enameled products in great vats of acid and other ominous looking chemicals. He told us one of his employees had seen the letter u, r, I, n, and e on a bottle in the lab and thought it sounded pretty and so she named her daughter Urine (pronounce Ureene). I believed it for many years and still think it might be true.

We lived in an upper-middle class, white collar suburb of the Windy City, where I also attended the Chicago Conservatory of Music to study piano every Saturday. What an adventure! I used to go into the loop by train to Union Station, walk up Jackson to Michigan Avenue and onto the conservatory. In the winter it was an ordeal and one time I saw a guy walking on the sidewalk get shot by a passing car. But the most important thing was that when I was about 14 I bought my first dirty magazine at the newspaper stand in the train station and smuggled it nervously home in my music case. I say this now only because it was a pivotal moment in my life, marking adolescence and the real beginning of my story.

Now, I realize I haven’t mentioned my mother yet. I will.

You: You were born into the world in much the same way, but there the difference ends. When I was young fathers worked and mothers stayed home to raise the kids. There was always somebody around. And parents took their kids to do things on weekends or holidays. They were involved with our recreation - not that we always like that. We certainly found time to sneak off and cause trouble. I remember sneaking into the neighbor's basement to steal bottles of vodka. But your time was spent doing after-school activities, soccer, music, whatever, but with friends and some unrelated adult supervising and you didn't watch TV with the rest of your family. In my days, households only had one TV. You all had your own TV, computer or some other personally-indulgent electronic interactive device. Why is this important? Because, like Sony Walkmans, it was the beginning of living inside yourself, impersonalizing your social interactions to the point that now many of us communicate in 140 characters or less. We lose our ability to successfully interact with others and are constantly afraid of what others think of us. We make ourselves vulnerable by posting our "Profiles" and by relying on profiles as an assessment of an other's character and humanity. The advent of Internet dating is an example. I am nearly 55 years old. What should I write? "54 year old, sick, decrepit wreck seeks young hot thing for life-long relationship"? OMG. But if you met me on the street, chances are you'd like me and not conger up some bizarre picture of what you think I am based on my "Profile".

  Ok, maybe you've had some adult guidance, but I've noticed that most of your parents are afraid to talk about anything of substance to you because the don't want to admit that they also had issues related to sex, drugs and self-worth. They lost themselves in a booming economy where they could farm out your care and spend "their time" playing with each other. Maybe you got to go along, maybe not. Maybe you didn't want to. So, It's my view that you got robbed of guidance, wisdom and a safe place to go when you felt insecure.

  So that's where this blog is headed, for the moment. A forum for you to vent and maybe take advantage of the right and wrong steps I made to help you develop a little wisdom of your own. So keep checking in or seeking comment on your issues from someone who remembers how tough it is to be you.

Next time: Rejection