Tough Day at Work

Generally speaking, I love my job. I really do. It is a great thing to be involved in helping people improve their lives, end harmful patterns, and grow into their best (or at least better) selves. It can be immensely gratifying.

And then there are days like today, which are just tough. I am working with a girl right now who has had a rough life, and who has made a lot of mistakes. She is a fantastic girl, but she keeps repeating destructive patterns that are not moving her life towards anything but even more pain.

When I have clients like that, for whom change is so desperately needed, but for whom change also seems so impossibly distant, it is a challenge not only for my mind but also for my heart.

I try to keep my therapeutic distance, and I am succesful msot of the time, but even then I ache for my clients who hurt like she does. It is so hard for me to remain a therapist and avoid the temptation to become a friend. My job is to help her gain insight and create new patterns to replace the old ones, not to commiserate with her and give her a shoulder to cry on.

Therapy is often a game of patience and restraint, and NOT following the urge to give comfort and solace. I have to remember what my role is, and what it is NOT. On days like today, that distinction is hard to recognize and even harder to adhere to. I think I succeeded, but it was hard on me. It is tough to be a professional helper, and to not feel like you are helping as much as you might. It is hard to see a girl who is struggling so much with her own (largely) self created sorrows, and not jump in and try to save her. My job is to help her learn to save herself, not prevent her from learning by taking away her challenges. But precisely that difference is a very, very difficult line to walk.

And then I have to buck up and be upbeat for my next client, and I have 10 minutes in which to make the turn.

Of Dreams and Vindication

I was going to write this post earlier today, but that would have been too premature even for me. Now, though, CNN has officially projected that our next president will be Barack Hussein Obama, and I just wanted to share some of my thoughts on that idea.

For the first time in my life, I can actually say that I believe in the age-old adage that anyone can be anything in America. I have heard it ever since I was a boy, but I have always seen too much evidence that there are far too many things in our country that far too many people simply could not realistically aspire to. I wanted to believe it, but could not. Yet now I sit here, knowing that the next president of the United States will be a black man. Even more surprising, I am not surprised. It feels right, and feels natural.

I am very proud to be an American right now. Not because Barack Obama is president, but because Barack Obama had a chance to become president in the first place. 40 years ago, when he was a young boy, there was no chance for him to ever aspire so high. 200 years ago, he would have legally been considered only 3/5 of a person. He was born into a world where people of his skin color were systematically and brutally repressed. In the year he was born, the idea of a black president would have been so ridiculous as to be laughable. The idea of a black mayor or governor was cause for outrage and protest. And then came a difficult, sometimes violent process of change. A million men and women marched on Washington. Rosa kept her seat. Martin had a dream.

But the dream was deferred. For a long time it seemed as though the dream would wither on the vine. A new glass ceiling seemed to slide into place, and it seemed to me that the fantastic and gifted Americans of color would be allowed only so much success, only a select few glimpses of their true potential. The 60s and 70 rolled by, and progress towards racial equality only progressed in fits and starts. The year I was born, America was overwhelmingly racist. If you would have asked me when I graduated high school if I thought I would ever live to see a black president, I would have told you that I would hope so, but didn't think it would ever happen.

And yet today it did happen. I have no idea what kind of president Barack Obama will be. Maybe a terrible one, maybe the best since Lincoln. Time will tell. What I am grateful for and proud of is that a black man has risen to the highest office of the most powerful nation in the world. I am also proud that the American people, both black and white, are starting to fulfill the dream that Dr. King spoke of. His dream was not a dream for black people, but a dream for an America where men are judged 'not for the color of their skin, but for the content of their character.'

This election was, I think, proof that we are finally making real progress towards that dream. God bless America. God blessed America.

No Party for Me

Since the election is just one week away, I figured I should get in my last politico-minded post before I shift gears to making fun of the new president (Obama by a killing, I predict. I also predict that when McCain sees that he has lost Pennsylvania and Ohio, whatever is growing inside his left cheek will finally break out like in that scene from Alien.)

OK, so here is really why I am writing this post. I know who I am voting for, but it is not who I want to vote for. The truth is, I don't have anyone I really want to vote for. A good buddy of mine is going to write in Mickey Mouse. I sometimes feel the same way. In this election, I feel like I am choosing between two people I dislike, and going with the one I dislike least. How is that an ideal society?

I admit, that the person I dislike most is a whole lot more disliked than the lesser dislikee. In other words, it is not a close race in my mind. However, it is still a sad commentary on the state of affairs in American politics that the system as it exists today, forces me to pick between the lesser of two evils. (see some of my previous political rants)

Thinking about this has lead me to try to define exactly what my politics are, since I am clearly not a Republican, and neither can I identify with the Democrats. I have friends who are Libertarians, and I think they are nut-jobs. So what am I, exactly?

I have decided to label myself as a Bleeding-Heart-Moderate-Conservative. BHMC, if you will. Sounds like a carcinogen, or a preservative, or likely both. Here is what being a BHMC means: I am a proponent of governmental assistance against poverty, but also against high corporate taxation. I am green but I feel greenness is best accomplished by private companies being able to develop competing technologies without government assistance. I am anti-abortion, but I don't believe it is correct to legislate morality. On that same note, I am for the traditional definition of family, but I don't think the government should tell two consenting adults what kind of relationships they can and cannot have. I support the death penalty for criminals who have no chance of parole. I am pro gun ownership, but would like to see tighter regulation. I am tired of America being the world police, but I am in favor of us stepping up our humanitarian aid to other countries. I think it should be illegal for politicians to accept money from anyone, period. They should all be paid out of a central pot and be answerable to their constituents only. If anyone wants to make a donation to a politician, they have to donate to the central fund.

Essentially, I don't have a political party. I am too much in the middle. I don't even agree with the Independent party enough to join. So I will have to decide on the lesser of two evils on Nov 4th. It makes me sad. I can just hope that my less-repugnant choice turns out to be only half as lame as our president from the last 8 years.

Something Positive for a Change

I know it is uncharacteristic of me to put up a post that is not me complaining about the state of the world, but that is exactly what I am doing. I saw something today that I thought was really awesome, and I wanted to put that admiration into words.

I was watching the Today Show, and hearing all about missing babies that may or may not still be alive, about elections and financial crises, and all of the fun stuff of the day. And then, right before I had to take off to work, they ran a color piece on some guy from Sweden (I think) who has invented and built a real-live functioning jet pack which he used today to fly across the English Channel.

He lit his four little jet engines inside a plane flying over France, then dove out of the plane, extended the folded wings strapped to his back, and then flew to England. The only thing he used to steer the plane was his own body.

It wasn't very spectacular or dramatic to watch, just a guy in a white suit strapped beneath a wing. But it was very impressive just the same. I love that this guy even had the idea to try something like this, let alone the tenacity and drive to see it through. It was exploration and achievement for the sake of exploration and achievement, which is always refreshing and uplifting to me.

In a time when people are talking about manned missions to Mars, it seems like a flight across the English Channel has anti-climactic written all over it. But really, this guy is a pioneer, and did something no one has ever done before at tremendous risk to his own life.

It makes me hope for a day when I might be able to strap on my wingpack and fly off to work or wherever, landing on my own two feet, chaining my jet to the waiting bike-rack, and then flying home when I am done. Not a bad thing to imagine at all.

The American Nightmare

or: At What Price Prosperity?

I apologize right from the start for the content of this rant. I realize that my harping on the economic status of the country is getting old by now. Frankly, I wish I had something else to rant about, but there is nothing more salient than the economy at the moment, and that is really saying something when the leader of the free world is going to be decided in less than two months.

I have been listening to NPR a lot lately. I like their coverage of the economic crisis. They have intelligent and qualified guests on who talk about the topics of interest of the day. Today, they had a panel on the planned Federal bail-out of these large investment banks that is going to cost tax payers trillions of dollars. It was interesting stuff, and caused me to panic just a little. But mostly is caused me to think about something that never ceases to fascinate me about the American People.

We have this style of life that is the envy of the world. At least that is what we tell ourselves. We have this promise, called the American Dream, that anyone who has a little creativity and a lot of dedication can really make something for themselves. We are a nation of home-owners, avidly in love with suburbia. We are consumers of products from dairy to SUVs and everything in between. We have a distinct culture of comfort and ease, as attested by our drive-through everything and our willingness to sacrifice taste and quality for speed and convenience (see: microwaveble pizza).

We have happilly embraced this lifestyle, and are often proud of it. We call ourselves innovative, imagine ourselves to be the people who have it all figured out. This is what fascinates me: if we have it all figured out, how come no one is copying us? Sure, they watch our movies and listen to our music, but the rest of the world is not restructuring its social systems to be more like ours. People are buying American soft drinks, but they are not buying the American Lifestyle.

I think that is because we are not nearly as great as we think we are. Sometimes we are downright pathetic. In our eagerness to have more and more stuff, we place enormous debt burdens upon ourselves, so that we can barely enjoy our lives. How is that superior to the European countries, where the only debts that are common are car payments and rent? They take lavish, four week long vacations to exotic places, and can afford to because they do not, like many Americans, feel the need to buy a lawnmower/tractor/espresso machine on credit. Americans can barely afford to travel to Grandma's for Thanksgiving because we tend to live inches away from complete financial ruin, in the pursuit of having more stuff, bigger houses, nicer cars.

The truth is, we are miserable. We do not have even close to the highest standard of living in the world, and no one wants to be like us. Sure America is a great place to live, but only people in third-world countries see moving to America as a step up. People living in Europe see a move to America as a lateral move, with some advantages but also plenty of losses. I have seen this first hand.

We are not the land of milk and honey. The American dream often rots on the vine, and very many Americans never reach the kind of personal prosperity and happiness as is common in much less powerful European nations. That is not to say that I am disatisfied. I am happy here. I have just also had the chance to see that I would be just as happy in many other places, and that my happiness is not due to American society.

We pay a very high price in terms of human cost for our style of living. Too high a price. In our need for a McMansion and a Family Fortress SUV, we burden ourselves with more debt than we can pay. We allow ourselves to be deluded into thinking we can afford a home that is ridiculously beyond our means, simply because we can afford the payments for the next three years until the rate changes. These things are inherently unhealthy, unsatisfying, and unsafe. Those are hardly the makings of a dream.

30

This weekend was my birthday. Or rather, Monday was my birthday. Now I am mourning the death of my twenties, and trying to fit being 30 years old in the same mind that still prefers X-Men to the Wall Street Journal. Its weird, having this adult body wrapped around my persistently child-like mind. I still look for animals in clouds and try to find the ends of rainbows. How can I also be 30?

Before I launch into that introspection, I must say that I have a seriously awesome family. A whole bunch of them spent the weekend at our place, turning our DINK household into an instant orphanage, or at least that is what it felt like. Kiddies all over the place, of all ages and sizes. It was so nice to have the house full of activity and sound, and to always have someone to throw into the bean-bag. (Dana only gets mad when I throw her anywhere) Mom, Chandelle, the Three Nieceketeers, Will and Becky with Naomi, and Bob (for about 10 hours) all came and crashed in our place. It was awesome. I was honored that they all took the 10 hour drive over the mountains to celebrate with me. Jesse, Wendy, Crystal, Jed and Jon weren't able to make it, but the all called to give me birthday wishes, anyway.

Yeah, it was pretty sweet. I felt really special and loved. I have a good family, I think. They even stuck it out when some of them started to feel sick, to make sure they could celebrate my 30th with me. That made me feel really good, and a little guilty at the same time.

Now for the introspection: I am actually really happy that I have managed to retain as much of my childishness as I have. If I were given a chance to chose, I definitely would pick childish over adultish. Childhood is the realm of fantasy and innocence, the kingdom of hope and wonder. It is the place that adults lose and forever yearn for. It is the playground of the soul, and the classroom of the imagination. Childhood is the place where dancing for joy is as normal as laughter, and where smiling is contagious. Childhood is where humanity is pure and lovely. Its loss is a universal tragedy.

So yeah, I am very glad that I have retained a healthy sliver of my childishness. If that means I will never feel completely at home in my aging body, I will take that as proof that I still have at least one foot in Never Never Land.

Someone please explain this to me. . .

So I am a new home owner, and a proud one at that. Even digging around in my back yard and making expensive home improvements, the whole nine yards. Part of that new home ownership is new mortgage ownership, which I am less pround of, but which seems to be unavoidable.

Mortgate is a simple enough deal, right? Borrow a good percentage of a million dollars with the promise you will pay it back with an even larger percentage of a million dollars, and move in to your little slice of the American dream. Fail to pay it off, and your little slice is foreclosed on, and you lose your home and possibly everything else of value you own.

Easy concept, on the surface. But then they throw all sorts of twists into the bargain, like adjustable rates and sub-prime interest. These things are at best, bad business practices designed to dupe people into buying homes they cannot really afford, and at worst are little more than sanctioned corporate fraud.

But the banks in our country did this stuff anyway. Hooray for capitalism! Lets trick hundreds of thousands of people into buying dream homes they can't really afford, then yank the carpet out from under them and make them both bankrupt AND homeless! As long as the banks make money, right?

Wrong, as it turns out. It seems that all of these people who bought homes they could not afford ended up actually not being able to afford the homes. Imagine that. So there was no money for them to pay. All of a sudden the debt that was in the hands of hundreds of thousands of simple American families was transferred back to the banks that issued the fradulent loans. So the banks LOST money on the deal. Seems fair to me, right?

So please explain this to me - why on earth is the United States Government bailing these banks out? The banks made ridiculous, evil, greedy decisions and prayed on the trust and naivete of the populace and got burned for it. So why on earth should the government save them?

How many of the people who defaulted on their loans, who made their own little greedy, piss poor decisions have been bailed out by Uncle Sam? At my last count, that number was 0. So please explain this to me - the government will pay BILLIONS of taxpayer dollars to bail out a bank, but I, a citizen, could not, EVER, expect them to pay 250,000 of those same dollars to bail me out. On what planet does THAT crap make sense?

Oh, and here is the fecal icing on that vomit-cake: the geniouses who tanked the US housing industry and drove Fanny-Mae and Freddy Mac straight into the ground have both been fired. I heard on NPR today that they are both getting severance packages worth millions of dollars. Sounds fair, doesn't it? I mean, if I completely ruined the financial future of my family, and burried us up to our hairlines in debt, I should deserve a payout of at least a few hundred grand, right?

Wrong, once again. All of it is nothing but wrong.