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A Slightly Odd Thought

Thoughts are more susceptible than most things to being, at the same time, reasonable and helpful and bizarre and unhelpful, according to the angle they’re viewed from, how the light hits them. 

In discussing whether I might actually be mad, trying to do the quite possibly impossible thing I’m trying to do, the teenage therapist and I seem to agree that the jury is still out.   Clearly, the most sensible thing to do is find something to do that brings in money.  If it’s something that also brings personal satisfaction, helps others, is enjoyable and challenging — that’s great.  But given the choice between earning a living or being in a constant state of turmoil over a ridiculously challenging thing requiring a good deal of self-reinvention while not bringing in a groosh or a kopeck… most people, on every shade of the elusive sanity spectrum, would choose the former.

I am ambiguously blessed, at the moment, not to have to occupy myself with the vexing question of how to pay my bills.  Five years ago I inherited enough money to support the average person three to five years.   Not lavish years, mind you, but average years for the average person living a modestly middle class life.  I have always tried to keep my expenses low, my options open for working the fewest hours in a conventional job.  Five frugal years later I still have money, riding on the “free market” roulette wheel like the trillions scooped off the slanted table the last time the richest and cleverest gamed the system prior to the “collapse” (or wholesale fraud, if we want to be more accurate) in 2008.  For the moment I am not worrying about that, though, of course, I probably should be.   My not worrying is another tick on the side of the ledger the jury may lean toward when deliberating over my relative sanity.

But here was the slightly odd thought that snuck up on me the other day.   I’m working strictly on marketing now, as much as I can, focused on presenting the workshop in a light that will make it hard for public school innovators in the de Blasio administration to resist.  This marketing work is also necessary for interesting and recruiting the best possible people to work with me on the program.   I’ve spent many hours removing all self-deprecation, self-doubt and frustration when I describe the program.  I’ve eliminated all references to the likely impossibility of my task.   I focus, when I can, on how well the program I designed works for its intended purposes.  

I am making my language terse, yet natural.  In the first minute I now summarily answer the most obvious questions: who I am, what brings me to the room and why this program is so important and valuable.   I am isolating the talking points, keeping them simple and rotating them, repeating each one enough times for the message to hopefully sink in.  You want to involve children in their education, make them eager partners in their own learning?  Give them a stake, let them learn what fascinates them and let them teach each other.   You really want children to become creative problem solvers?  Put them in a room full of art supplies and technology, with an exciting end-product they can enjoy, and adults who set things up then take a back seat, and watch what they do.   Etc.    

The odd thought, yes, I’m coming to it presently.  I’d been stuck for a while trying to complete the pitch.  I need to be able to present a snappy and memorable show during the structured yet natural twenty minutes I will get to pitch it some day.   Improvisation in a sales pitch is foolishly risky business, as I’ve learned in a gently brutal manner.  Wrestling with the technology to make the AV (I reveal my age with this anachronistic reference to “Audio Visual”)  side of the presentation has been an added frustration.  Every added frustration makes the mountain I have to climb steeper.  The fucker is already almost vertical, any steeper and I’ll have to find or design special shoes to allow me to walk upside down.  Another of five dozen, sometimes ridiculous, workarounds so far.  

But this week I was finally able to negotiate the last technical hurdles with the program I’m using to create the pitch (a total of five hours winning over ever more supportive and expert tech support) and it gave me the ability, at last, to record version after version and watch them back.  Recording myself was a useful bit of advice I received a few weeks ago when the very idea of watching my sluggish progress set my teeth on edge.  Being able to finally see my work played back eliminated the rehearsal-to-myself motivation problem, and the equally vexing one of finding someone to do me the favor of watching each version and helping me assess my snail-like progress.    

“Wait,” you will say, “you supposedly have an organization, a non-profit founded in the Spring of 2012.  Why do you still need to find people to do you a favor?  Call a meeting and….”  Shut the fuck up, would you, fuckface?  

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, ignore this well-meaning yet provocative clown and my client’s outburst as well.  My client suffers from acute Founder’s Syndrome, a well-known condition that eventually afflicts the CEO of virtually every one-person organization.     

Anyway, now that I can work on the pitch and watch it in progress it’s much easier to see transitions that are bad, points that are not made clearly, glitches, clumsily worded talking points and so forth.  Clearly this is the work of a committee, a team, but since I have neither, it’s taken way, way longer to complete.  Now that it’s finally not so difficult to see and fix weak points I’ve made good progress the last week and it’s now virtually done.  I’ll be presenting it to a successful non-profit entrepreneur on Tuesday and once more have the benefit of his experienced feedback.  He has mastered a pitch that is successfully selling a once one-man program related to mine.   My pitch is ready now, 48 hours before the meeting, though I plan to polish it a bit more, if I can. 

Now the slightly odd thought, after one last bit of set up.   I ran the short new segment by Sekhnet the other day.  It contained my freshly written “who am I, why am I here, why should you care?” rap.  She was distracted from my short personal and professional message by the flash of oddly unrelated animation on the screen.   She was right to be distracted, I could see at once.   I set to work making the proverbial enormous changes at the last minute.  Had I presented that first version to the social entrepreneur I’d have lost him in twenty to sixty seconds and he’d be bracing for a wasted 20 minutes with a clearly mad person with a single good idea and a hundred bad ones. 

Several hours of concentrated work later I had a 49 second animated clip that I can actually link to this post (later) explaining who I am, why I am here and setting up why my program is something you should check out.   These simple questions had been impossibly ticklish ones for me to answer.  I knew the new version was pretty good.  Ran the less than minute by Sekhnet.  “I like it,” she said, after a little laugh at 0:20 where I’d inserted a little bark of levity, “it really shows how much work you did developing the program”.   Went back to work, tweaking a couple of things I noticed while showing it to her.  I fixed several other small weak links in the pitch.  

At the end of a very productive day I stood at the mirror shaving.   As I watched myself I noticed a small twinkle in my eye.  In that small moment of satisfaction I glimpsed an entire universe of truth and I had this odd thought:   it’s easy to have ideas and it’s morally satisfying to have ideals;  living them is the hard part.  I don’t personally know many people working as hard to live their ideals directly, to see their unique ideas mischievously afoot in the world.   It is hard, maybe impossible, work, but it’s the best work I could hope for, it occurred to me in that moment.  I am also blessed, by pure luck of circumstance, to be free and able to pursue it for as long as I have been.  

I pushed aside the thought of all of my more successful friends, figuring out how to live well doing things that are also important, or sometimes not;  pushed aside the often odious comparisons that come so naturally to all of us here in the Free Market.  

I am free, the twinkle in my eye reminded me, and lucky to be doing important work for which I am uniquely suited.   I’ve learned to savor the small but crucial moments of reward that are invisible to most people.  This could be a sign of madness, of course, seeing these tiny, isolated moments as a blessing, but I prefer (in the custom of all madmen) to think not.   It’s crucial to drink fully of every life-sustaining moment of reward we feel in order to persevere in any difficult undertaking.  I’ve learned to suck every drop of  juice from these rare and subtle moments of reward one must be vigilant to enjoy. 

If my life is harder, harder to explain and less materially sustainable than the lives of many people I know — these are all part of the price the world extracts from those who dream of a more merciful society and struggle to make these dreams real in the world.   There is a price to be paid for being different, clearly, and it’s not just a theoretical price.  Part of that price involves the occasional questioning of your sanity.  

It was an excellent moment in front of the shaving mirror, even if, at the same time, a slightly odd thought.

The sometimes grotesque effort to survive

Survival against the odds sometimes takes on a grotesque aspect.  

“How is that thing even still alive?” a person will say, wonder mixed with horror, watching the dried out, half-eaten creature dragging itself along by its remaining limbs.

The will to live is strong and does not, after a certain point, obey the dictates of good taste.  It is no surprise that we sometimes prefer to look away.

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Creativity: Impossible, Essential (draft 1)

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When God created the heavens and the earth, rivers and mountains, the oceans, the animals, at the end of each day of Creation he rested and said “that’s good!”  Then God got up the next day, brought some more never before seen things into being, looked at those things and said “nice!.”  And, on the seventh day God rested, very satisfied with His week’s work.

All things are brought about by acts of creation; children, music, perfectly seasoned food, humor, ideas, the worst and best case scenarios for every plan imaginable, imagination itself.   Creation is the source of everything we see, hear, taste, value.  

Here in the marketplace of ideas we are free to trade in any creative speculation we can entertain, though it is surprisingly not often done  Events and the mass media dictate and regulate the trade in ideas, and skillful propagandaists frame and shape those events to fit a dualistic narrative, dreamed up by creative minds specialized in influencing public opinion.   Speculation and debate framing are creative exercises like any other leap of imagination.  We view the events of our times in frames filtered through the dusty prisms of history, your view of the past a reflection of your underlying beliefs about the nature of our world.  

It is worth a look at what happened to societies who underwent comparable periods of inequality in wealth, economic collapse and insecurity, increased levels of poverty, crowding, pollution, violence.  There are not many times in human history more dramatically and violently set off as our own, especially when you throw in rising sea levels, increased drought, and tsunamis, and famines, and flooding, and tornadoes.

As a student of history, can you think of a case where radically increased government secrecy and unaccountability were not precursors to totalitarian states?  Government secrecy and unaccountability are things, in the clear light of  hindsight, to be resisted by all citizens who would have a true democracy.

Framing the conversation is where the propagandist, or brander, makes his living.   The packaging and selling of products determines the view most people have of those products.  If we invade a country to save the citizens from a Hitler-like dictator, are we not doing the right thing?  If the commercial and political marketplace are identical then the better funded, skillfully branded,  more extensively marketed candidate always wins.

It seems cynical to view democracy as merely a matter of who has the winning marketing strategy– branding, advertising, monetizing the product, matching it with its demographic and marketing it to them with skillful real-time market research, Johnny On The Spot public relations, subtle advertising– but these are all tools used to win campaigns.   The most convincing campaign is almost always based on stunning simplicity.

Once the issue is simplified, freedom versus tyranny, say, and the idea commodified, sold in its symbolic,  emotion inspiring aspect,  memorable and moving propaganda can be born.  If it bleeds it leads, what makes the heart pump faster is what will appeal to the electoral consumer.  Propaganda, like advertising, appeals primarily to emotion.   Ideas are only used to excite the emotions, so the rationale for those ideas is not always important.

                                                                                                 II  

On the other hand, every one who ever lets go to create sometimes knows how great creativity feels.

An act of creativity loosens the chafing chains that bind you to your cares.   Creativity is essential, but not practiced in the general society, beyond a certain prescribed range:  cooking, choice of musical recording, joking, it comes down now to mostly a matter of style.   Creativity of any kind can seem impossible, through long repression, for some people.   As John Cleese points out, it’s easier to talk about being creative than to be creative  But being in a creative state is very pleasurable and working with others to create a thing together is life affirming.

To be creative you must enter the creative mode: relaxed, confident, not worried, not in a hurry, and not distracted by the million mundane details that grind the world to distraction.  In the workshop I expect the kid with ADHD to sit behind the computer editing for 90 minutes without getting distracted.  I expect the level of creativity that comes naturally to a group of kids that age at play.  In order never to discourage it I try to always be relaxed, and open, and not in a hurry or distracted.

That is a tall order, to remain always relaxed.  To keep yourself open and mild, not always easy to do.  To be aware of the time frame, and in control of the clock, but never in a hurry or distracted.  Always to say, when a second kid tries to break into the conversation to be heard “I’d like to hear this, but as you can see X is talking to me.  As soon as she’s done, you’re next, hold that thought.”  All of these things are crucial to maintaining a creative environment where everyone stays relaxed, where nobody feels threatened.  Keeping these qualities at all times takes regular practice to get good at.  Worth it, though, and a creative act, to practice making these small changes on yourself.

 

Hypertension

I went to bed by three last night, so as to have eight hours’ sleep before the workshop today.   It’s always best to be well rested when I walk into that humming beehive where I have to be alert and present for two hours to oversee the magic.
I was exhausted and ready for the sleep, but my eyes popped open at 5:46 and pretty much stayed that way.  I’d have thought it would be easy to catch up on my sleep, since I was up early the day before, sucked down a coffee and dashed up to the Allen Pavilion to get a flu shot and have my high blood pressure checked.  The last time I’d been there my blood pressure had been high (though my cholesterol was 160).  The doctor’s face turned into a tarsier’s, his eyes like two saucers, as he read the monitor.  He told me not to worry, his eyes still not back to their normal size, to take a couple of deep breaths, and my blood pressure remained very close to stroke range.
The Nurse Practitioner who gives the shots is a woman I don’t recall ever meeting.  She’d been extremely snippy to me on the phone when I called with an increasingly uncomfortable pus filled thumbnail in August.  In the old days I’d have been growling at her over what an asshole she’d been when I’d called with a medical emergency and she gave me attitude when I called back a third time in four hours of increasing discomfort.   She’d lectured me, instead of apologizing for acting like a jerk, and not having the receptionist pass on the information she finally gave me about where to have it lanced.  
At the time it really burned me up.  But, nowadays, being fucking Ahimsa Man, I was mild and pleasant with her. Had a most pleasant chat, and I told her about the constant stress I am under trying to scale a great idea that works into a business that can sustain itself and the people who work for it.  As she put the cuff on she said– “oh, off the record….” and told me about a group at Columbia Business School that offers free help to start-up businesses.  My blood pressure?  108/70, twice.
 
No matter that the deadline for getting help from these MBA students turns out to have been 9/6.  I’ll fill out the application for the highly competitive freebie, they review them on a rolling basis.
 
But now, if you will excuse me, I’m going to be late for the workshop– on 4 1/2 hours’ sleep.

Why We Don’t Talk about Poverty

Here’s the thing about poverty– it’s terrible, traumatic, scarring, bad for the health, reduces hopes for the future and life expectancy considerably.   Like the intractable and uncomfortable subjects of Death, Religion and Politics, it is one of those things we are advised not to discuss in polite society.

Poor people in the US have TVs, cellphones, air-conditioners.  Yes, some of them do. Most people who are not poor also have these things.  I’m not judging, just saying.

My mind is flipping around a bit today, I just sat through a webinar about how to retain donors to a nonprofit cause.   It takes, among other things, a constant flow of gratitude, which comes naturally enough when someone is moved enough to open their wallet that your idea might move forward into the world.   Did you know that 70% of first time donors do not donate a second time?   Or that a 10% increase in donor retention increases revenues by up to 50%?   Neither did I.  

It was suggested by one of the experts in the webinar that a nonprofit consider hiring a special consultant to coordinate the thanking and stroking of donors.   We will get on that right away, once we raise some funds to pay that professional.

Here is a free piece of advice:  if you want to help the children of the poor, do not be poor yourself.  Poor people, let’s put it this way, are not as credible as billionaires who can buy teams of marketing geniuses to make them mayor of any city they fancy.

Here’s another piece of disjointed opinion:  don’t get upset by what you hear in the media.   If you hear, say, an interview by a reporter you respect (Warren Olney) of an ideologue like Jim DeMint, current president of the conservative Heritage Foundation, in which DeMint repeatedly calls Obamacare the most destructive legislation in American history, and the journalist never asks for any clarification of the grounds for this rather incendiary assertion, don’t think too hard about it.

Perhaps it was one of the conditions for the President of the Heritage Foundation to come on the show:  absolutely no requests for clarification of any statements.  It is clear that right wing types are desperate that the Affordable Care Act (ACA) not be implemented, lest it succeed in saving consumers of health care a lot of money and become widely popular, like Social Security and Medicare.

Though not the plan many would have hoped for, it appears more and more clearly to have been the best Obama could do, as seen by the determination of the right to defeat its implementation by any means necessary.   It has personally saved me about $700 over two years, ACA-mandated rebates from the outfit that gave its CEO a 72 million dollar golden parachute when Obamacare was approved.

Perhaps, if you qualify for low-cost NY State Health insurance that costs a full 25% of the maximum allowable income to qualify, you should be happy and just shut the hell up.  You know why?  Because truly, and sincerely, and from the bottom of their hearts, anyone not effected by it does not care.

Live long, prosper, have a nice day.

Hard Boiled

I work alone.   I don’t flinch when somebody takes a swing at me, they don’t often connect.  I live largely in my head, except when I am carrying out projects with elementary school kids.  These projects are now a small forest of trees, but not bearing fruit yet.   It will be a colorful orchard and many smiling guests will visit, happy faces smeared with fruit, or it will be a scary, dark, wild place people sometimes glimpse from low flying airplanes.

The point is, you can’t shake me.   I know who I am, I know who you are.  If I have vowed not to fight it doesn’t mean I am not still strong.

Here’s the thing, though.  Maintaining a mild disposition is only one part of the equation, apparently.  The other half is some scary math, 152/88 in the blood pressure monitor.  The doctor turned pale as he got the reading, told me to take a few slow deep breaths.  My blood pressure had never been nearly this high.  The second reading was the same, my own readings since have been worse.

Being hard boiled, you know, a good thing and a bad thing.  Now I have to view this as a wake-up call.  Climbing 50 flights of steps a day, walking five miles a day, riding the bike, these things won’t help me unless I also lose ten pounds and start sleeping more.  The old friend who wondered how I sleep with the ridiculous pressure on me to succeed in an unlikely undertaking was a prophet.   I assured her I slept fine.  But her concern was a wake-up call, how can I have restful sleep with no money coming in?  So my sleep is more often than not sporadic.

“What the hell is this?” asks an irate client, already waiting four hours in my waiting room where the clients are stacked like cord wood, “your stinking diary?”

I have learned to not answer rhetorical questions from angry people who are likely imaginary.

I have a friend with a charming, brutal mother.  He’s got kids of his own, is a highly responsible and well-respected man who performs heroic services for people in need. Because his mother is brutal as well as charming, her propensity to lash out with a hard slap cancels her charm completely for him, understandably.  There’s nothing funny about her otherwise humorous throw away line after the slap, if your face is stinging and you’ve done nothing to earn the red hand mark on your face.  His success in dealing with her is that he stews for a much shorter time after spending a few hours helping her out.

Like my mask of mildness, and my soaring blood pressure, my friend’s success is laudable but ultimately minor.  Once I understood the atrocities my father had experienced as an infant, all through childhood, I was no longer confused as to why he was a monster.  The only question is why he wasn’t somehow even worse.  Not to say he wasn’t bad enough, thank you, but he could have vented in even more destructive ways.  Not to say he wasn’t wonderfully destructive.

I imagine my friend sitting down with his mother and smoking a peace pipe.  I imagine being there, filling the bowl, puffing once or twice to keep it lit.  Picture this charming woman with the dark sense of cruelty-tinged humor, getting real laughs out of her son.  Feel the relief of the child, to finally be able to see his mother as something more than a rash creature to be angry at.

“You seem a bit off your game today,” says one of my 43,000 followers.

True.  It’s probably just the silent killer, stalking me, getting ready to turn a vise in my chest.  I’d better eat another plum and take a long, slow walk.

Who are these people?

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