Wedding night tears…

Posted on September 24, 2012 by fearlessanalyst

I was just reading a post by a blogger I follow (“My Crazy BiPolar Life”) in which she describes her inability (at the time) to stop crying.   Sometimes when reading blogs I feel like a mere sympathetic voyeur, but this time it reminded me of a night decades ago – my (ta-da!)  ♬♫“Wedding Night”.  ♪♬  The one with my first husband, that is.

As with many formal weddings, it was many months in the making, with lots of stress, weight loss, and sleepless nights.  The wedding day itself went off without a hitch – smooth as a baby’s bottom, as he used to say – and then we stayed overnight in Toronto as there was no direct flight between Montreal and Tampa where we were to honeymoon.

As soon as we were alone in our hotel room, I began to cry.  I bawled, sobbed uncontrollably, sniffled, and whenever I began to quiet down and begin to try explaining myself, I’d burst into sobs again.  This went on, uncontrollable, into the middle of the night.   My new ‘better half’ was nonplussed, and becoming more concerned by the hour.   About 3 a.m. I did stop and finally sleep, travelling the next day to Florida with puffy eyes.

I remember feeling lonely for my family, especially my little brother who had cried when I drove off to the airport.  I remember being emotionally exhausted in Florida, but trying to enjoy myself, in hope of returning home with positive honeymoon stories to tell.

In hindsight, of course, I realize that the crying was the bursting of a dike — repressed tears, backed up for months, waiting for release.  I had unconsciously known I didn’t want to marry him, and was just following through on my commitment.   Had there been anyone supportive in my life, I might have been able to acknowledge my hidden fears and dreads earlier, cancelling the event and the need for guests to travel to Montreal – which of course had added to my burden of obligation: how could you cancel a wedding after all the guests arrived?   But I was the ‘black sheep’ of the family, the misfit, and some – in particular my father – were relieved to see me ‘moving on’.

Oh, those days of obligation, conformity, and repressed sadness.  And with liberal divorce laws not yet on the horizon, I had an underlying sense of doom.

No doubt my long experience of feeling alone and unsupported is behind my strong impulse to be supportive.  And when my BiPolar friend talks about being unable to stop crying, I know what she means.   I knew someone else too, now gone, who once cried for hours when she got in touch with her long-ago loss of all the relatives left behind, when she fled the holocaust with her son, my friend.  There are other similar crying events but that would take too long.

My feeling now is that, ideally,  a human being needs to be allowed some deep, serious mourning time, fully supported, however long it takes, until the continuous crying slows down and comes to a stop.

Another dream.  But a sweet one.

Posted in consciousness, crying, fear, marriage, Memories, mourning, personal growth, reflections, relationships, stress | Tagged , , , , , , | 10 Comments

Reflections on a friendship…

Posted on September 17, 2012 by fearlessanalyst

At a cottage by a lake on the Precambrian shield we four longtime friends spent this weekend together.    Raising our children, we sometimes even lived in the same neighbourhood.  Over the years, we shared many concerns, cheers and tears.   Now after 32 years ‘the kids’ are grown up and gone, and we were four adults alone together in a cottage — and a new era.

Our weekend in the country reminded me of all this.  As I reflect on the road our friendship has travelled, I realize it has taught me a lot.    Like the fact that a good friendship can take a certain amount of injury from time to time.   The relationship does occasionally acquire wounds and bruises that need to be ‘kissed better’.  And good friends are more than willing to spend time working-through issues that come up – and they do — or to dab a little reassuring ointment on the bonds as well.

Another lesson worth reflecting on is the beneficial effect of trusting in time.  Not as  in the traditional saying, “Time heals all wounds” (because it doesn’t), but in the sense that when a friendship has endured, you can have a certain amount of faith that the opportunity will eventually arise for nursing, processing, and strengthening.  That equal partners in a friendship are ultimately willing to give it what it needs.

Now this is all assuming that the friendship was worth engaging in from the start.  I often doubt that, among some of the people I know.  They behave as if they aren’t friends at all, but have been somehow stuck together by circumstances beyond their control – like attending the same high school.  But in our case, there has been much common interest, like a belief in the need for social change, and compassion for ‘the underdog’.

Our friendship has, on rare occasions, seemed to be about to burn out or disappear.  But it never did.  Always one or another of us would invest in it again, with another effort, another struggle of some kind.  A willingness to see what time or patience or tentativeness – or talking through — might do for it.  And here we are, still (and again) willing to engage in creating meals together, creating dialogues together, accommodating and forgiving, struggling about meanings.   And that pattern of struggle and accommodation is what, in a sense, gives our friendship its own meaning.  Its own patina.

We are able to laugh at ourselves and appreciate the underlying nature of the relationship we have.   Like the Precambrian shield millions of years old underlying the centuries of pine needles that soften the walking together  and the sparkling water in the lake that appears after the early morning mist.  Somehow it all speaks of the richness of enduring friendship.

Posted in compassion, friendship, reflections, relationships, social change | Tagged , , , , | 9 Comments

The habit of despair

Posted on September 13, 2012 by fearlessanalyst

Last night I watched the very moving documentary Crooked Beauty* about Jacks McNamara’s  life, art, music, poetry, and activism – threaded through her experience of mental illness.  I’ll watch it again.  I was reminded of something I’ve been thinking about, when she said this:

“A voice not quite my own rises up through my chest and whispers that despair is only a habit not a truth”  She added, “and sings something imperturbably gentle about the power to resist.  Quiet and unyielding it insists instead that I create”

She said, so beautifully, what I try to talk about in my own less poetic way: the “habit” of despair – and the opposite, the “practice” of happiness.

I spent far too much of my life depressed, sad, or generally believing there’s not much reason to live.   Over the decades I lived in a chronically self-defeating way, and went through a variety of therapies, encounter groups, hypnosis, anti-depressants, and so on.  And the roots of it all don’t matter – the change does.

Much of how I experienced living, is beautifully summed up in her phrase, “despair is only a habit”.  The way I put it these days is that one can actually “practice happiness”.   While I’d be shocked if it worked for everyone, it might be worth experimentation for some.

I believe we practice – and therefore get good at – feelings like sadness.  And anger.  And resentment.   I insisted for decades that these things were ‘done to me’.  And maybe in a sense they were, in the beginning.  But actually, the feelings were a habit, associated with habitual triggers.  For example, if I was in a situation of personal powerlessness (e.g. “couldn’t” say what I was really feeling in case it would offend), that would trigger depression — a classic “stimulus-response” situation.  In any case, I was chronically reinforcing my own miserable responses.

I had begun thinking about this just the other night while a friend led a beautiful meditation for a small group of us.  The ‘getting into it’ reminded me of how I feel when I ‘practise’ being how I want to be: peaceful, happy, perhaps even energized.   I don’t think these practices have much impact on my unconscious, but they sure have changed my conscious, everyday life.  The way I live in and interact with the world is healthier, and feels so much better – sometimes downright fabulous.

The process:  get into deep consciousness of, and literally memorize, the tiny physical details that ‘relaxation’ consists of, like how your body parts behave when you meditate or just relax – the completely flaccid muscles and joints, the slow deeper** breathing, the very slight feeling of lightness in my diaphragm, and so on.   It’s mainly because of our choice to consciously improve these physical elements, that meditation can benefit our health: lower blood pressure, reduced compulsion to over-eat, and so on.

Eventually, I learned how to bring on peace and contentment, etc. Of course it took a lot of concentration (probably the hardest part).

The same rich imagination that can give us ‘the terrors’ or depression, can also give us some of that happiness we crave.  The more we practice, the faster it works.  Just as our experiences have trained us into negative feelings, so can our creative mind train us into relaxation and contentment.

Sometimes, just for the hell of it, I do the same process to practice what I call ‘elation’ – as if something wonderful and exciting were about to happen.  Of course to do all this, we have to be able to remember the details of what that feeling is like.  I once tried this with someone close to me, and asked her to remember in detail the experience of happiness.  She couldn’t remember such an experience at all.

Some people are trained to associate these positive feelings with some physical trigger, like a tap on the shoulder.   I’ve practiced so much that just saying “Relax” lovingly, to myself, brings on the peace, like snow falling on branches in a quiet wood, where only chipmunks and little birds visit.  Ah, imagination can be so gentle and sweet…

*- a short documentary that has been winning film festival “best” awards… Have a glimpse at:   www.crookedbeauty.com/

**- meaning lower in the body, as opposed to shallow breathing associated with panic, anxiety, etc….

Posted in awareness, body, consciousness, Feelings, Insight, personal growth, psychology, reflections | Tagged , , , , , | 5 Comments

Montréal, je ne sais quoi….

Posted on September 12, 2012 by fearlessanalyst

I’m in Montreal several days for a wedding, and it’s such a turn-on to be here.

Part of it is the ‘feedback’.  In Montreal, people look straight at you.  And if they like the way you look, they show it.  Men or women.  It’s not that they’re saying they want to sleep with you, or even know you – necessarily.  Just that they don’t have a problem with open appreciation.  They’re comfortable with it.  So you, the recipient of this cultural gift, get to feel good.  How lovely.

Regardless of age, grey hair, too thin, too fat, whatever you are, there’s a good chance you’ll get to feel appreciated.

In Toronto, as in most Canadian cities and towns, when we grey-haired or heavy people go looking in trendy fashion stores, most sales clerks act as if they’re thinking, “Why are you here?”   They seem to feel there’s something indecent about a person beyond a certain age or weight wanting to look attractive.  And men are even more conditioned to think of this as ‘un-manly’.

I notice on every visit to Montreal,  that many older men – let’s say white-haired 70-year-olds —  dress with panache and have interesting, attractive hair.  Outside of Quebec, on the other hand, we’re more likely to find the “age appropriate” idea dominating their clothing: nondescript  shirts, short conventional haircut, wide ties, standard dress slacks.

Here in Montreal, they take it for granted that older men and women enjoy the sensuality of life as much as anyone.   You are simply doing what men and women have done for thousands of years.  They act as if nothing would be more fun than finding some special little number for you that would make you feel sensational.   Or perhaps a little playful tweaking – a belt, a beret, a scarf….?

Of course when you analyze the ‘chic’ more deeply, you realize it isn’t so much about appearance as it is about spontaneous, lively self-expression.  And it’s about the confident body language. We seem to move more stiffly in Toronto – ‘properly’.   Montrealers seem to  move in an ever-so-slightly sensuous way, as if they enjoy the feel of their bodies.

The ‘feedback’ itself is not that obvious if your focus is elsewhere –  on your thoughts,  or perhaps intense conversation with someone.  But having grown up here, when I come to Montreal, I know I want some of that.  It’s  the famous “je ne sais quoi” of Montreal.  Reminds me of wanting to breath the salt air by the sea – it’s a part of why I’m here.

Once again I’m remembering that I should come more often.  It does me so-o-o-o much good.

(Sept 9/12)

Posted in awareness, body, Montreal, natural, Quebec, reflections, sensuous, style | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Parti Quebecois win: C’est la vie

Posted on September 11, 2012 by fearlessanalyst

People have been asking me – as someone who grew up in and openly loves Quebec and Montreal – how I feel about the Parti Quebecois getting back into power in la belle province.

My attitude is probably somewhat different from many former Quebecers who, like me, left  because of the PQ and ‘separatism’.   Having kept in touch with a few Quebecois friends over the years, I know the desire to actually separate has not dominated in Quebec for decades.  It’s not something to worry about.

However, the tradition of voting for ‘separatist’ parties has continued off and on for decades primarily because Quebecois voters felt the other parties did not “have their back”, especially in Ottawa.   And personally, I believe they were right.   Most Canadians outside of Quebec still don’t care about “Quebec’s interests”.  Exceptions would include those who know something about its history.  In fact, their children often end up in French immersion, sometimes even moving to Montreal ‘to live in French’.  I am on my way to the Montreal wedding of one such young woman as I write this.

I remember feeling shocked, as a young adult still living there, when a Manitoba aunt commented on the phone, ‘Why don’t they just go back where they came from?’.  Meaning France.  That would have been one of those arguments where I countered with, “But they were here first!” and so on.  Ours would have been one of countless Canadian families feeling that division, back in the days of FLQ bombs.  And many of us felt relieved at the peak of it all, when Canada’s Prime Minister Trudeau sent in the army and put an end to the violence.  Unlike many English Canadians, I believe Quebec could have ended up like Northern Ireland and its Troubles had this not happened.  The revolution, as they say, was “nipped in the bud”.

I have mostly sweet memories of les Quebecois.  As ‘a culture’, they tended to be more accepting of differences and among them I felt at home and more warmly welcome than in ‘my own’ culture.  An expression I heard often was “It’s just the way he is.”   It was a way of accepting out loud the eccentric or odd behavior of a neighbor or friend or perhaps a relative.  “It’s just the way she is.”  What could be simpler?

The culture had a generous feel to it, and I believe that is seen in Quebec’ social policies like cheap daycare or free dental care for children, and Quebecers’ willingness to pay higher taxes for these.

There were many other qualities I loved as well: the passionate discussions about everything; the open affection (unlike Manitoba-‘wasp’ frostiness of my father’s roots); the non-judgmental help with my fractured French efforts.  And the obvious pleasure taken in being ‘a little different’, especially with clothing or hair style, for example.   Having been raised in a conforming sub-culture, this was a most delicious introduction to freedom – perhaps akin to being let out of a convent.

The other morning a young woman in a charmingly different haircut and outfit came into my favourite café.  I wasn’t surprised to learn she had just arrived from Montreal.  Yes, the difference can be that obvious.

I remember how many francophones tried to be “more English” – mainly because of the lack of equality.  The anglos were still in control, especially in Montreal.  Oppression would not be too strong a word to describe the way things had been – and it was easy for me to feel sympathy.  I was a newly formed feminist, also learning a whole new ‘revolutionary’ vocabulary to describe her own feelings of frustration at the time.

If a francophone and anglophone – with equal qualifications –  were both applying for the same job, everyone knew  who would get it.   Likewise with a man and woman: of course the man would get the job.  So remembering when things began to change for French-Canadians – thanks largely to the actions of separatists – brings a wry smile to my face.   In fact, as was often the case, Quebec adopted progressive laws for women’s equality before the rest of the country did.

Canadian ignorance about the roots of separatism led many to believe it was about Quebec wanting “to stay backward”.  Absurd.  Many Canadians still think so.

Religious traditions were seen by many francophones as keeping Quebecers down and behind, so part of Quebec’s “quiet revolution” became the widespread throwing off the cross along with English Canada.  While Quebec leapt ahead of the rest of Canada in many ways during the fifties, sixties and seventies, the rest of the country assumed it was a backward movement of some kind.   Prejudice against anything ‘French’ continued, and Quebec PhD’s were more respected in Europe than in R.O.C.(Rest of Canada).

Even now, I still know the odd Anglophone who has negative beliefs about Quebecers.   I think of them as the kind of people who never really get to know their neighbours.  Once in awhile, this type will make some crack in public and, as they tend to be somewhat aggressive and domineering, it’s not surprising no one argues  out loud with him.  Most just roll their eyes behind his back.

If the Liberals ever get their act together, they may someday be back in power – or not.  If Quebec wants to be a socialist province, they will – or not.  And no one in English Canada can – or would – do a thing about it.

Since those protest years of long ago, Quebec has grown up,  asserted itself and taken over the running of its own territory, with respectful and interesting representation in Ottawa.   Once, they might have voted for the PQ to “show the anglos”.   Not any more.   Now when they vote PQ, it’s because they feel it’s the best party for the moment – and they know separation is not really on the table.

So how do I feel about the PQ victory?  Just fine.   They were probably the best choice.

Posted in equality, history, Parti Quebecois, politics, Quebec, reflections, separatism | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Different drummer

Posted on September 1, 2012 by fearlessanalyst

“If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away. It is not important that he should mature as soon as an apple tree or an oak.”    – Thoreau

 In the 70s, I had a poster on my wall with this quotation from Thoreau’s Walden, published in 1854.  This sort of poster was popular in our post-60s ‘counter-culture revolution’ phase.   I treasured it.

There had been so much pressure to conform.  So ideas like those in Thoreau’s quotation seemed like a gentle, nourishing contrast – almost a rebuke of the previously critical-judgmental, rather authoritarian perspective.  That had been severe enough in the fifties and sixties that for awhile, some in the counter-culture over-reacted at the extreme end of the spectrum: public nudity, ‘free love’, doing whatever felt good including getting high out in the streets of the urban western world, or on ‘hippie farms’ or ‘co-ops’ which sprouted like weeds for awhile. It was a decade of play for some, primarily ‘boomers’.  But also a time to experiment with change.  Many people spent time contemplating and questioning everything.

These were ‘wild’ times, which could mean anything from strolling all night through downtown Montreal – stoned on LSD; or a young cousin of mine during a visit appearing in my room in the middle of the night, dressed only in a haze of marijuana.

Such times never last. They  experimented with love, lifestyles, ideas and countless dreams of change.  Most eventually matured and moved on.  I know of one communal country property still going after 40 years – though the majority (grandparents today) don’t live there full-time.

Most ‘hippies’ sobered up and got serious and gradually, society did change some: the civil rights movement, feminism, greater equality of opportunity, greater openness.  Even the corporate world was somewhat experimental for awhile, with more focus on creativity, less pressure to conform, more generous benefits, women moving up the ladder.  Seeds of hope were planted and the knowledge that we can influence change.

And now those greying boomers are beginning to enter ‘retirement’ – with better health, education, and insight than previous generations.  They will be looking for meaningful activities more than any previous generation in history – and many will want to make a difference in the world during the last decades of their lives.  After all this time, they will still be hearing the music of a different drummer – or maybe that of John Lennon, in “Imagine”:

“You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one”.  They are not afraid to dream, and they know they are not alone.

Posted in causes, community, consciousness, history, Inclusion, Insight, love, marijuana, personal growth, personal power, reflections, social change, social justice, values, volunteering | Tagged , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Omar

Posted on August 28, 2012 by fearlessanalyst

Omar.   He spoke English, French, German Arabic and Russian well, and a few others passably.   Born in Jordan of ‘ethnic Russian’ parents, he was my ‘exotic flame’.

Omar’s passion at the time was writing plays, and he supported himself as a tailor.  He was even brilliant at that – he made clothing like sculpture.   My friend Judy wanted a white, “Grecian”-style dress.   After a few quick sketches, he began to cut and sew, occasionally trying it on her as it evolved.  Sure enough, it became that elegant classic robe-like dress we see in iconic pictures of women holding jugs on their shoulders.

He made me an outfit – pants and vest – from some internal vision, created like the finest of men’s wear.   That was important at the time to a feminist like me, pushing for the right to wear pants at work.  I had a romanticized view of myself as a kind of Marlene Dietrich: masculine and feminine at the same time.

He knew a lot about history and its lessons, which fueled many of our passionate conversations.  He was very familiar with writers from Shakespeare to Thoreau to Henry Miller, to Beckett – ‘Waiting for Godot’ being one of his favourite plays.   He was well-educated in many languages, including the languages of love.

I often say that I received some of my best education by picking other peoples’ brains – and his was one of the best.   We worked on a play together, we cooked together, we laughed together.   And fought together.  A lot.

Omar’s fatal flaw was other women, especially plump ones.   He found them irresistible.   As long as we were together, he was fine.  But let him spot an attractive woman in a café and there was a good chance he’d soon be in a rendezvous with her.

I was not into sharing him, especially when he picked up gonorrhea during one such date.   In the end, despite his many attractions, it was too wildly unpredictable for me.   We were able to remain friends, and a few years later actually shared an apartment for awhile: separate bedrooms of course.

I was enriched by having Omar in my life in several ways:  I became more flexible; I learned a lot about history, the world (especially the Middle East), and cooking.  But above all, he proved my belief in the tremendously greater potential of the human mind than we give it credit for in this culture.

I’ve always thought he probably died of Aids in Montreal, though you never know.  If I were to bump into him today, I would hug him with great affection and appreciation.

                                           ~ Here’s to Omar ~

Posted in consequences, education, experience, food, friendship, history, Insight, love, Memories, reflections, relationships | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

‘Stigma-free’ — or Care?

Posted on August 28, 2012 by fearlessanalyst

If I were living in a “stigma-free zone”, what might that look like?

For starters, I presume it would mean that people with mental illness would not experience stigma, or discrimination.   By some miracle?  It would mean ‘human rights’ principles and laws applied equally in the case of people with mental illness, alongside of those who are gay, black, or disabled, or of different religions – and of course middle-class white guys.  But what exactly does that mean?

What value does that have, if the reality in a particular case means watching a person “go down” clutching their bottle of anti-depressants all the way, and doing nothing to help as they hit bottom.  Because that is probably the greater problem they’ll have to face: being unable to function as effectively as normal – at least partly because of drugs; possibly losing a job; and maybe even losing their home as a result.  What, pray tell, are we prepared to do about that?

What a mentally ill person might need from us – their neighbour – will be different from person to person.   And will not have that much to do with their ‘human rights’.  What she needs from us – her neighbours-at-large – is protection of her home while she is in distress, until she recovers.  She’ll need food.  And she’ll need emotional and practical support.   The same could be said for a family with a member in distress.  Why would we do this?  Because we realize it could happen to any of us, and we’d hope for the same compassion.

When a home is to be foreclosed because the owner  hasn’t worked for three months due to serious depression, how can we prevent that?   How, exactly, can we ‘care’ for him?  This is a conversation that needs to be happening – throughout the western world.

What are we willing to do?  How caring are we – really?

Posted in awareness, community, compassion, gay, Inclusion, mental illness, social justice, stigma, values | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Blogging Woes

Posted on August 28, 2012 by fearlessanalyst

As they say, “some days are diamonds, some days are pearls” and some are akin to lumps of coal.   I spent yesterday doing research around a couple of pet subjects, instead of writing, and ended up frustrated.   That’s rare for me – I usually smarten up and move on, but had no self-discipline due to lack of sleep.  That’ll do it every time.  So I allowed myself to be distracted by countless other peoples’ blogs and issues.

When you think about there being over 30 million blogs on WordPress alone, you realize there’s an endless supply of fascination awaiting the seeker.  Sort of like contemplating the universe.  So at some point we have to be able to pull away.  We have to be able to get back in touch with the passions that drive us, that keep us motivated.

When I give in to the wandering  – a little like giving in to any sort of temptation – and just follow one link after another, by day’s end I feel as if I have no purpose.  I feel passive, powerless.   That powerlessness prevailed, culminating in a ‘Burnt Caramel’ ice cream cone at Chocolateria.   Immediate gratification.   And then, as if there really were a god, it began to rain as I walked home.   Poetic justice.

There is a happy ending, though.   What I call ‘my leapfrog theory’ kicked in: when we hit bottom – or ‘fall behind’ enough – we are compelled to leap ahead, anew, renewed, refreshed, perhaps even inspired.   This morning I woke up so passionately motivated that I began writing in my head from the start, in the shower, walking to the café, non-stop, fingers dancing on the keyboard, one idea after another in production.

All is well, in the best of all possible worlds.

Posted in blogging, Internet, personal power, psychology, Reflection | Tagged , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Look who’s voting!!

Posted on August 21, 2012 by fearlessanalyst

Voting without doing the ‘homework’, and then not watching what they do in government, is like handing a stranger the key to your house, and going for a walk.  It’s risky.  It’s naïve.  It’s irresponsible.  And it’s damn lazy.

A friend of mine would now accuse me of being judgmental.  I would argue that just as we should be able to critique politicians, so should we also be able to look at society critically.  There’s a place for ‘critical thinking’.  There’s a place for recognizing a need for change.

If even our university-educated citizens can’t be bothered with slightly complicated but very important issues, what have we come to.  If we get it — that our own safety or health will be affected by policy choices, why leave the homework to ‘others more motivated’?   If such so-called higher education gives us only work skills or status, is it even worth a damn.  Surely at a minimum it should produce a better-run world?

If they don’t grasp issues like – for example – a need for scientific evidence (and not just about tooth-decay!) before fluoridating our water – then it becomes a political decision instead of a matter of health.  If we mindlessly let our politicians eliminate ‘social programs’ on an emotional basis, without knowing the evidence suggests otherwise, we may be increasing the crime rate and other social and economic costs of short-term ‘tax dollar saving’ – another political choice.

Policy decisions like this, with tremendous impact on peoples’ lives, are being made constantly.  But I know people who voted for Toronto’s mayor Ford because “he made sense” on a radio interview, or who voted for a ‘Harper government’ because the other parties would “destroy the economy”.   How does that make sense?  This was the rationale of one acquaintance with a degree – who has taught at a university.  I have other friends with little formal education who think more responsibly and logically.  I considered his an irrational and self-defeating choice because he doesn’t understand connections between economics and social issues, and he doesn’t dig deeply into any one of them.

I am increasingly inclined to feel that a significant underlying problem is that voters – including “educated” ones, are so busy “Amusing Ourselves to Death” as Neil Postman called it  that most just can’t get into anything that’s not fun.  Though I have to confess I think his assumptions behind that reality were off.

In his 1985 book he said, “We now know that ‘Sesame Street’ encourages children to love school only if school is like ‘Sesame Street’.”   He also said “Whereas in school, one fails to attend to the teacher at the risk of punishment, no penalties exist for failing to attend to the television screen,” and so on.   He basically blamed television.  He blamed parents too, for passively allowing their children to sit in front of the television too much – and there I think he was a little closer to the truth.

But I remember parents and teachers at the time.   I believe the education systems of the western world had become symptoms of an underlying value that had been widely adopted: “if it feels good do it” – the corollary being “if it feels bad, don’t bother”.   Kids shouldn’t have to do homework.  Classrooms should be about happy, stress-free stuff.   A minority were concerned about this at the time, and the issue coloured many a parent-teacher night.

In my view, this dominant philosophy was the typical over-reaction to the previously rigid, structured, authoritarian world we had lived in.  As they say, we had thrown out the baby with the bathwater.   It was a gross mis-interpretation of the idea that we had a “right to be happy”, which had turned into ‘we should always be happy, never uncomfortable’.

Today’s result:   Our intellectually lazy voters often seem to prefer comfort and happiness, over wisdom and responsibility.  Am I unnecessarily gloomy or negative?  You tell me.

Some of what’s happened is described here:  http://junctrebellion.wordpress.com/2012/08/12/how-the-american-university-was-killed-in-five-easy-steps/

Posted in awareness, consequences, education, history, ignorance, privatization, reflections | Tagged , , , , , | 3 Comments