THE MEN IN THE MIRROR

Effective communication is built on the concept of both sharing experiences and shared experiences.  As Americans, we ascribe to the notion that there is value in being able to connect with others by telling ones own story in some meaningful way. Pictures. Words. Actions. All mediums which can be harnessed to impart to others something about ourselves as individuals. The telling and retelling of each individual perception with the goal of creating a better understanding of ourselves personally while contributing to a greater overall comprehension of how others think and feel as a group. In many ways, our entire economy relies on the concept of communication in its various forms. Not merely the obvious; such as the internet, movies and journalism, but also the capitalist idea that Americans are interested in using commerce as a form of expression. Cars, clothing, houses, dining, travel. All examples of things on which people are willing to spend money in order to expand their ability to communicate various things about themselves. Even more utilitarian businesses such as oil, farming, distribution and transport exist in our economy largely to support a concept of freedom of expression. In this country, we are not only free to express ourselves, we are expected to do so. Economic growth in America relies heavily on our desire to be noticed. Appreciated. Desired. Accepted. Loved. 

At certain points in time, events conspire which allow large groups of people to communicate with each other by articulating individual experiences about a shared experience. At these junctures, the two concepts of sharing experiences and shared experiences dovetail. For Americans, today is one of those junctures. Over the past thirteen years, we have all read countless recollections from journalists using 9/11 as a tenant by which to share individual stories about where they were on that day. It seems axiomatic to say that most of us create a mental picture in our heads of where we are and what we are doing when life altering things happen to and around us. We all access that little flash of memory, that feeling of recognition that we hold onto because it gives our experience context. Especially when the experience is one over which we feel we have no control. 

This morning as I drove my daughter to school, I saw the members of our local fire department wearing full dress while in formation outside the fire station. Their trucks, pristine and beautiful vessels of salvation, American flags flowing freely from their ladders, parked in front of the station for all to behold. Perfectly shined police SUVs, normally hidden from taxpayer view until they lumber out of their hiding places to let you know what you are doing wrong that day, were lined up across the street from the station. On this day, a point of pride for the city, not merely an inconvenience for its hurried drivers. As I surveyed this scene, I began to do what most Americans are doing with our shared experience on this day. I began to think about where I had been on 9/11. And in that moment, those firefighters and police officers still visible in the rearview window of my car, my thoughts fell hollow on my own heart. Because I realized that by thinking about where I was on 9/11, I had missed the point entirely. What is important, what makes the shared experience poignant, was not where I WAS on 9/11. But where I WASN’T. 

I wasn’t on Flight 93. I wasn’t in Tower One. Or Tower Two, where I had spent a summer as an intern when I was nineteen. I wasn’t on the PATH, commuting from my parents home in New Jersey as I had done all those years ago. I wasn’t on Ladder 3 prepared to risk my own life to save another. I wasn’t at home waiting to hear if a loved one was going to survive. I wasn’t serving our country in Afghanistan. Or Germany. Or Kuwait. Wondering what this development was going to mean for my deployment. I wasn’t working at New York Presbyterian Hospital when the burn victims arrived. I wasn’t on the scene as a reporter, trying to simultaneously comprehend the situation and articulate it. I wasn’t on the street as a bystander, feeling terrified and helpless. I wasn’t worshipping in an American mosque, only to emerge later and discover that what it meant to be an Arab in America was forever changed. I wasn’t in the pentagon building. I wasn’t an elected official tasked with the duty of figuring out how to balance the cost of American lives with the cost of curtailing freedom. Simply put, I was experiencing 9/11 as more an observer than a participant. I am an American. And as an American, I am a participant. As a human, I am a participant. This happened in my country. To my fellow Americans. To people. And I mourned as I mourn every time I think about what happened. I mourn the loss of life. The loss of freedom. I mourn the fact that our response has cost even more lives. Even more freedom. In a way, I suppose, I mourn the human condition. But my experience was indirect. It was not first hand. Because of where I was. And where I wasn't.

Given the tragic circumstances and comparatively dire consequences of the events we remember on this day, it is easy to recognize why, for most people, where you were on 9/11 is less relevant than where you weren’t. When extrapolated into a larger idea, it becomes obvious that in order to be an effective communicator, it is incumbent to always be mindful of where you weren’t. Your mental picture gives emotional context. It is a good place to start, in your own head. But when you find yourself communicating primarily in terms of what YOU experienced, what YOU think, what YOU believe, you are significantly limiting the scope of the discourse. What is disappointing about the legacy of 9/11 is that the subsequent media and legislative responses have proven to be devoid of effectiveness because so many people in those pursuits are intent on making the tragedy about themselves and the advancement of their own goals. Sharing individual stories is a cornerstone of the human experience. Without the corresponding capacity to recognize how everyone else’s story creates the requisite mosaic, the cornerstone begins to fragment. In this scenario, the observer has a story. A story of perception and context. The participant has a story. And it is a different story. It is a story of perception and context. But also of survival. Both are important. 

This morning, a visual metaphor of American courage caught my eye and then occupied my mind for the majority of the day. Firefighters and police officers displaying obvious pride about their service to our community reminded me to not allow whatever it is that I am doing to obstruct me from seeing the importance of all the things I am not doing. Once my mind recalled the context of my shared experience of 9/11, my next thought was about all of the people whose losses were unimaginable to me. Where I was that day, what I was doing, is merely a footnote on the unlimited volume of pages the experience of 9/11 has to teach me. Once I placed the thought of my own story in the background, once I limited its use to merely a brief emotional touchstone, only then was I ready to receive the message which that few seconds in my rearview mirror colluded to send me. 

BB

California. Love.

Growing up in Iowa in the seventies, I did not have much interaction with people who were not caucasian. When I graduated from high school, my parents moved to New Jersey and I eventually landed at Tulane University in New Orleans. When I think about it now, it seems as if going from a place that was at least three quarters white (Des Moines) to a place that was at least three quarters black (New Orleans) should have been a culture shock. But it wasn't. I had absolutely no preconceived ideas about what I would encounter. At all. New Orleans is dangerous. It can be rough. I did see a tamale vendor get stabbed outside of KB Drugs. I saw a few black chicks grab each other by the weaves and smash each others faces into the counter at Popeye's at five am one time. I saw a lot of poverty. But I had seen poverty before when I lived in southern Iowa as a child. White poverty. But poverty nonetheless. Beyond those few incidents, I never saw anything that was particularly shocking to me. I interacted with black people every day and I found them to be interested in the same things in which I was interested in at that time in my life. Music. Movies. Religion. The extreme weather. Politics. Family.

After college, I moved to Phoenix. There, I encountered a burgeoning Latino population. The culture of the West is noticeably different from that of the South. And different still from the Midwest. But again, no big surprises. When you don't have any particular expectation, you don't really get surprised. I had my purse stolen one time by a Hispanic kid. I saw a Mexican chick pull a blade on another one in a bar one time. But other than that, looking back over twenty years, I cannot think of even one negative encounter I ever had with a Latino person. Ever. Plus I had some white investment bankers try to steal my business and bankrupt me one time, so those aforementioned crimes seem pretty minor to me by comparison. I interacted with Latinos daily and, as I had in New Orleans, I found them to have the same basic interests that I had in my life.

Now, I live in California. I don't spend one second thinking about anyones race or ethnicity at this point. Nor sexual orientation. Los Angeles is so ethnically and sexually diverse, it seems like anything short of spotting two or three full burqas a day on the heels of overhearing a lunch conversation between a girl and her mother shopping for her quinceanera and then having to duck so that you don't photo bomb the picture that a Japanese family is taking on Sunset with a drag queen, would be abnormal. While it seems as if the experiences I have had in my adult life should have changed my mind in some way about these minority groups, they have not. I mean, there is a difference between hypothetically living among different groups of people and actually doing so. And I can honestly say that while there are certainly differences in lifestyle, values and culture, I don't feel that my life is in any way limited by the fact that the majority of people I see daily are different than I. If anything, this expansion of my world has enhanced my life by proving to me time and time again that people want the same things out of life. That we do not all have the same approach does not change the fact that we are all programmed to want peace, love and happiness.

When I see a Latina mother holding her biracial son, my mind registers the way they look physically. For about one second. Then I see how she bounces him on her knee and strokes his head to get him to stop crying. And she then becomes another mother, just like me. When I see two gay men holding hands, I recognize that they are both men. Briefly. Then that image gives way to the realization that they are supporting each other through the day the same way I do when I am in love with someone. When I see a two black girls laughing in the most animated way imaginable about something that I have no way of understanding in the moment, I see them as black. At first. Then I think about how I love to go out with my best girlfriend and make fun of things that no one else would ever think was funny. And that empathy creates the memory I carry of the encounter.

I am not going to lie. I struggle with the burqa.

That one is tough on me. Because I do not understand it. But I look more closely and see that the woman inside with the gorgeous almond shaped eyes is peering out at the world; taking in the beauty of a SoCal afternoon and experiencing the same languid energy that I feel in that moment. That I cannot see her does not need to diminish our shared experience. That is what I have decided.

We alone control our own ability to perceive and process life as it happens. I firmly believe that the reason I have never had any problems with people who are different than I am ethnically and with regards to their sexual orientation, is because I DID NOT EXPECT TO HAVE PROBLEMS BASED ON THOSE DIFFERENCES. I have never approached it in any other way. They have their way of doing things, and I have mine. Frankly, if you ever take a minute to ask someone who is different than you are about his or her life, you will usually get an answer which will illuminate something about your own choices. It's called PARTICIPATING IN THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE.

But of course groups cannot have people thinking in these terms. They cannot have you experiencing your own life in an individual, personal way and then using that experience to better understand your place in this world. Groups need people to be weak. They need you to be compliant. They need you to lack compassion and fail to access your empathy for others. They NEED to constantly point out our differences and exploit them for the sake of their own objectives. They WANT you to see the guy who cut you off in traffic as a Chinese guy instead of just a bad driver. They REQUIRE you to second guess your own instincts, which tell you that when you stop and think about it, there is much more that the human race has in common than it does not have in common. And this kind of power struggle for your individuality that exists in life makes it difficult for us to remain human. We begin to see ourselves in terms of categories. Black. White. Male. Female. Gay. Straight. American. Muslim. And these labels, while accurate in defining certain aspects of our lives, become an anvil around our collective neck; pulling us downward and anchoring us to the idea that the process of life is somehow more important than life itself. We begin to believe that somehow, life is not as important if we aren't identified properly as part of these various groups. And then, de facto, anyone who is NOT in our group is marginalized. Their lives and experiences become less important to us as individuals. And that mindset is what lends itself to the idea of racism. When you stop to remember that a Latino person is a PERSON; when you remove that label, then it becomes much easier to relate to his experience. And that is the LAST thing that the mainstream media and elected officials want you to do. They want you to remember at all times who you are in their terms. They want you to need them to tell you who you are. If you reject their premise, and see yourself as an individual, they lose all their power.

It is difficult to remain mentally vigilant when we are constantly inundated with so many reasons to become part of the group. For me, it always comes down to this one question. How does it make me feel empowered to believe that other people do not have access to the same things to which I have access? It doesn't. I mean, can the best things in life really only be achieved by a limited portion of the population? Why would that belief system ever serve me? It doesn't. What makes me feel connected to humanity, is the realization that we are more alike than we are different. All of the man made constructs which divide us are easy to dismantle. It simply requires each of us to reject the idea that the sum is greater than its parts. 

BB

The Perfect Weapon

As we celebrate the fourth today, let us be mindful of all that makes us Americans. The freedom with which we communicate. The fact that we have the right to defend ourselves, both as a collective and individually, from persons who wish to take our freedoms. The privilege that we may use our private homes in the way which we, as individuals choose; and not merely as extensions of military housing. The privacy which allows us to protect our property and assets from being surveilled by the government. The right to not incriminate ourselves. The guarantee that if we are accused of a crime; we will have counsel, and a speedy and fair trial by a jury of our peers. Protection from cruel and unusual punishment. The flexibility of our constitution to be expanded and contracted contextually in accommodation of the evolution of life in America. And the promise that there will continue to be different levels of government; not merely one giant, uncontrolled behemoth, lumbering onward without regard to state and local boundaries. The further we, as a country, move away from our colonial days; the easier it becomes to forget WHY these freedoms are enumerated in the Bill of Rights. But when one takes a hard look at the revolutions taking place in other parts of the world, their context becomes all too clear.

These rights are expressed every day in the way in which we, as Americans, live our lives. Our military and public servants sacrifice much to keep us free. But in lock step with that sacrifice, we have the daily rigor of American innovation, entrepreneurship, education, religious practice, private philanthropy and family life. Each American adult has both the ability and the obligation to utilize his most prized and valuable gift from our forefathers in order to secure our unique and independent way of life: the vote. Today, let us be most grateful for that tacit weapon of mass construction. 

BB

Heartbreak. Heal.

The Boston Marathon is held annually on what is also known as "Patriots Day", a commemoration of the battles of Lexington and Concord which marked the advent of the War for American Independence. On this day, athletes of all races, nationalities and religions compete in a grueling test of endurance which requires planning, sacrifice, training, mental toughness and physical exertion. Much like life. Life requires these things, also. The marathon represents the best of what our nation has to offer. It does not discriminate based on sexual orientation, gender or creed. It demands discipline. It rewards achievement. It serves as a consistent metaphor for the incredible synergy of freedom and strength on which this country was founded. That any person would choose to misuse this event in an effort to promote an agenda of fear is tragic. But the fact that we gather to celebrate greatness despite the risk of being targeted by those who despise our liberty, is also a testament to the continued resilience of the American spirit. No amount of fear mongering, race baiting or religious persecution has stifled our generous heart. This will be no different. Whether this incident proves to be an act of domestic terrorism, foreign terrorism, or simply an example of depraved indifference for human life, one thing is certain: we WILL race again. 

BB

You Say You Want A Resolution?

Typically, I do not make New Years resolutions. I am not much for long range planning, particularly when I feel like the concept is being forced on me. But this year, I thought about what I most needed to do, and I settled on extending some compassion in my own direction by learning to be more emotionally present. This is no easy task for me. But one thing that I have had to come to grips with in the past five or so years, is that life is not, in any way, linear. This reality hurts my brain. Because I love order. I love reason. I love for things to make sense. And for a long time, in my life, things did make sense to me.

Then, one day, they didn't.

I remember pushing forty with a newly broken marriage thinking to myself...I don't want to start over at age forty. Start over. That's how I saw my life. Because the artifice of it had been decimated. The house I had built, furnished and lived in was gone. The marriage I had participated in was in tatters. The company we owned was embattled. And I was, in many ways, consumed by the idea that all of this discord was impeding my progress in this life. Not to mention the chaos it was causing my daughters. I simply could not keep up with the daily changes. I couldn't find my footing. I struggled every day to figure out what my "new" identity would be, given that the old one was, for all intents and purposes, gone. I felt like I was falling further and further behind with every passing moment.

Now that some time has gone by, availing me the benefit of hindsight, I can see very clearly that the mistake I was making initially was in believing that the only form of progress in life is perceived forward motion. This is all I had ever known. Get good grades. Go to college. Get married. Have a family. Start a business. Build a house. All these benchmarks of success in American life that I had been hitting in a timely fashion had molded my self image without my even realizing it. And then, out of nowhere, came a curve ball that knocked me right off my game. Or, to be more specific, several curve balls. And I had to stop and rethink my entire approach.

What I know now, is that it was foolish for me to think of my life in such limited terms. People say that age is just a number, and that seems trite. But it is true. Your life does not unfold in any kind of orderly fashion simply because you are a certain age at a specific moment. It COULD unfold that way. Sometimes it does. But its usually more a constantly changing flow of events that are out of ones control. What I learned from my recent difficulties is that it was arrogant for me to even have the thought that I was too advanced to "start over". Because, in reality, we are all starting over, every day. And that is exciting. Because no matter how great yesterday was, (and a lot of my yesterdays were pretty great), if you are reading this right now, it is no longer yesterday. It is today. You bring the knowledge and experience of your past with you at all times, but the challenge is to remain present. To look at what is immediately before you and find the meaning in that moment rather than allowing either nostalgia about the past or fear of what may happen in the future to rob you of the joy of awareness of each day as it comes.

This is not an excuse for laziness, nor a reason to abandon goals. It simply means that the process by which you get yourself to whatever level you seek is the magic of your life. If you get thrown off your linear path, you are forced to become creative and blaze a new trail. No one can take those great yesterdays from you. They are yours always. The trick is to figure out how to weave them into the larger fabric of your life. Because not every day will be great. Not every day will appear, on its face, to be moving you forward. People call these things obstacles and set backs, but in reality, they are opportunities to think about problems in a new way. A chance to expand your mind. A chance to share your burden and give someone else his opportunity to extend you compassion. A chance to be humbled by the universe and awed by the fact that you do not have all (or any) of the answers.

Resolving yourself to THAT reality is probably a pretty good place to start.

BB

The Last Worthless Evening

I generally find this type of holiday, (New Years, Valentines Day, et al) to be somewhat artificial. I cannot recall ever having the requisite "incredible" experience on any of these specific days or nights, although I can recall some wonderful moments in my life, maybe on a random Tuesday afternoon while I was driving my daughter home from school and she first laid me out with an incredibly dry, sarcastic observation about my narcissism. That was a good day. Those are the best days, actually, when you realize that your child will, in fact, be an improved version of you. Or when your significant other reveals him or herself to be more compassionate and vulnerable than you had previously imagined. Or stronger than you had hoped. Those moments are infinitely superior to any contrived holiday, where people are all "supposed" to have an amazing time at the exact same moment. That notion holds little appeal for me. I much prefer organic moments, the spontaneous ones that sneak up on you when you least expect them and grip your heart with their acute intimacy. Those experiences cannot possibly happen on command; simply because the calendar year is expiring, and everyone else in the world appears to be experiencing some synchronized public joy. I mean, it could happen at that moment. Maybe. But, if you think about it, it seems much more likely that those moments happen all the time, on unheralded days, in the midst of difficulty or out of the tedium of routine, or perhaps just on some random morning when you wake up and recognize that your heart is telling you that its time to give your solitude over to something that might bring you an entirely new kind of peace. So whether you are working tonight, or sitting at home reading; at your best friends party or getting engaged, think of this night as a piece of the mosaic that encompasses your entire human experience. Whatever you want this night to represent, whatever its symbolism means to you, in reality, this revelation is not limited to this specific night. Every night represents a chance for contemplation, a chance to tell people how you feel, a chance to seek clarity, a chance to enjoy the moment. In that way, every night, is new years eve. 

BB

The Daily Vigil

Yesterday's events in Newtown serve to remind us that there are things in life that cannot be prevented no matter how diligent or prepared you wish to believe you are. There are roughly three hundred million people in this country and one of us lost it yesterday morning and committed a horrific act. One person did this. One. In three hundred million. There is no acceptable way to lose a loved one. Ever. It's always a tragedy to whomever feels the loss. And, being human, we all wish to comfort those in pain. We all wish to make sense of the irrational. We want to be more vigilant. More prepared. Vigilance, however, can take many forms. There is no way any society can prepare for all possible scenarios that may result in tragedy. But each person can be vigilant within the context of his or her own life. You can be vigilant by telling your children every morning that you love them. You can be vigilant by never holding a grudge nor leaving the words you hold in your heart unspoken. You can be vigilant by teaching your children to protect and love one another instead of making fun of fat kids and the children who need special help after school. You can be vigilant by living your life your way every day, instead of buckling under pressure to conform to ideals in which you do not actually believe, so that if an event such as this impacts you at any point, you have no regrets. It's quite alright to tell your children that sometimes things happen for no good reason. In fact, many times things happen for no good reason. Good things and bad things happen randomly all the time. So enjoy the good ones. Be a true friend. Love people when they least deserve it. Smile at strangers. Help when you can. Forgive. Try to create a sense of community at ALL times. So that when it's your time, you'll know you did your best.

That's really all you can do.

BB