Doubling Down on Denial

You might think, with good reason, that this is about our politicians (I cannot in good conscience call them political leaders), who seem to think that if you repeat the same denials and falsehoods with increasing frequency and at higher decibel levels, eventually the actual facts will fade away. Sadly, this too often seems to be working, just as it did with Adolf Hitler.
But not so, because this “strategy,” if you will, is not their exclusive province. Strategy might imply more deliberation than is true in most cases, but we’ll just stick with that word. 
We humans have a proclivity to try to shape the world to our desires. Reality be damned, facts be damned, history be damed, science be damned, we’re damn well going to believe what we want to fit the narrative of a world like we want it to be. 
It is why we keep giving those who let us down, or even abuse us, innumerable chances. How many undeserved “last chances” have some of us given addicts, abusers, or offspring? How many times do we base our decisions on hope, not performance. “Wait ’til next year” is not just a sports cliché.
Whether those “last chances” are based on love, fear, or hope doesn’t change the delusion that motivates our decisions and enables their behavior. Sadly, the beneficiaries of our denial probably aren’t any more “telling the truth this time” than they were the last time, even if both they – and we – want that to reflect reality.  

An Incomplete Analogy: The Road to Authenticity

    As I’ve been “stuck” with my own thoughts these past weeks, just “chillaxing” with not much else to do save watch the tide roll in, my ruminations have turned philosophical. The passage of time and the inevitability of mortality (COVID serves as a constant reminder) have also contributed to my retrospection, although I haven’t just been looking backward. An optimist (a realistic optimist, I think, but an optimist nonetheless), I firmly believe there’s a road ahead that stretches farther than I can see. But….

Here’s the secret (and it’s not really a secret because certainly I’m not the first to reach this conclusion). There is no road – at least no single road. And it’s also no secret that your road won’t look much, if anything, like mine. Some roads are narrow with clearly defined borders, while others are broad and expansive, like the Amazon River, constantly changing its channels, requiring endless updates for its pilots. I doubt that we share some predetermined and recognizable destination. At least that is my (non-conformist) hope.

Some paths appear smooth, well paved with a clear beginning and end, others filled with obstacles, potholes, hidden traps. Be warned, however; both may be illusory. Your perception of another’s road can often be, probably is, deceiving. That smooth road may be far more daunting than you can realize and that hardscrabble path an inspiration to its traveler. There is no manual, no road map; only with work and introspection can we discover our own road, the only road we can truly hope to know. And even that hard-earned knowledge, like the best of our highways, needs constant maintenance as we adapt to our lives.

Here’s another sort of secret. You don’t have complete control of your road and almost zero control of anyone else’s. Multiple factors, when, where, how, and to whom you are born place you on your road, provide you with your starting point. None of those factors, however, define your road’s final destination. In fact, few of us will ever quite reach the end of our road of self-discovery, of authenticity. It may become clearer in the distance, but, if we’re doing it right, our road will always be in flux, because there will be events on that road that force us to concentrate on moving from Point A to Point B without distraction. Those events may even require us, like a maps app, to “recalculate.” 

None of that changes our ultimate goal, however, if that goal is unearthing our authentic selves, living our authentic lives, true to our values and beliefs.

You might ask: What about those who travel with us, share our journey? I confess the analogy sort of breaks down a bit here. But those loved ones, while perhaps even sharing the same mode of transportation, have their own awareness of the road ahead. My wife and I have discovered we perceive colors very differently (just one reason I pretty much let her decide on my wardrobe components), but if we are both/all on the road to authenticity, we’ll notice different landmarks in different ways and be impacted differently. Not that that’s a bad thing. Sharing those differing perceptions makes the journey richer, more joyous, in fact, for all the travelers.

I offer this because I have been, and imagine always will be, in some way, a teacher, a teacher who needs to share life lessons, with the full knowledge that my audience may not be interested or ready to learn, and that’s okay, because if that describes you, then you have your own road to travel and you’re free to ignore the billboards, no matter how valuable and enlightening, along the route.

I may no longer have a classroom (and under current circumstances I guess I’m kind of happy about that), nor even a playing field, from which to disseminate my random thoughts. So, in today’s world I choose to use social media to share my journey, my path, sometimes forcing personal reveals because I believe that the only way we can truly achieve authenticity is openly and honestly, prepared to accept that others may not understand, may not agree, may not even accept. And all that’s okay, because, in the end, I’m the only one who needs to fully see, and accept, what my authenticity really looks like, although having a travel partner who accepts my journey is definitely a plus.

I’m thankful that, after fits and starts based on fears that were more imaginary than real, I’m truly beginning to see, not the finish line, of course, because that’s a moving target, but a clearer, if still kind of uncharted, path to that destination. My hope is that by sharing these and other thoughts you can start on your path sooner than I.*

Best wishes to all on your respective journeys. May you find as much of the same peace as I have, although ideally with an earlier start!

* If you don’t know where you’re going, you'll end up someplace else. – Yogi Berra

Redefining Normal Revisited*

   Mortality and friendship have forced themselves to the front of my consciousness lately.

As the 2020 softball season tries, fitfully, to start, with so many more questions than answers to this point, my mind meanders to memories of my late friend, Tim Cerutti, with whom I was privileged to enjoy the past (too) few seasons, and I wonder what he’d be thinking about how we’re trying to redefine normal in an increasingly abnormal world. I know he’d find a way to “choose happy,” because for Tim that wasn’t just a glib phrase but the maxim he modeled for those of us lucky to have shared the warmth and light of his presence, no matter what adjustments to normal he was forced to face.

This may seem like a non-sequitur, but bear with me. I am a terrible golfer. Once, as I was talking about golf and my multiple golfing deficiencies, another late dear friend of mine, Rick Smith (who, for those who were not lucky enough to know him, was forced to {frequently but successfully} redefine normal for himself in ways that were unfortunate and unfair), shared his wisdom. He said, in essence, “Your par doesn’t have to be what the scorecard says. You get to decide what par (average, normal) means for you [on this hole].”

Why should that apply only to golf (which, with apologies to my golfing friends, isn’t really all that important)? I’m sure that working in a school helped me create a flexible definition of “normal;” even the expression “normal day” was oxymoronic, to say nothing of “normal week,” “normal month” or “normal year.” And that was BEFORE the pandemic!

What is “normal” anyway? If it means average, is that really what anyone aspires to? Is being “run of the mill” much of a goal? Does anyone aim for “nondescript?” Is anyone, in fact, actually normal? Aren’t we all at least a little bit weird (and if we’re not, aren’t we mostly boring)? 

Self-satisfaction, and I’d even argue happiness, comes from accepting who we are (including embracing whatever weirdness helps define us) and where we are in life. That requires a constant redefinition of “normal.” Are any of us the same person we were       years ago? Why would we ever think we’re going to stop changing, just because now we’ve reached the age of      ? 

Studies, however, show that is exactly what we do think! They also show we’re wrong, a great example of “stinkin’ thinkin’,” because when we assume we’ve stopped changing, we get stuck. Even if we did stop changing (and, to reiterate, I don’t believe we do), clearly the world around us is constantly mutating, whether we approve or not. If we’re stuck in an obsolete definition of normal, if we refuse to redefine what is normal for us, for our loved ones, for society even, we have trouble adjusting, and, by extension, finding joy, contentment, happiness, etc. I’d suggest there are multiple, glaring examples of that self-imposed anger, unhappiness, even misery, available to those without blinders.

Normal is relative, and different for each of us. I may be, peripherally at least, in the same profession, but I’m certainly not the same person I was almost 50 years ago when I started my teaching career (the anti-jock who became a coach); I’m not the same person I was 15, 10, 5 years ago, probably not even the same as last year. I certainly know my body is different, that what I’m physically (and even mentally) capable of today has changed. My choice? I can bemoan my encroaching decrepitude, or I can redefine normal.

There is no universal normal; would we even want there to be? What does exist, for all of us, is our ability to define par for ourselves, to forge our own path to achieving the best possible result (instead of fixating on the best result possible {Berndt’s Rule of Life #4}). 

While I believe this to be true, what will be more of a challenge is accepting the changes and limitations that are inexorably making their way in my direction, seemingly emanating from constantly shifting sources. I hope I’m up to the task. But if the challenge is too great, I can always redefine normal.

* A recasting of a previous piece 7+ years ago, updated for 2020, clearly not a normal time.

Why I Reject Conspiracy Theories

Conspiracy theories may be spreading faster than COVID-19, but I don’t buy them any more than I buy brussel sprouts. Maybe not for the reasons you might want to believe, however.

I view myself as a pragmatist. I don’t expect my words here to offer a blinding flash of (en)light(enment). I don’t expect to alter people’s beliefs or behaviors. Even when I do engage on social media, it’s generally to either ask a (pointed) question or to provide factual, or at least contraindicatory, research from a reliable source. My only real hope is to plant a seed that might grow into a “What if I’m wrong?” tree (or shrub). While I don’t expect many of my seeds to actually germinate, I am, at least so far, willing to keep sewing them, even as my patience wanes.

No, the main reason I don’t believe in conspiracy theories is because, if those theories are true, then what’s the point? Of much of anything.

If there really is some dark state cabal manipulating the levers of government, our pathetic little posts will have no impact. We don’t have near enough power, even if our followers are legion. Our (well, your) mini armory is no match for any forces of evil. If there is some secret cell in charge of the economy, we’re powerless against it. We’re nothing more than an expendable pawn in a 3-D chess match, and we started playing on move 42. 

You can watch Fox News or MSNBC for the rest of your life, but if there are forces at work in the shadows, they’re well-entrenched, well-funded, well-orchestrated, and inextricably woven into the fabric of our world. You’re toast, we’re all toast. 

Therefore, I refuse to believe in conspiracy theories — because if those of you who DO believe in them are correct, both you and I have zero real control over our lives, and the decisions we are permitted to make cannot, will not be allowed to, change the big picture. I’m left with where to go for dinner and what to order (when that becomes possible again). Which is the same place you are, except you can’t even enjoy that dinner, because you’re too worried about the conspiracies manipulating your world and your life — while futilely waiting for your social media memes to move the needle. 

Of what value is a life without meaning? If my life is to have any meaning, I need to believe that what I do matters, that the decisions I make matter, and not just for me. 

Decades ago I had visions of changing the world; I even accumulated a certain level of power in my small corner of that world. When I realized my pinch of power amounted to, at best, a scrap of thread in the grand tapestry of life, I refocused, desiring to change ever decreasing acreage (for the better, of course, was my hope). Eventually I realized that only those whom I could touch directly could benefit from what I brought to the party. (#mixedmetaphors!)

Which brings me to today, with my family . I will do everything in my power to make their lives better, to protect them however I can. If, along the way, I can make things better for others in my life, I’m happy and more than willing to contribute to and model living a life where that can happen.

If I’m wrong and there really are conspiratorial forces of darkness in control of our lives, then what’s the point? Because none of what I do matters. I cannot, will not, live my life like that. I’d rather be delusional than powerless.

Oh, and if you celebrate the conspiracist who mirrors your world view but dismiss inconvenient whistleblower revelations, it may be you who’s delusional.

The Why Not The What

The why is more important than the what, motivation > outcome, process > result. When teaching history, what happened interested me far less than the why and how; in English, reasoning always eclipsed the actual conclusion.

As the tribes dig their trenches ever deeper and their siege mentality fossilizes, I struggle mightily, with ever increasing fatigue, to listen to, if not agree with, those who see politics (and society) as what more and more seems to resemble a war. I get that people view life through different lenses. So I don’t really care what people think nearly as much as I care why they think as they do.

I know good people who voted for the current president; I respect, even I don’t completely understand, their reasons. That I could never have come to that same conclusion does not negate their process or value as fellow inhabitants on this planet. I have been clear from long before the election that I had no respect for Donald Trump as a person, that I found him a despicable being, based on his own words and actions, not on what others said about him. 

I do have to give him credit for subsequently pushing his stock lower than even I could have imagined during his tenure; he has revealed himself to be an even worse being than I could have possibly anticipated. Understand, I’m talking personal traits (the word qualities seems so inappropriate), not political positions. Again, based on his own words and actions, not the opinions of others. 

Still, I get that at least many, if not most, of his supporters don’t think character matters; as long as that remains a consistent metric for future candidates with opposing POVs, I won’t argue. Some are so invested in the Republican Party (which is no longer resembles anything like the party of Eisenhower or Reagan or even Bush (43), but never mind) that their support is unwavering. Others are so anti-Democrat, frightened or disgusted by their vision of that party, that nothing else matters. Okay, I get that, too. I may view those positions as mistaken or wrong, but valid at least through their own lenses. The why, not the what.

Believe me, it takes a lot of effort for me to ignore everything to arrive at that point, but I can generally, grudgingly, manage. For so many people committed to their tribe, whichever tribe it is, it’s a black and white world.

But what truly frustrates me is that as hard as I work to give/find credit, to respect those who hold opposing views, to understand the why if not the what, I find little evidence that there is any attempt to understand MY why. Instead, I see memes and snarky reposts that too frequently border on personal (if not specifically addressed to me) attacks. For those defending the current president, if I can try to understand the why of your position, is reciprocity, the respect for one who disagrees with you, too much to ask? 

That is what is wearing me out and down. That is what makes me want to completely disengage. But my gift this holiday season is to persist. If you would like to reciprocate, may I suggest resisting the temptation to share that meme or post which demonizes, denigrates, or discounts those who don’t see the world through your lens, but their own, a lens they value. Think about their why.

No matter the tribe to which you pledge allegiance, mindlessly posting memes about the other just expands and mines a “No Man’s Land,” shredding the fabric of our nation, building a wall that keeps our country apart — and weak. 

No Discounts on Happy Meals

I have a list of rules I’ve developed over my meandering life journey. Rule #1, however, serves as the linchpin: “You don’t get a discount on the Happy Meal just because you’re not.” But it took me a while to reach that milestone marker.

As I’ve been revisiting the “lost letters” from my past, I’ve been forced to reconsider my original assessment that those first years of college (at Hamilton) were spectacularly unsuccessful. In traditional terms, of course, that is completely accurate (earning about one year’s worth of credit for my two years of residence). What I’ve garnered, however, is that I did set (whether unconsciously or subconsciously), and achieve, an important goal. Apparently I was determined to be unhappy and, not surprisingly, found multiple opportunities to focus on and achieve that end.

I’d like to tell you that this was just delayed youthful angst (it’s an understatement to say that I was not particularly mature), but thinking back I also remember, this time as an alleged adult, waking up, in the middle of the night  to write dark, brooding, and (probably) bad poetry. While I still have those documents of despondency, I choose to let them live where they belong, unvisited, in the darkness of a folder.

My quest for unhappiness had familial roots. In this alley between Mothers and Fathers Days, let me state that my parents did the best they could, given the family situations they came from. I don’t think DFS even existed then, and I can’t say for sure if either would have qualified for a visit, even by the standards of today. I think it’s telling, however, that my father once told me, “Happiness is over-rated.” 

I eventually came to realize that I, and I alone, am in charge of my own happiness. Finding that happiness also involved becoming my own, authentic self. That was, and still is to an extent, definitely a process, a journey, helped along by a supportive wife and loving daughter (and her family), plus a big helping of what were often dismissively (with a large dollop of snark) described as “pop-psychology” books. (The common theme of those books? Until you like/accept your (authentic) self, happiness will be elusive, at best.)

While this path to happiness has taken a while, with occasional potholes and roadblocks, I can report that now I can always respond to the ubiquitous greeting, “Have a nice day!” with, “Why not? No extra charge, right?” That usually generates smiles in both directions.

Have a nice day!

Fear the Mob

– An Explanation, Not a Defense

I want to share a story. It’s one I’ve shared with numerous students over my career. Whether it makes anyone think differently or not, whether it will even give pause, I don’t know. But maybe it will explain how easily and quickly people can get caught up in a mob, in a moment.

It was the summer of my junior year in high school. I was traveling with some of my classmates on a church!-sponsored youth experience, working with other students from multiple European countries to rehab a castle in Untergruppenbach  Germany. We were, if memory serves (and, sadly, it’s not as good a servant as it used to be), the largest single contingent in the “camp.”

Conditions were, at least from an affluent American kid’s perspective, Spartan, although hardly something out of Oliver!, had it been filmed yet. We slept on cots in a room repurposed as a dormitory. But it was the food that became the bone of contention. Breakfast consisted of a kind of mush or oatmeal, mint tea, and bread. Our morning break was dark bread and more mint tea. Lunch was a repeat of breakfast. Not typical fare for us.

Our alleged leader, a young minister, apparently either took this “abuse” personally or took advantage of our complaining to try weasel his way into our hearts. (I freely admit that this is not an unbiased assessment of him; I didn’t like him, didn’t respect him, although, in my defense, his actions, and not just the one related in this anecdote, on this trip were the primary causes of my negative opinion.) In any case, about 3-4 days (as I recall) into the trip, he stood up at lunch one day, banged his bowl, and said, “We’re not taking this any more. Let’s go!”

It was, at that moment, I officially lost my mind... ...to the mob. Most (at least) of us also stood up, bowls of mush in hand, and, following his lead, stormed out the room, looking for the owner of the castle. Not sure what we were going to do when we found him; there were no chickens about, so “mushing and feathering” would seem to have been out. It didn’t take much stomping randomly through the building for some of us to decide, “Uh, this is stupid and embarrassing;” the mob lost steam and dissipated. We went from sheep to sheepishly returning to finish our gruel. 

That should have been the end of it, but it wasn’t, not for me. In retrospect, it remains one of the most frightening events of my life. I don’t pretend to be particularly modest about my intellectual abilities. But, for those brief minutes, my mind was not mine; I was not in control. I was just another anonymous follower. It is a feeling, one that strikes fear into my heart to this day, that I never want to repeat.

Imagine, now, had the grievance been serious, legitimate (at least in our perception), of long-standing, simmering on low-heat over a period of years. Cooks know it doesn’t take much more heat to turn a simmer into a raging boil, bubbling over onto the stove. If there’s no one there to turn down the heat, but instead add fuel to the fire (e.g., media and agenda-driven “leaders”)....

Think it couldn’t happen to you? Armies have relied on this semi-controlled sublimation of individual will for centuries. It’s the only rational explanation of the irrational act of charging to a certain death. Sports mobs, in and out of stadiums, are another common example. Mass hysteria is well documented. We all like to think we’re exceptional, to believe that we wouldn’t act that way, but there’s too much scientific evidence to the contrary for that to be true. Something to think about before we rush to judgment of others or absolve demagogues of responsibility.

Note: This sat in draft form for over two years, dating back to Ferguson and other events. The more things change....

Zero Tolerance for Zero Tolerance

Zero Tolerance implies a black and white solution for a problem shaded in variations of grey. It is currently being used by the Trump administration to the (worldwide*) problem of immigration, but this latest incarnation has been applied before to many problems with limited success, at least in part because it is almost always trumped (no pun intended) by the Law of Unintended Consequences.

Zero tolerance has been used to try to make schools safer, with minimal, at best, (perhaps even counterproductive) results. ¹ (Here’s an irony: many of those favoring zero tolerance re: immigration oppose zero-tolerance re: guns in schools, and vice versa.)

Companies are starting to re-think their zero tolerance policies toward employee drug use and testing as they are increasingly struggling to fill vacancies in a time of low unemployment. ²

I’m guessing very few of us want a zero-tolerance enforcement by police officers when we get pulled over on a minor traffic violation.

How many of us raised our children with a zero-tolerance approach? How did that work out for you when you tried?

How many of your best teachers had a zero-tolerance policy (s)he fanatically enforced? What was your opinion of those teachers who never made exceptions for anyone or anything? Be honest.

It seems to me that we all recognize the limitations of zero tolerance, except perhaps when it doesn’t seem to impact us personally.

    It’s a complex world and while laser sharp black and white rules might look attractively clean and simple, under closer examination, even those are pixilated. (Also see Rule #42: Most rules written in crisp, dark black print on starkly white paper may be clear but are also fragile and easily broken. )

Jimmy Buffet got it right when he sang, Simply Complicated.

* Immigration is a worldwide problem, replete with shades of gray. It is, in fact, the one issue where citizens we have met from all corners of the globe** agree is problematical for their country. Problematical, but not the same problem. Canadian concerns are not English concerns are not Swiss concerns are not Aussie concerns are not Kiwi concerns are not American concerns. You get the idea. We share the issue in general, but not the problems it generates, and certainly not the solutions required.

¹ The [APA] task force reviewed 10 years of research on the effects of zero tolerance policies in middle and secondary schools and concluded that such policies not only fail to make schools safe or more effective in handling student behavior, they can actually increase the instances of problem behavior and dropout rates.

The research also showed that zero tolerance policies failed to increase the consistency of discipline across student groups and failed to decrease uneven enforcement of punishment across racial lines.)

²  Desperate to fill open positions, some employers are beginning to soften zero-tolerance drug policies, particularly for jobs where safety is not an essential function.

Low unemployment and increasing use of illegal drugs are narrowing the pool of qualified workers in many regions and industries. State laws allowing medical and recreational use of marijuana are complicating recruiters' efforts to find drug-free employees, as is the continued abuse of prescription opioids. [SHRM]

** Now there’s an expression that makes no sense, but I decided to use the cliché anyway.