Author Archives: Dave

This morning, I listened to a reading of Peter Taylor’s Port Chochere. The character of “Old Ben” is inspiring of sympathy…sort of in the same way that the elderly man in the garage inspires a sort of sympathy in my last post. There’s a great deal of depth to this character, a depth that leaves you disliking him and feeling sorry for him at the same time.

It’s interesting where fiction takes us when we read it…how it can take two different readers to two entirely different places. I found that I was placing myself in the position of an elderly man, separated from the world and watching it pass by, helpless to engage it despite my best efforts, and, most intensely, longing for affection. I can only imagine what it would be to experience a deprivation of affection from those closest to you, to live in anticipation as they politely engaged you for a defined period of time. What would it be like to exist in that precious time, knowing it would end soon…likely as soon as your children or grandchildren became hungry and needed to get some fresh air? What would it be like in the possible despair of knowing that you were condemned to remain in whatever environment in which they chose to limit their time? What sort of way would that be to finish out one’s mortal existence?

I suppose I carry this as a sort of guilt, because I know that, despite my best intentions, I did that very thing with my grandmother before her death last winter. I would travel to visit her whenever possible, sure, and I would talk to her on the phone sporadically. My phone conversations were cut short when I became irritated at having to repeat the same information over and over due to her rapidly deteriorating memory, and my visits were limited by boredom and an inability to engage her in conversation as she struggled to maintain contact with the reality surrounding her. I didn’t realize how many moments and potential conversational breakthroughs that I had permitted to pass without any attempt to apprehend them until they…and she…were gone. On my best day, I want to muster the energy to never let that happen again.

Karen and I still have grandparents on both sides of our family, but exist in the tension of knowing that they likely won’t be around much longer. I’ve been wondering today about the edge placed on their daily existence as they are confronted with their pending mortality. I wonder how it feels for them. I wonder how our visits feel to them. I wonder if those visits are giving of any sort of emotional life at all.

It’s so easy to become bored and disengaged when visiting elderly family…so easy to want to get back to the quicker pace of the daily lifestyle to which we’re accustomed. I think that temptation, though, may ironically be just the sort of flaw from which Old Ben suffered in Port Cochere: an escape from what was necessary in favor of what we want for ourselves. Phrases like “it’s not about me” become over-used to the point of disgusting cliche in some religious circles; the concept of “moving outside of yourself” has been used in one too many motivational speeches. Yet, the key to breathing some vitality into the final days of elderly family members is prioritizing their emotional pulse over our own comforts.

The beauty is that it is about us at one level, because we only benefit: we are offered the opportunity to hear amazing stories, and benefit from the wisdom of a life already lived…a chance to be warned away from mistakes. This reciprocates vitality back to the one giving the wisdom, because someone one receiving their wisdom means that their life meant something, that something will indeed be missing from the terrestrial world when they are gone.

Geographic distances make it difficult to see family members on a regular basis for most of us (assuming that most grandparents don’t Skype). So perhaps the focus of our effort should be quality instead of quantity? As the Holidays are around the proverbial corner, perhaps we can manage to partake of some wisdom, to take vitality to those elderly in our families, to just be present in a tangible way to those people.

I know that we’ll long for the same kindness when we’re in their position.

Don’t we all struggle with time management?

Seriously, the fact that we’ve coined the phrase “time management” is indicative of something that’s seriously amiss in our collective lives. It’s something that has plagued Karen and I since we’ve been married: work the 9-5, pay the bills, work on the things we’re really passionate about, make time for each other, take in all of the information we’re overloaded with…ummm, I mean, fortunate enough to have coming into our brains. Not to mention the logistics of household management. Someone has to cook, clean, do laundry…ah, if only we could be unburdened by those insignificant but annoying details of life.

Well, as part of her current servitude in the corporate world, Karen attended a course in time management and goal-setting this week. This was one of those things that I didn’t even know was going on with her, despite all of our digital calendar syncing and other tools for productivity…um…management. She was really impressed by the course, and wanted to discuss goals as we are considering the next phase of our educational and professional endeavors.

These goals included very distinct labels for every small part of life. My response was that I already did this: I have a different calendar in my trusty iCal for major responsibilities: work, personal, educational, etc. These are color-coordinated with all of the documents on my desktop, and synced to her iCal via our Google Calendars…I have a seriously complex system up and running here to make sure our busy lives are well…managed.

You see, I push back on these types of courses because it seems that they always want you to label yourself in some capacity; this particular course wants you to distinguish whether you’re a “short-burst” or “long-burst” worker, for example. Well, we all know how I feel about labels, so…I became a bit incorrigible relatively early in the conversation.

“Your dislike of labels makes it really difficulty to teach you anything!” Karen exclaimed in exasperation. And thus the conversation digressed to a point where it had to be better….managed.

There was some sort of positive contribution to be made here, I must admit. We discussed how we had observed each other work in grad school: Karen will work on a project for an extended period of time with no break until it is finished. I budget specific amounts of time for individual projects each day, carrying several simultaneously to distribute the workload. That’s useful to know, I realize, in thinking of how we handle various projects, and ways in which we can assist each other with those projects. This helps us to have better household…management.

Wait a second…are we managing too much here?

See, I keep telling myself that I’ll be less stressed after we achieve our educational goals and I’m able to actively pursue what I really love doing as my living. Then again, though, I sometimes ponder if I’m not actually doing that more actively now than I think I am. Then I write this off as being a “if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em” approach, and go back to the beginning…a vicious circle of “now what???” that requires further management. So, the answer appears to be that our lives will always necessitate active management.

The geek in me thinks it is really cool that this gives me an excuse to find new productivity tools in which to assist in this management. The philosopher in me thinks it is robbing us of something intrinsic to our humanity if we lose the time to be contemplative. The conspiracy theorist in me thinks that this is a plot by the technology industry to force us to need more of their productivity tools. The realist in me realizes that we just have to make intentional efforts to get away from the noise and prioritize what is most important in our lives.

The realist wins, which may be unfortunate, but is…well…realistic. The important thing, I think, is to maintain some optimism, not succumb to needless cultural pressures, and somehow keep focused on the goals in our life that are most important.

See? I think I can manage that.

Did somebody need a nap?

This morning I read about this nasty little road rage incident in which a Canadian ex-politico was ultimately charged in the death of a bicycle rider that he allegedly drug from his car onto sidewalks and other sordid travels until the rider eventually fell off into the street after being struck against a mailbox.

And that, ladies and gents, is what we call a disproportionate response.

In all seriousness…in the seriousness that this atrocity deserves, I hope…I’m more than a little concerned that the Times would refer to this incident as “road rage.” Granted, road rage has earned its place in both legal and psychological vernacular as it has become common worldwide. The more appropriate terminology here, however, is murder, don’t you think? Intentionality or un-intentionality, or the presence or lack of premeditation, may alter the legal nuance of the act, but, at the end of the day, one human being took the life of another, something none of us have a right to do.

I’ll try to eschew an attempt to diagnose or theologically label this sort of behavior, as it goes by different names in different realms. What I think we may be seeing, however, is a consistent difficulty seeing fellow human beings as human once we’re caged in the metal frame of a motor vehicle. I jokingly claim that the average Virginian loses about 10 IQ points upon seating themselves behind the wheel of a car, but, in all seriousness, I think we begin to have our perception of each other distorted while driving, to see each other as less than human, as nameless causes of our inconvenience, as the proverbial straw breaking the back of our day’s camel.

I’m not the first to come up with this idea. Although I (of course) cannot find the article for the life of me now, another writer recently hypothesized that walking is not only a more environmentally friendly solution than driving, but also a more humane solution, as, seeing each other as people sharing a common space with ourselves, we are significantly less likely to enact some sort of twisted revenge for their act of frustration, fear, or other momentary lapse of reason. While I discover upon an examination of my own obligations and geographic location that no longer driving would transform my life into one of unemployed dysfunction (and I live in a city…this would be even more the case for rural dwellers), thus recognizing that we can’t leave the automobile behind us, I think there is much to the suggestion for us to meditate on. Our morning commutes should be marked by the realization that those are other people…mothers, daughters, brothers, fathers, sons, and sisters…behind the wheels of the automobiles whizzing by us. They are also late, stressed, overwhelmed, and frustrated, just like us. They are as imperfect as us, and thus make mistakes and have accidents (they’re called “accidents” for a reason). There is a short distance between giving the one-finger salute (of which I’m certainly guilty) and letting a brief fantasy of revenge take over. I wonder, when that fantasy takes place, if any of us are far from doing what this Canadian man did to his fellow human being? There are repercussions for that bicyclist’s death throughout many lives, an earth-shattering grief that exponentially outweighs the momentary frustration experienced in traffic. Yet, somehow, in the heat of the moment, with our guards down, something as trite as a lane change without a signal can become worthy of that grief for us.

Each day we are faced with repeated opportunities to make the choice of either giving life, or taking it. We can’t afford even the momentary consideration of taking that life, physically, spiritually, or emotionally. To do so leaves us all too close to the same atrocity that occurred in Ottawa on Monday.

I don’t want to get that close. Do you?

Hold on, because I’m about to date myself.

When I was young…very young…my parents bought the first video game system that I’m aware of ever existing: Atari’s Pong. I remember their being rather exasperated at me when I curiously reached out in the middle of one of their matches to press the “reset” switch. Oops. Video games have come a long way since that bouncing virtual tennis ball: I remember pumping quarters into Frogger, Pac Man, and Star Wars games while my mother was grocery shopping. I phased out of that interest, and have never been a gamer in my adult life. In fact, they usually lead me to frustration (I got into a bit of trouble with a friend for throwing his X-Box controller in anger when I attempted HALO). So, my video game experiences today are limited to electronic chess (which I insist doesn’t really count, because it’s too intellectual), and a Pac Man game I added to my iPod more for the sake of nostalgia than anything else. I’ve even avoided Facebook games until recently, when I confess I have become slightly caught up in the Mafia Wars phenomenon, though this hearkens back more to role playing games such as Dungeons and Dragons, which was a longer standing addiction of my youth…but that’s a footnote, I think.

I make no secret of the fact that I openly dislike video games at large. I’m convinced that the trendy diagnosis of ADHD is a condition we’ve created, and electronic gaming is at least partly responsible. While I decry the claims that youth are more violent because of video games and scoff at the “life imitates art” debate, I just think that video games are, largely, a waste of time and damaging to one’s psyche with anything more than small amounts of exposure.

With the commonplace existence of online identities and social networking, however, I’ve began to see a bit of detachment in our real-life existences that should be augmented by electronic means…a sort of game-play mentality that gives me pause. I’m a huge fan of social networking, and I am a firm believer of the positive implications of this technology, mostly because I have experienced these positive implications, while, with some small effort, managing to avoid most of the negative implications (which I recently wrote about for Catapult Magazine here). I experienced the detachment of electronic media for the first time, however, about two days ago. I had re-connected with a former co-worker through LinkedIn, and asked this co-worker to generate a recommendation for me. While doing so, I suddenly felt as if I wasn’t in the real world, that I was making a move in an online game to earn more points or reach another level. This is partly the fault of how LinkedIn words their web copy (you profile becomes x% more “complete” with recommendations), and partly because, I think, I had just logged off of a Facebook game. It seemed distant to me until the next morning that this was a real person, a professional connection even, that I was contacting…a professional courtesy for which I was asking, not a number of points or a role of the dice in a game. The fact that this momentarily escaped my mind troubles me. Actually, it troubles me a lot.

While I suppose most things are okay in moderation, I am concerned enough to seriously consider abandoning what minimal game play I do engage in, simply because that momentary effect on real life connections carries with it huge dangers in my mind. Perhaps this is the two-edged sword of the advantage to being able to re-connect with former colleagues through social networking. If so, then the benefits outweigh the costs, at least for the moment. Game play is a basic human endeavor…one could argue that it is a human need…for distraction from the pressures of our insanely hectic lives. When the games overcome our perception of reality, however…then it becomes like those who attempt to become their characters from role-playing games and immerse themselves a fantasy at the expense of their reality. And I think that to be the key: fantasy is healthy and necessary, but it cannot occur at the expense of reality. There is too much of ourselves at risk when that occurs, too much of each other’s lives.

And life is always more important, because, just as it is not a dress rehearsal, neither is it just a game.

(Photo Attribution: http://www.flickr.com/photos/patrick_q/ / CC BY-NC 2.0)