Planetary Thinking

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It’s Monday, and I’m feeling like a holiday.  Good thing it’s Earth Day.  Many businesses (who still don’t consider Earth Day important enough to make it a paid holiday) are emphasizing being green these days.  Really, with global warming proving itself no myth it’s just good business to try to adapt to sustainable practices.  Those of us who are vegan find more and more companies offering animal-free options—our dependence on beef is a major environmental hazard.  It’s still a challenge finding shoes that aren’t leather based, but things are improving.  And more and more hybrids and electric cars are on the roads.  We are making progress.  We still haven’t, however, gone so far as to declare a day dedicated to preserving our home an official holiday.

I’m not jaded or capitalistic enough to think our only hope is to find off-world parking.  To raise the future of humanity elsewhere.  It’s just that people fall in line after bullies and bullies only think of themselves.  And who, thinking that an afternoon on the links can be counted as work, would consider giving mere employees a day off?  A day when we might shut down commuting schedules to save power?  A day to rest from the brutality of constant commerce.  After all, a typical weekend consists of a day for chores and a day for church.  (Still, that is, for many people.)  And then back to the office not really feeling refreshed but knowing that you can’t long survive in a pandemic-ridden world without more cash coming into the coffers.  Inflation may be going down but grocery prices aren’t.

From NASA’s photo library (public domain)

A day to celebrate home seems like a no-brainer.  Especially when it comes on a Monday or Friday.  Ah well, we’ll do our best to celebrate it around work, shall we?  We’re moving late into April.  There’s been a bit of sun mixed in with April showers, as is typical around here on this planet.  Days are growing longer and the trees are leafing out.  Spring welcomes us back to the outdoors (after work, of course) where green now predominates over brown and gray.  While we may not have the day off, we can at least take a moment or two to consider how we might be better to our planet.  How we might drive less, use less electricity, generate less waste, spare a few cows.  Who knows, it might become a habit?  If that were to happen maybe every day would become Earth Day.

Adulting

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Young professionals that I know often say adulting sucks.  Quite a bit of the time I tend to agree with them.  The 9-2-5 makes just getting along difficult, at times.  I’m sure there’s software to ease some of the woes, but you have to learn how to use it.  And that takes time.  Time I’d rather spend writing or reading.  For example, to get a small break on state taxes, if you work from home, you need to calculate your office space and then how much it costs to exist in your house for the year.  When I remember to do so, I can look utilities and mortgage up in Quicken.  Sometimes, however, when a book in my mind is distracting me I just tot all this up on the back of an envelope.  Then I need to type it in so my accountant can see it (taxes are far too complicated for mere mortals) and, I can’t underscore this too many times: numbers are adulting.

Photo by Tyler Easton on Unsplash

I’m an idea person.  The 9-2-5 (numbers!) that keeps you in front of a computer all week long means that things pile up.  Weekends seem too short to spend on numbers.  But you’ve got to balance that checkbook.  And even tot up the number of hours you give to “the man” each day.  What could be more adult than accounting?  Don’t get me wrong—at times numbers can be interesting.  Numbers, at their best, are philosophical.  One squared is one.  When you square any number greater than one, it increases.  One doesn’t.  And you can’t divide by zero and get zero for an answer, as handy as that’d be from time to time.  These abstract concepts come in useful but adulting involves serious numbers.  Numbers that imply liquidity.  Cash flow.  

Time is made up of numbers too.  If a social event comes up on a weekend, there goes your grocery and cleaning time.  And writing a book takes a tremendous amount of time.  It’s a second job on top of the other one you work 9-2-5.  All of this makes me think of those TIAA-CREF ads that showed prominent professors and captions that said “Because some people don’t have time to think of money.”  Or something similar.  That’s what I’m talking about.  Adulting is all about money.  And money must be taxed.  And you have to keep track of where it all goes.  I’m sure Quicken could help me with this, if I had time to learn it.  (We pay for it after all.)  But I’m kind of busy writing this book…

Learning to Write

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It’s a reciprocal relationship.  Ideally a symbiosis.  The publisher has a reach, and know-how, that an author lacks.  An author provides content the publisher needs.  Yet publishing is a business in a capitalistic world and has to (unless subsidized) turn a profit.  As an author who works in publishing I’m skewered on the horns of this dilemma.  It’s heartbreaking to see the lengths some authors go to only to find out their book is priced the same as a week’s worth of groceries.  Or three tanks full of gas.  Who buys a $100 book?  Libraries.  Well, some libraries.  Occasionally a publisher will run sales, if you order direct, but by then interest in your book (which may be timely) has passed on.  You become just another name on the shelf in the Library of Congress.

I’m looking for a publisher for my sixth book.  This has to be someone who understands that even $45 is beyond the reach of most intelligent readers.  “What the market will bear” feels like the death sentence to the years of your life you’ve put into writing the thing.  A friend once asked me, “Why do you do it?”  For authors the real question is “How can you not do it?”  The need for the validation through publication runs very deeply in some people.  More deeply than our national love for Taylor Swift.  It has to do with meaning.  Purpose.  A sense of what we’re put on earth to do.  

Image credit: Codex Manesse, public domain via Wikimedia Commons

The standard “wisdom,” and practice, is to publish in hardcover, priced for the library market, and if it sells well at $100, perhaps offer a paperback.  Hopefully priced lower than $45, but don’t hold your breath.  “What the market will bear,” should be your mantra.  It’s a wonder that civilized people ever got educated.  I grew up on cheap books from Goodwill, which is all I could afford.  College, on borrowed money, taught me the price of reading seriously.  It was a lesson I never forgot.  I’d begun my faltering steps to writing books while in high school.  I started writing short stories even earlier than that.  It has been a life of writing.  Even series books, I’ve come to see, are too easily exploited in this way.  My shortest book is priced at $40.  At least I know that I’ve written some collectors’ items.  Take heart, my fellow writers trying to emerge from academe.  There are other ways of being in the world.  And some of them may even be symbiotic.

What Would Ostara Say?

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Easter is an uneven holiday.  In Britain it leads to days off work.  In the US, which prides itself on being religious, it’s business as usual.  Nobody closes for any days surrounding the holiest day of the Christian year.  That irony has always struck me about this season.  Of course, going to college there were breaks in the spring, and at a Christian school, special observances for sacred times.  In seminary it goes without saying.  In my case, working on a doctorate in the UK (an activity with few true breaks), we experienced the British sense of holidays surrounding Easter.  At Nashotah House you simply couldn’t miss it.  In fact, the Triduum was a contest of endurance with late night services and hours and hours in chapel.  Once I was forced into secular life, the shift was blinding.

Capitalism rolls right over Easter without even slowing down.  Who brakes for a Sunday holiday?  I am a believer in significant days.  I write about holiday horror, and holidays in general, because I’m certain of their importance.  The relentless pursuit of gain that is the American way is wearying.  Most everyone I know who isn’t retired is just plain tired.  Tired all the time.  We’re given few pauses and fed many worries.  So much so that resurrection from the dead can feel like something scary indeed.  Will work in the afterlife be as unrelenting as it is in this one?  All of this becomes especially evident to me on years like this one where Easter creeps up on me.  Not a fixed day in the calendar, sometimes you don’t even look up until you’re practically on top of it.

I remember in high school spending practically all day on Good Friday in church.  When working at Ritz Camera (after seminary, trying to stay ahead of student loan payments), managers looked at you funny if you asked for it off.  You see, I need spiritual time to recover from the onslaught of work.  Easter, however, is just another Sunday.  Watched on Zoom, with maybe special music.  If you’re able to be there in person there may be lilies with their distinctive Pascal scent.  Then the next day it’s back to work as usual.  Thinking about Easter always make me think about hearts being where the treasure is located.  When we take treasure too literally, it leads to too much work.  My mind, I fear, is that of a professor, with built in spring break.  And semester breaks.  Not exactly holidays, but unstructured time to catch up on work.  Holy days.

Showing Gratitude

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Stealing is something that we all, except some capitalists, know is wrong.  I think quite a lot about the land that was stolen to make America possible and I know that simply giving it back isn’t an option.  Nevertheless, I do believe that we should listen, and listen attentively to those who’ve been here longer than Europeans.  Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass is an important reflection of this dilemma.  Kimmerer is Potawatomi and she’s also a professor of Environmental Biology.  The book is a series of essays that focus mostly on plants and what we can learn from them.  It also brings in indigenous teaching, contrasting the outlook of gratitude against that of greed.  By turns sad, funny, and profound, Braiding Sweetgrass contains a message that is vital to counter climate change.  To correct our attitude before it’s too late.

There’s so much in this book that it’s difficult to know what to touch on in this brief notice.  Throughout, Kimmerer notes that the First Nations viewed life as a gift.  The earth is constantly giving and the native way was to be thankful and to accept the responsibility of being given a gift.  Seeing how the European attitude was “take until there’s no more to take,” she points out that taking what you need and leaving for others is a way out of our current dilemma.  She does this, most strikingly, by the story of the windigo.  The windigo has become popular among monster fans as a consuming beast, but Kimmerer shows how the story has a profound point.  If all you do is consume you become a monster.  You stop a windigo by showing gratitude.

Perhaps the most striking thing, to me, was how Kimmerer describes her own experience becoming a scientist.  How standard academics refused to believe they had anything to learn from Native American outlooks, especially when borne by a woman.  How she was told she couldn’t be a scientist, not with that outlook.  And how she learned the European way but didn’t give up her native understanding.  How she brings two worlds together and does so with a sense of urgency and hope.  Things have gone too far simply to turn back the calendar and say that our ancestors had it all wrong, but it’s not too late to learn from those who lived for millennia on this land and were untainted by ideas of private ownership.  Those who knew how to live sustainably with nature.  Those who knew, and still know, how to defeat monsters.

Keeping Time

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How we keep time (or better, mark time) is fascinating to me.  Unlike our concept of schedules, the earth’s revolution and rotation do not give us evenly long days or years.  Yet we still work 9-2-5 and even though many studies show a four-day work week is more productive, we just can’t give up old ways of marking time.  A weekend (a fairly new development) is two days only.  A leap year, however, contains an extra day for “the man.”  That’s because today is not a holiday.  It’s a necessary day to keep months in sync with years, otherwise March would slowly have September weather.  All of this is human convention, of course.  As is capitalism and its “more is always better” outlook.

Our lives have changed with both the internet and the pandemic.  We work more, not less.  And I, for one, think we need to give working stiffs another day off.  We could start with today.  (I know, big man, that you fear losing money—I realize this is important to you!  What I’m suggesting might make you wealthier, however.)  After all, today is a gimme.  What would we do with a whole other day if we had one?  I know, our standard answer is work, but what if life were more than just what you were paid to do?  It would be a holiday.  The thing about holidays is that we don’t know what ancient events prompted the origins of some of them.  Those for solstices and equinoxes are obvious enough, but other days became special for unknown reasons.  Why can’t February 29th be such a day?

Some employers make up the difference by making election day a holiday.  That one should be a national holiday, really.  And since presidential elections fall on leap years, I guess we get February 29 off on the first Tuesday in November.  Holidays have always fascinated me since they project an aura of something special happening on that particular day.  Something that makes it different from other days.  People born on this day joke about aging four times slower or faster, depending on your perspective.  Doesn’t that seem enough to qualify as a special day?  For most of us, however, today is just another Thursday, and for many it’s just another Thursday at the office.  And it propels other marked days in the year ahead so your birthday next time around skips a day.  There’s a kind of magic to today.  Maybe we should mark it in some way.

Work for Good

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You learn a lot as a primary caregiver.  Since dealing with a family cancer diagnosis last year I joined a local support network for caregivers.  Three things I’ve learned: healthcare is very uneven, we ended up in a good facility, and finding a social worker on your own is very difficult.  I see lots of messages on the support boards from people in poor facilities that can’t find the help they need.  I know what social workers do—I had several friends who majored in social work in college—but in this age of all the information in the world at your fingertips, just try to find a social worker!  I was trying to find a website to suggest to a person on my board who didn’t know where to turn.  Searches bring up links to places trying to sell you their services to find a social worker.  Are we really that callous?  

People tend not to try to find a social worker unless they really need one.  Many people, I suspect, wait until they feel pretty desperate.  This is not when you need some salesperson trying to sell you something.  Medical care can be very expensive—devastatingly so—and there are professionals out there who specialize in helping you get through such things.  Why are they so difficult to find?  I tried government sites that seem more interested in telling you how to become a social worker than how to find one.  If we’re in such a state that we don’t have enough social workers why don’t we pay them more?  Here’s a hint, most politicians could stand a salary cut.  My college friends all said they knew it didn’t pay well, but social work was a way to help people. Saints still walk among us.

Photo by Georg Arthur Pflueger on Unsplash

We have the means to help everyone.  What we lack is the will.  We continue to let capitalism and the hope of individual wealth run our economy.  Economy means nothing without people.  And we have many people who are willing to receive less personally to help others get by.  Why do we have to hide them behind a pay wall?  What does that say about us?  We’ve been fortunate.  Our medical facility immediately put us in touch with a social worker.  If, however, you end up where healthcare choices are limited, or don’t know how to find a social worker on your own, the internet’s not a great resource, unless you want to pay someone to help you find help.  What have we become?

Movies, Paused

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Technology breaks the world into bits.  It’s not just pixels, or 1s and 0s, it’s culture.  And we let it happen.  I was thinking this when I should’ve been watching a movie.  I don’t have much time for films, nor do I have money to see everything in a theater.  Or even to pay on a streaming service so that I can watch without commercials.  So like any zombie, I just let it happen.  Recently I was watching a movie—it’s here on this blog someplace—that was uncommonly unified by mood.  Edgar Allan Poe was of the opinion, and I think he was right, that short stories should be brief enough to finish in a single sitting.  Poe opined that such a reading allowed for the continuation of a mood set by the writer.  He was a master at doing this himself.  Breaking up movies with commercials reminds us of his wisdom.

Photo by Ramon Kagie on Unsplash

So I was watching a film where the dread builds up slowly.  The shadows, the music, the unspooling plot—try this new toothpaste!  Here’s a silly television show that you can watch on our network!  What was the mood I was in?  It was shattered by people pushing stuff I’ll never buy.  (I’ve got sensitive teeth, Mr. Commercial, and my dentist has recommended a brand that keeps me from gnawing my tongue off.  And that television show, Ms. Commercial, has no appeal to me.  I won’t watch it.)  Back to the mood you were trying to enjoy.  This isn’t anything new, of course.  I grew up watching Saturday afternoon monster movies and they were constantly interrupted by commercials.  You have to endure the sermon if you want the fun of coffee hour.  But still, but still…

Yes, I know the rules.  Subscribe to a service (I use two) and you can watch what we’ve got.  Only some of it will be interrupted by commercials.  Companies as large as ours didn’t get this way by accident, you know.  We had to show the average person what market research indicates they want—whiter teeth, more entertainment.  Forget what you’re watching at the moment.  Isn’t that mood just a little intense?  Don’t you need a little break just about now?  I don’t know how you see these posts, but I pay extra not to have advertising on my website.  I do hope that’s the case, if you see it from a device other than mine.  Besides

A Year of Hope

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The older I get the more I appreciate New Year’s Day as a holiday.  Part of the reason is that, although I saw no hint of religion in it as a child, I have come to realize that holidays are for reflecting.  As a self-critical individual, I don’t wait for any date to make resolutions, preferring to do that in real time as soon as I learn about my bad behavior.  Still, although it’s a somewhat artificial marker, January 1 is a time of hope.  It seems that since 2016 years have been something of a slump.  Trump certainly has something to do with it, but Covid has become a monster in its own right and it’s hard to know when we might be able to get back to feeling comfortable in large gatherings of people.  Even as an introvert I miss that from time to time.  Still, optimism comes out with the start of a new year.  Who doesn’t like new things?

Technology has made us hyper-aware of bad things happening elsewhere.  This evolution of a hive mind has caught us unaware, it seems.  We do have a desire to improve (with some exceptions, such as politicians only in it for themselves) and that focus makes our next steps optimistic.  What greater hope can there be that an entire year stretching out in front of us, yet to be written?  There’s the old saw about a blank sheet being a source of fear, but why not do our best to write our own futures on it?  Put our good intentions into the mix to try to balance out the negativity that some others seem intent on dragging the rest of us through.  New Year’s can become almost religious in that way.  We consciously reject the bad that has grown on us throughout the previous twelve months.  We can do better.  We can be smarter.  We only need to believe.

I know that I keep hoping every year that HR will see the wisdom of allocating holidays.  We work more efficiently now, and people smarter than the rest of us suggest that we should not be stressing ourselves so much over things like work.  My own outlook is that days given off work for reflection are increasingly important.  Capitalism with its worship of mammon is, hopefully, entering its late stages.  I can see a future that’s better than what we’ve managed so far.  Let’s hope the wisdom exists to make 2024 a year of avoiding disaster.  A year of hope.

Not Tomorrow

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Two of the sweetest words I know are, in the context of a vacation, “not tomorrow.”  They’re especially sweet after you’ve had a couple days off and you start feeling anxious that time is running out, only to realize that although work will start again soon it’s “not tomorrow.”  You have another day when you can stay in your pajamas, read, watch movies, or, if you’re a certain personality type, write.  Or play games, put a puzzle together, visit friends.  Whatever it is you do to find meaning in life outside work.  Outside academia I’ve never worked for a company that gave more than one day itself for the Christmas holiday.  (Two, if you count New Year’s Day, but that’s technically on next year’s meager holiday tally sheet.)

Each year I cash in vacation days so that I can feel “not tomorrow” more than a day or two in a row.  One of the more depressing recollections I remember is climbing onto an empty bus well before sunrise to commute to an otherwise empty office my first December working for Routledge since I hadn’t accrued enough vacation to take the week off.  I’ve worked for two British companies and it doesn’t help knowing our colleagues in the UK automatically have that week off.  Colonials, however, have far fewer holidays, and if that means trooping to the office for form’s sake, so be it.  Very few people answer their emails between Christmas and New Year’s.  Her majesty’s realm thrived for my presence, I’m sure.

The pandemic has taught us that many, if not most, workers are self-motivated when not confined to an office.  We also know that the United States has the lowest life span among developed nations, and my guess is that one contributing factor is that we don’t have enough “not tomorrows” until it becomes literally true.  Life is a gift, and spending it doing the things we value is something we tend to deny ourselves in the hopes that someday we might retire.  Many companies have begun to cap the number of vacation days you can accrue at numbers so low that the year looks like a desert from January through late November.  It’s that stretch of “tomorrow is a work day” punctuated by weekends so vapid that they vanish by the time errands you can’t do during the week are done.  Why have we done this to ourselves?  For me personally, I only have two more regular work days off.  I’m beginning to feel anxious about it.  Then I tell myself that, for today at least, although I have to start work again soon, it’s not tomorrow.

Boxing

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Christmas is too large for just one day.  I know that, of course, not everyone can take a string of days off work.  I realize there are people who work Christmas day.  For the rank and file of us drones, however, who sit in front of computers 9-2-5 making money for “the company,” this season should be a respite.  The day after Christmas goes by many names—the second day of Christmas, the feast of St. Stephen, Boxing Day.  Christmas, like ancient Roman winter festivals, couldn’t be contained in a single day.  For me, being a professor meant living life in semesters.  And semesters had breaks that included a couple weeks in December to regain your bearings.  To me, that remains how it should be.  So we continue to celebrate Christmas another day.  We do so without an agenda.  We do so by relearning how to relax.

Mental work is harder than it looks.  The work day takes up so much time that when I finally have a few days off I wonder how I ever get things done for the rest of the year.  Out of necessity, obviously.  You have to work.  You have to mow the lawn.  You have to visit the tax guy in tax season.  And so on.  I’ve been reading about bees lately.  They’re a lot more intelligent than people tend to think.  The hive mind has its own logic.  Still, worker bees literally work themselves to death.  Lifespans are measured in weeks.  It’s the price they pay for the success of the life of the hive.  And when, after a few years a queen dies, changes take place that make a worker a new queen.  The hive can continue.

Humans aren’t bees, of course.  Our society has different values.  We investigate when any of our species dies under mysterious circumstances, believing that all have certain rights.  (War, of course, cancels those rights, but we think and dream of peace during the Christmas season.)  Since the Christmas season remains with us but a few days each year, it makes sense to me that we build in some time for the drones and workers to recharge.  Across much of the world Boxing Day is a bank holiday—a day off work.  A time when the hive isn’t so worried about the concerns that mark most of the other days of the year.  Holidays are important.  They make us human.  As much as I appreciate bees, even the hive hibernates during winter.  Let’s give Christmas its due.

Photo by Max van den Oetelaar on Unsplash

Morning Reflections

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Morning thoughts are different from evening thoughts.  As we spin recklessly through the blackness of space on this globe, we really have no idea how consciousness works.  We assume, unless some “pathology” is present, that personalities are stable.  But we also think differently at differing times of the day.  I’ve long observed this as the work day progresses.  Anxiety tends to ratchet up during the afternoon, sometimes getting a head start in the morning.  Of course, all of it will depend on whether I slept well and have rebooted properly.  So the person you encounter when you see me will depend on when it is you come calling.  Many people prefer to know someone is coming.  Not only does it give you time to groom for the role you’re going to play, but it also allows you to prepare mentally.

I don’t see many people in the course of a day.  My job is such that I do not regularly have lots of meetings—sometimes going days without any.  During those times the only person I regularly see is my wife.  She’s more aware than most that my morning thoughts are different than my latter-day thoughts.  Those who think of me as a pessimist mostly know the me that’s been awake for several hours.  The morning me is generally optimistic.  And productive.  That cycle for me may begin a few hours before others awake, but it’s characterized by, in a word, inspiration.  The whetstone of a day grinds you down without always making you any sharper.  The problems of work are generally other people’s problems, but without the benefit of seeing them.  And I wonder, at what stage of morning to evening thinking are they?  That changes things.

Thinking is something that is constant.  It doesn’t slow down much, until the afternoon drowsies (with all that that implies—think carefully), but when it picks up again it’s quite different than morning thinking.  I tend to do my writing in the morning.  The freshness is important.  I realize others are on different timetables and at different points in their thinking day.  I wonder how much this has been studied by experts.  Me, I’m an amateur thinker.  I have some formal training in philosophy, but not as much as the professionals do.  I’m more of an experiencer.  An experiencer trying to make sense of life—or to assign it some meaning to help me get through the changes the day inevitably imposes on my thought process.  There’s a reason we appreciate sunrises on this wildly spinning planet, and it has something to do with the way we think in the morning.

Saint Nick

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My wife and I have both noticed it.  December has been much busier than usual, and neither one of us works in retail.  We’re at the age when most people are considering retirement, but are both just settling into our careers.  But this is about December, not about us.  Today is December 6, Saint Nicholas Day to some.  What many people don’t realize is that this used to be “Christmas” for particular sets of folks.  You see, St. Nick was one of the many components of what would become Christmas.  His saint’s day was/is today and it was traditional among some early American communities to pass out gifts today because of the tradition that Nicholas was one of the more generous saints.  While at Nashotah House the rather somber Advent atmosphere was broken this day when the Dean would hand out gold coins.  Well, chocolate coins covered in golden foil, but you get the picture.

Image credit: National Library of Wales, public domain via Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication

In our capitalistic zeal to get Christmas down to just one day off, if that, we’ve targeted the twenty-fifth.  Saint Nicholas was rolled into Santa Claus and we could keep on working nineteen more days.  “Santa” was known by many names—Father Christmas, Christkindl, and Kriss Kringle, among others.  They were expected at different times in December, even as the Catholic Church had decided on this month to be Jesus’ birthday, to counter Roman celebrations of Saturnalia and Kalends (both of which were more than one day, I might add).  December, in other words, should be a festive month.  Instead, it’s become a busy season for squeezing everything in before taking some time off work.  Do we ever sit back and consider how ridiculous such hectic living is?

Don’t get me wrong—I love the Christmas season.  I save up vacation days every year to give myself a mini semester break.  When I’m feeling exhausted with September’s onslaught, if I can cast my eye as far as December I can feel some relief coming.  And I’m not sure why we don’t get offered a few more days in December.  Remote workers can’t always make it to the office holiday party, so maybe December 6 might be a remote worker’s mini Christmas day off?  The weary struggle to make it to the official Christmas could use a little refreshment just about now.  I don’t recall a December ever being this busy on the work front.  For the economy’s sake, hopefully those in retail aren’t finding themselves bored.  One thing that all of us might wish for, however, is a visit from Saint Nicholas.

Thinking Teaching

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I am a teacher.  Although no longer employed as one, my entire mindset is geared toward the profession.  Those hiring in higher education have no clue about this sort of thing.  Apparently nobody else does either.  I’ve worked in business now for over a decade and a half.  During that time only one employer has shown any inkling of understanding the importance of clear teaching.  Instead, most promote busy people trying to explain things in sound bites that lead to confusion, compounded daily (sometimes hourly).  The immense waste of resources this entails is staggering.  It is the most inefficient system I can imagine: in the rush to convey sometimes important information, necessary pieces are left scattered on the floor like seeds under a bird feeder in migration season.  In our rush to do our jobs, we settle for half-baked rather than paying a baker to make proper bread.

This is a constant frustration for someone who has the soul (and mind) of a teacher.  Our society undervalues educators of all stripes.  And, yes, many people go into teaching without the requisite gifts or motivation.  I’m certain I’m not alone in having had a high school or college course where the teacher was completely disengaged or perhaps in out of their depth.  Students shut down, hate school, and then spend their lives making uninformed decisions on everything from politics to profession.  Teachers—good teachers—are the future of any nation.  I know our young are our future, but if they’re inadequately taught, take a look at the headlines and see what happens.  Why is it so difficult to see that if children aren’t taught well, institutions will perpetuate that model until everything is a barely contained pandemonium?

We see this happening in history.  A people or culture gets to a point where they just begin to implode.  Too many things that just don’t make sense have been built on top of other things that just don’t make sense.  The whole thing begins to collapse.  I see this happening all the time—the hurried email that simply doesn’t explain anything, sent in haste before moving on to the next sophomoric task just to get the job done.  When businesses take a look at budgets and feel a little scared, some of the first positions to go are those of trainers.  “People will figure it out,” they seem to say.  And we see the results.  Evolution has made teachers of some of us.  Many of us, of necessity, are doing something else for a living.  If only all jobs came with a blackboard.

Sleep Well

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It’s scary, actually.  How you think depends on how you sleep.  I suspect that the degree of this differs individual by individual, but I recently had a couple of consecutive nights where the differences were striking.  To put this in context, it was after ending Daylight Saving Time (it should be kept all year but with Republicans in the House unable to pick a speaker, what chance do we have of them ever passing a simple, but necessary measure?).  Mondays, for some of us, we naturally awake earlier since, well, work.  I happened to wake excessively early that morning and couldn’t get back to sleep, no how.  I functioned alright during the day, but those who work 9-2-5 aren’t allowed naps and some of us aren’t young anymore.  I thought it was a fairly normal day.  That night I slept well.

Photo by Kate Stone Matheson on Unsplash

The next morning it was like my thoughts were supercharged.  I was thinking things I’d failed to pick up on the previous morning.  I was efficient and energized.  What a difference a good night’s sleep makes!  But the herd mentality—work must be eight hours and those hours must be from nine to five (if you work more, that’s great!)—doesn’t allow for bad nights.  It’s ageist, really.  Once you reach a certain age, you don’t sleep as well at night.  Work times are non-negotiable, so you’re forced to keep going through the yawns that a good nap would take care of.  So much depends on a good night’s sleep.

In reading about the history of holidays (I’ve been doing this for years, as The Wicker Man demonstrates), it’s clear that the United States stands out in the dearth of its holidays.  It’s been that way from the beginning.  Most employers don’t give Veteran’s Day off.  None note May Day, which is Labor Day in many parts of the world.  No time to sleep in in this country!  Work while you’re tired, work while you’re wakeful, just as long as you work those sacred eight hours and more.  Of course, all of this may come from that grouchy feeling a poor night’s sleep bestows.  I don’t keep a sleep diary, but I do wonder how many social ills are brought about by a bad night’s slumber.  It’s the darkening time of the year.  Nature’s telling us that reasonable animals hibernate.  The rest of us set alarm clocks to wake us before it’s light, no matter how we fared the night before.