Drawn Into Battle

I went away. Checked out. Got the hell out of Dodge for a while. We all do it, or at least we all need to. It was heaven: warm and quiet, a Hawaiian womb.

But now I'm back. And what I want to know is: why do things always seem to change while you're gone? The air grows cooler, damper. The list of to do's grow longer. Frazzled relationships are even more frayed when you return. Re-entry is impossibly hard.

I saw The Hurt Locker while I was gone and (spoiler alert) the protagonist found that he was drawn back to battle because it had become the only truth in his life. I wouldn't begin to suggest that my life compares with what our soldiers see, in reality, but as an analogy it's applicable. The battlefield at home has become my truth.

Like the moth drawn to the proverbial flame, and like some soldiers, I am drawn back to battle because it's what I know. The difference for me is that, unlike my winged or uniformed counterparts, I know I'll have the privilege of returning to my flames over and over again.

Terror in the Shoes

I am not Imelda Marcos, but I did have 56 shoes at last count. I am not Richard Reid, but I am a bit of a shoe terrorist.

You see, I had a plantars wart. There, I said it. It's so hard to admit; sounds so ugly. But it is a pretty common problem, I've learned. It started out as no big deal, but last year it started to mutate into a giant alien. My podiatrist and I waged a ferocious war, knowing full well it was a weapon of mass destruction that must be destroyed. After several months, lots of money, a fair amount of discomfort and much inconvenience for my entire family, it seems that the monster has left my body, although I don't want to jinx anything so I won't say that aloud or even begin to celebrate.

Besides, I don't feel much like celebrating because I'm in mourning. My podiatrist suggested I throw away all my shoes just in case the HPV that causes plantars warts lives on, even without a host, in my footwear.

Throw them ALL away?

You've got to be kidding. There are thousands of dollars wrapped up in those babies, and furthermore a lot of them are actually comfortable. They've traveled to China and Alaska and Chicago with me. They've attended weddings and parties and school plays. They've been splashed by chlorinated water in Idaho and they've been sucked into quicksandlike mud in Texas. It's not that they're gorgeous Prada creations; most of them are actually Danskos and Merrills and Ariats and Uggs and Keens. But they're mine, all mine. They represent me.

They've been loyal to me; I've been loyal to them. They're like kids but they don't talk back. (Okay, some of them do, and that's why I never wear them. And those are the ones I don't mind pitching.)

Yes, I'm attached to my shoes, but I was also raised by a survivor of the Great Depression and I'm living in the midst of the Great Recession, which means I don't like to throw away anything, least of all fantastic shoes in great shape. But I can't donate them because I can't bear the thought of passing on the alien HPV to an unknowing victim.

So I've spent the last few days dividing them into categories: the ones I never wear, the ones that can be washed in hot water, the ones whose insoles can be replaced. The ones I can bear to part with and the ones I can't let go of. The ones I know were never exposed to the wart and the ones who have been intimate with it. And then I recategorize them again, and again, trying to find some way to save the favorites from the dump. All the while, the shoes are lined up one next to the other, looking all innocent, but I know that at least one of them, if not more, is a terrorist waiting to attack once again; like a little rogue band, plotting to reinfect me and recreate yet another episode of podiatric terror.

So here I am, mourning the loss of my little terrorist wonders, waiting for the strength or divine intervention to let them go.

There is Judgment, and There is Love

I guess it's human nature to form opinions about other people. He is smart, she is pretty, he is shy, she is messed up.

But I wonder why.

What good did it do for those cave men to judge others way back when? I guess if you were worried about your survival, and somebody was heading out to hunt sabre tooth tigers, and you knew he couldn't throw a spear two feet, it would be good to recognize that weakness and, hence, pass judgment. Food, and safety, and survival, would be good reasons to pass judgment.

But our society has taken this way too far. We judge people by whether they're too fat, or by how they spend their time. By who their friends are, and by what profession they choose or which college they attend or even which sport they play. We judge them by which cell phones they have, and how they dress, and how they talk. And of course we judge them on their religious beliefs and their sexual preferences and skin color, and I fail to see how all this has anything to do with food or safety or survival.

And the worst part is that we don't just judge people we don't know. We judge our friends, our neighbors, and our family members...sometimes them even more than others.

Of course we are concerned for our loves ones, but there is a big difference between concern and judgment. Concern means we are hopeful for their survival and safety and happiness in life. Judgment is really just another word for egotism; we judge our loved ones not from concern but from that insatiable need to stroke and nourish our hungry egos with lofty opinions.

What we need more of around here is love. Pure unconditional love. Love that doesn't care about what you eat or how much you exercise or who you marry. Love that transcends the ego.

Yes, we need a whole lot more love, and a whole lot less judgment. That's one of my hopes for the new year.

Ultimatums Are Not For Winners

I recently watched the movie Thirteen Days, about the Cuban Missile Crisis, and it (among other recent events in my life) gave me reason to think about ultimatums. In this case, the USA gave Russia an ultimatum: remove the nuclear missiles from Cuba...or else. After much stress and feather-fluffing and bluff-calling, the Soviets did what they were told to do. You might say the USA won the battle because a nuclear war was avoided. But there were costs and losses too. Russia and Cuba were deeply shaken and temperamental egos were riled up. Khrushchev was ousted. Cuba, because of the American promise to never invade, would remain Communist for decades, maybe forever. Allies, including Turkey, felt alienated. Within our own country, the strength of the Democratic party was shaken,and some believe this crisis paved the way for a defeat in Vietnam.

Ultimatums are demands, for one party to get what it wants and usually for the other party to have to give up something it wants or values. They are high-pressure strategies that look for tangible results, and usually are used as the last possible, final, uncompromising requirement with an implied threat of a very serious penalty. They are often used when one party is stronger than the other, though not always. The Austrian ultimatum to Serbia, which some say actually triggered WWI, was shocking to many because the ultimatum revealed Austria's self-perception of being greater than Serbia. Ultimatums are used widely in politics, often as a threat for one result but that actually creates unintended results too, such as widening existing rifts or alienating countries who aren't even involved directly.

Ultimatums are also used in business; in fact one consultant specializing in sales force management suggests that they are appropriate to achieve desired results, but only if the recipient of the ultimatum is adequately supported to achieve success, and if both parties to the ultimatum are committed to the same end result. But here's the rub: he also suggests that ultimatums are embraced by Type A managers who thrive on pressure, challenge, and urgency and are used to determine whether type B's can become type A's...and also to get type C's to leave the company. Obviously a manager has the right to tell a subordinate how to do his/her job, and obviously a failure to perform is grounds for termination. But it seems to me there is a fine line between natural performance measurements and results and ultimatums. Besides, not everyone is, or can be, or should be a Type A. A manager issuing an ultimatum, like the USA did to Russia, might think he has "won" when an ultimatum results in an employees' departure. And maybe he has. But there is also a cost: it could be employee morale, it could be a decline in productivity for a temporary period, or it could be signficant family or financial hardship for the person on the other side, who was forced to leave.

And then we come to relationships. Take a look at the self-help books or peruse the Internet. Ultimatums are used all too frequently in this arena, too. Relationships should be founded on equal footing between two adults, like two countries, except perhaps in the parent-child situation, which is similar to the manager-employee structure. Either way, ultimatums in relationships - as in government or business - serve as a means to establish control (the opposite of freedom). This might make sense in business or government, but this is not an ingredient for healthy interpersonal relationships. Ultimatums set boundaries, which are useful, but they do it in a manipulative way, thereby destroying the climate of love and cooperation that should exist between individuals. In fact, one psychologist describes them as tactical nukes.

So whether we're talking countries or individuals, ultimatums are nuclear. They might start with good intention, but they are a powerful form of assault. They may be non-physical, but they are still assaults.

I'm reading The Help right now, by Kathryn Stockett. It's set in the 1960's when civil rights movements were strenghtening. Blacks and whites alike were given ultimatums to change their behaviors, or else... And we all know there were huge losses and costs that stemmed from those ultimatums. It was a complicated time, and I can't say unilaterally that we all would have been better off without any of those ultimatums, because I can't say I've done enough extensive research to make that claim. But I am quite sure that some lives would have been saved, and some families much happier, and some relationships would have been free to evolve naturally, if people had been able to work together to address their concerns and their needs and their desires, without threats of control or violence.

And that's really what our time on this planet is all about, according to our country's forefathers. And according to me. Life. Happiness. Freedom.

So let's avoid those nuclear ultimatums and figure out how to cooperate with one another, shall we?