Ghandi Revisited

Los Angeles, California

I don't do new year's resolutions. But I do use the ending and subsequent start of a new year to do an evaluation and reset. And that can take many shapes and forms. This year I am reflecting on acceptance. Recently an old friend (one whom I have referred to as my ex-best friend) and I have reconnected. It is tentative and tenuous and we have agreed to take this reformation in baby steps. But as time goes by, I find myself more forgiving of the breaches and lapses that used to plague me in my relationships. But this easing is within reason.

I was fortunate to grow up with a father who believed in boundaries and discipline but was completely devoid of racism and mostly of judgmentalism. I inherited my own judgmentalism from what was modeled by my mother. My father used to say that he couldn't understand why, after spending a day with family or a family of friends, my mother and grandmother would trash them on the drive all the way home. I would add that they trashed-talked them for sport. I have sincere issues with breaches of etiquette and the golden rule. I believe that you have to make an effort in your relationships, and I strongly believe in reciprocity. My mother often said about my sister that the river only runs one way with her. This was true and maybe it is why I have such a problem with people like that. If the river is only running from me to them, I will let it flow for longer than I probably should, and then the dam goes up overnight.

But I am older and wiser and have seen things happen in my own life, and in the lives of people close to me, which has given me a greater sense of perspective. I have kept people in my life who have done terrible things. And I regret that. And I see friends keeping people in their lives who have done terrible things. I don't want to be the one who throws stones, but I also don't feel I am living in a glass house. If someone were to wrongly accuse me of something heinous, I would run far and fast away from them. If someone deliberately or carelessly hurts their friend or family-member, I will question that person's lack of kindness and character, and back up from them while the behavior continues. It's a murky grey area as to whether I keep them in my life once I see that is who they are. I've been there and done that. See sentence pertaining to regret earlier in this paragraph.

My father believed in rules and order. He believed in expert opinions. He didn't question the validity of stop signs, marriage vows, scientific recommendations, faith. His world was well-ordered because he was educated and deferred to educated facts. He valued his own opinion, but was clearly cognizant that facts were facts and conspiracy theories were bullshit.

I, on the other hand, grew up in the late sixties and my generation was told to question everything: the morality of a war in southeast Asia; codes regarding dress and/or men's hair length; organized religion and Washington's Watergate-era politics. I now see a world where people rail against science, the arts, and traffic signs. I feel we are living in an increasingly downward spiral of chaos where everyone feels entitled to do exactly what they feel like doing regardless of anyone else.

Recently a friend remarked to me that she was grateful to be on the downward side of life because, as she put it, the world is horrible and it's not going to get any better. I do feel that on occasion, but I try to buck that up with a sense that the world could be better. Last year I mentioned to a friend that I was trying to live by being the change you want to see in the world. She replied that my statement sounded like some liberal gibberish. WTF? It's a quote from Ghandi and clearly an enlightened goal to set for oneself. But trying to make the world better may seem, to some, like liberal bullshit. And that's pretty sad.

So, here in the beginning of the year, and before I set a goal for the period of Lent, I am pondering my existential plan for the year. Not a resolution. Not an I-give-up collapse. But, something, somewhere on the positive side of the spectrum between joy and despair. And maybe that is the space where acceptance resides. I do want to be that change that I want to see, especially within the relationships I value. I have a belief that you can make a huge difference by taking the higher road. I have resolved to be aware of sarcasm, snarkiness, and especially the hit-and-run political comments that I hear around me. They have no place in a better world. And I am reminded of what I thought after 9/11: I can't substantially change the world, nor my country, state nor city. But I can change how I behave in my circle of family and friends. Going forward I will make that effort as well as continuing to welcome the people who also make that effort into my life. It is time for that change.

David (Crosby and Other Ones)

Los Angeles, California

My friend, Max, writes to me to comment on the death of David Crosby. I write back relating a story he has most likely heard before, about my connection to the music of Crosby, Stills, and Nash. The experience related to that connection surely changed my life. At least that was what Tom used to say. More about that in a previous post entitled Seaside Deadbeats.

Max has been in my life since 1980. That is, WOW, more than forty years. And it is unlikely that we would have stayed connected through this time. When we met, I was a mid-twenties, newly-married young woman in a staff position at a university. He was working on his master's degree. He later moved to the east coast, married, raised a family, and ran a prestigious non-profit in the arts. My marriage continued then took a sudden, direct turn down a rabbit hole. Throughout the 40+, we mostly stayed in contact. And now we are on the downside of life, and an event, like the death of David Crosby, an icon of our generation, makes us reach out.

And it makes me think about connection and the loss of connection we often experience in life. There is no concrete reason Max and I should have stayed in touch. Mutual interest? Some gossamer fiber of something undefinable yet binding? On my end, the relationship feels like this weird blending of friend, soulmate, compatriot. Maybe the connection is an odd, once-in-a-lifetime, what might have been, always valued to be in each other's lives, no matter what, thing. I don't question. It is what it is.

And so, as we think and email about David Crosby, I am reminded of someone else from the past who couldn't similarly stick; an old boyfriend of some significance who I had reached out to in a desperately confounding time of my life. This is always risky, but it actually was a good thing. We shared our perspective of our own breakup, what was currently happening in our lives, and our mutual desire to stay in touch. But inexplicably, that connection ended up to be transient.

I was not a huge David Crosby fan, but as these icons leave us we are reminded of their music in our time. And of the people who shared the time, and later time, with us. David, the ex, and I shared a lot together and some of it was not so stellar. We were in college together, and at one point planned a lifetime together. When we talked about that, all those decades later, his comment was: That never would have worked. And he was right. But somehow, I thought our later connection would. I thought so, until it didn't, and when I raised my confusion about this loss with Max he explained it to me, simply and succinctly: His wife is not that into you.

I do wish I still had David (not Crosby, but the other one) in my life. We came of age together and the experience is imprinted on my psyche, if not his.  But... We learn to accept where people are in their lives and experiences. And how they might succumb to the pressures of other, more integral relationships in their lives. I am simply and truly grateful for Max and for our connection which enables us to email about David Crosby and Jeff Beck. Was JB in Cream? I asked. And we shared our love of the Cream song, Badge. Somewhere, somewhere, the ex, David, is maybe also thinking about Jeff Beck and David Crosby. Maybe he too is emailing about the loss. Just not with me. And, truly, if God forbid I had to choose, I would always choose to have Max in my life. When I email him, I am 99. A reference we share which is owed to the beloved Mel Brooks' TV show, Get Smart. If that connection went away, I would be devastated. With the loss of the other, I was wounded, and confused. But the loss of our 99 and Max connection? I would not be consoled by Sorry about that, Chief.

PS You have to know Get Smart to get that last sentence. For more about the series, read Lisa Lutz' Spellman books. You will thank me. And you must trust me about this.