Living in the "bell"

Good or Evil. Right or Wrong. Win or Lose. Left or Right. Hot or Cold. Yes or No. Hope or Despair. Optimist or Pessimist. Black or White. Start or Stop. Young or Old.

We are taught from infancy that the choice must be made. We are taught from the perspective of the teacher. Perspectives that perpetuate division amongst us. One or another; one's good and the other is bad. We learn to chose sides; sides that are separated by something: an idea, a border, a belief. A line in the sand. "We will be remembered for the choices we make."

So, it should come as no surprise to us that every issue we meet in our lives tends to become contentious. Who's side are you on? Are you a conservative or a liberal? Do you live in a red state or a blue state? You say "toe-ma-toe" and I say "to-mat-to". "You say hello and I say good-bye."

Isn't there such as thing as gray? as warm? as "hopeful despair"? as middle aged? as "in motion"?

The people are both sides of the issue get all the media attention. And I contend that there are not that many people on both sides. Most of us are in the middle. I submit the Bell Curve as proof. The bell curve, while not a measure of anything, is simply the representation of data that happens to be the most common outcome. The bell curve illustrates the probability theory and statistics that describes how data clusters around the mean; classes with the highest frequency cluster around the middle and classes with lowest frequency cluster at each end. The theory supports normal distribution. Did I say "NORMAL"?

What definition do we apply to "normal"? Who or what is in the bell? Normal implies conformity with established standards or regular or commonly accepted practices. We have the word, typical, which applies the most common characteristics of a issue, place or thing. Normal could be what is natural or innate; there is usual to describe the ordinary. Is normal really average?

Even when we are given the chance to be exposed to something outside of the normal we have been taught; even if we like the "other" choice, we never consider it normal. We stay safely within the bell and accept the concept that those people and things on the opposite sides of the cluster are not normal.

I like the descriptions are the illustration. Some of are the "same as others"; some of us agree more and some of us agree less with the others who think the same. It is not opposite; it is different. And I think that is normal.

"What's love got to do with it?"

"They" say "love is blind". "They" say "love hurts". "They" say "love has no bounds". Was Tina right? What does love have to do with it?

I caught a glimpse of an old love the other day and my heart sank. Old feelings and old memories came rushing back. For a moment I was saddened. And then I went to my "safe place" - intellectualizing. Love doesn't hurt; it's the illusion of love that hurts; the cracking of the facade of promises and commitments.

Intellectually I know that he was not my "forever". I knew that for the many years we spent together. But, I stayed. I use to say that I stayed because I was lazy and didn't want to have to reintroduce myself to someone else. I was too busy to start over. In reality, I was too scared to try again. Could someone else "hurt" me more? I knew how to rationalize my heartache with him. I believed I understood his behavior. I enabled him.

I pretended to demand honesty, when all the while we existed in deceit; trying to hide our true feelings. I wanted more and he wanted less. He applauded my ambition, creativity and intellect, when he really wanted me to be less complicated. I encouraged his wit, folksy conduct and spontaneity, when I really wanted him to be more sophisticated. He was a staunch Republican and I am a liberal Democrat. Is it true that opposites attract?

In every relationship there is the defining moment of attraction; the soulful connection that brings two people to intimacy. I contend that we spend the rest of the relationship trying to relive that very moment. Some of us are successful in doing so and others, not so much.

I remember being ever so frustrated by a boyfriend's behavior. I went to my father and explained the circumstances and asked "why?" "Why do men do these things?" Dad smiled and told me that I "was no walk in the park either." That's my reality check. "I am no walk in the park either." What ever dismay I may feel in a "not so glorious" event in a relationship, I think of that comment. I smile and desist in my tirade.

When I look around me and see and hear people's stories of love relationships - good and bad - I wonder if we have inaccurately defined love. Is the love we seek, by definition, unattainable? A dictionary definition says that love is "a deep and tender affection, devotion and attachment." A deep and tender affection works for me. Devotion and attachment? In devotion we tend to put a person on the pedestal; a lonely place from which to fall. In attachment, we tend to crowd the space in which the person dwells. In love, we should have some distance between; eat from the same loaf, but drink from separate cups. There must be personal freedom in a relationship. "If you love them, set them free."

I am not bitter, although I am bruised. I am not angry despite my rant. I miss love's illusions. I miss the soulful connection. I miss the blatant honesty.

As I have grown, in years and in experience, I have no regrets for the loves in my life. I learned so much from each relationship; I learned volumes about me. For in the end, I remain - alone or in a relationship; and grateful to have had that soulful connection. I feel destined to find another. And, that's what love had do with it.

Please don't burst my bubbles

Perhaps everything is not how it is (or was), but how it is remembered.

If you have visited my blog before, you may find that I comment on "perception" quite often. I am fascinated (perhaps obsessed) with how differently we all view the world, our situation and the situations of others. I become distressed over political differences, frustrated over the division of business risk assessments, and often hurt by the wide schism of artistic interpretation.

I use the word "hurt" to describe artistic differences because I believe art is a reflection of soul. And I use the concept of "art" quite broadly - not just painting and literature and performance - but any creative endeavor. I am hurt by intolerance and the lack of acceptance that people view things differently.

How we perceive, how we remember, an event, a person, a thing, a vision, shapes our very being. I am a collection of memories: some are the learned doctrines to live in our society; some are the feelings that have been shared with me; some are the feelings I felt; some are the feelings and memories that I have repressed.

All of these experiences and memories sometimes gives us a skewed reality. Think of the frustration of police detectives as they try to gather accounts from numerous witnesses to a crime. Everyone sees something different. All are correct; and all are wrong. The collective descriptions produce a puzzle for the solving.

Now, consider a family gathering of many years ago. If you round up the usual suspects to recollect the event you will find yourself wondering if anyone was at the same place at the same time. The memory is personal. The memory is a function of your learned perception and likes or dislikes - optimist? pessimist? realist?

I remember the beautiful Christmas tree. I remember that Uncle Harry got incredibly drunk. I remember that I got a cashmere sweater. I remember that we had sauerbraten. I remember that I had a migraine headache. I remember that Susie had on the most beautiful red shoes. I remember that it was the night that Dad got ill and died a month later. All true. Some "trite" memories; some "profound" - all subjective.

There are so many seemingly insignificant events in our lives that stay with us; sometimes haunting us. I remember one time being ever so rude to a woman at a social agency. I was there for a job interview; she was there for help. I made it clear to her that I was not seeking social assistance. I was twenty. I still see her face. I wish I could go back and apologize. She probably doesn't remember. I hope not.

I have a painting in my home that has become "a joke" among some of my "friends". They find some humor in teasing me about the abstract. They don't seem to understand that it is not as much as what I see in the painting that gives me joy, it is also what I remember about the evening I purchased it. I was at one of my favorite galleries in town. I was sipping on a great cabernet savingnon. I was with the man I loved (at the time). I knew the artist. It was raining out. I was in a melancholy mood. The mist in the painting spoke to me. It took me out of the melancholy and helped me to see the joy of the evening. I bought the painting. Whenever I look at the painting I remember coming out of the mist. Perhaps that is not how it was, but it is how I remember it.

We all create our little bubbles of joy; in some cases depression. But, these bubbles are ours. These bubbles are our memories, feelings, thoughts. The bubbles launch into our surroundings and float about our heads. They eventually dissipate on their own. That is how it is meant to be.

Please don't burst my bubbles; let them soar as they were meant to be.

'Tis the season. . .to reconnect

'Tis the season - Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanzaa. Here in the U.S., we've begun filling the stores, visiting the websites and draining our bank accounts. If we're not buying gifts for others and the occasional gift for ourselves (one for you and two for me), we're decking the halls and painting the walls. Yes, it's time for forced merriment.

Please, I am not a Scrooge nor a Grinch or any other smile-robbing bandit. I love the holidays. And part of me is glad that some people are pushed into celebrating and entertaining and reconnecting. Some people just need "a little Christmas" to get them out of the shell and into the "bowl of cherries".

I just wish we would spend more time during the year, appreciating each other, reaching out to each other and taking stock of our faith and fortunes. Even if it's just a Facebook howdy or a quick Tweet; why do we wait until December to see what's up with the people that parade in and out of our memories? And, why do we close the door come January 2?

I will tell you why - because it's hard! Our days are long and filled with job worries, financial woes, health issues and other obligations. The kids need to be schlepped to soccer and their science project is due on Monday. Your mother needs a ride to the doctor appointment and Aunt Betty needs someone to go to the grocery store for her. If we find some precious time with nothing planned, we collapse into the chair and stare at the television.

My nails need a manicure desperately and that closet of mine has exploded again. I can't find a damn thing on my desk, let alone a pen, and you want me to write Christmas cards? It's not going to happen. It's just too hard!

So I've been giving this reconnecting thing some thought and was reminded of something one of my old CEOs would do. Each week I would send him a list of five names of our sales people. And each morning of every week, during his 10 AM coffee, he would call one of these people. Just one person a day and when we had gone through the list, he would start over again. It wasn't hard at all.

I bet I could make one extra phone call a day and maybe send one extra email or write a short note. I'm not going to send out 300 Christmas cards in a mad rush during the next week, but I can take that list and make it my mission for the entire year.

The holidays are upon us: there are parties planned, concerts and performances scheduled, places to travel. I will see many of you over the course of the next month. But if I don't and if you don't get that Christmas card (again), just know that you are on my list and in my memories. And when you least expect it, I will be at the other end of the phone.

Peace out.

Sanctuary

In a church, a temple or a mosque; on the mountain, by the river, in the forest, along the shore; we each find our sanctuary in different places. Sometimes we find sanctuary in each other. In the bright eyes of a child; the warm gesture of a friend; the intimate touch of our lover.

I often find myself contemplating my ideal sanctuary. I seek that special place where I can feel safe, secure and protected from my own negative self-talk. Those of us who spend our days plotting, planning, intellectualizing and rationalizing can too frequently get lost in the maze; the maze of earthly concerns and material wants. Our spirit is best fed by the poetry of nature: the crispness of the morning air; the scent of the blossoming flower; the song of the meandering river; and the strength of the giant oak. In nature, I remember my purpose. I must learn to see not only with my eyes, but with my spirit as well.


In nature, we learn the cycle of life. There is a clarity that we can not find in man-made doctrine. We tend to seek stability in our lives; stability means stagnation. The "answers" we seek come to us in abstraction; unsettling and mysterious. This mystery is the source of all true art and science; or so said Albert Einstein. This mystery is the source of our faith that feeds our spirit.

In those moments of clarity, among the splendor of nature we are inspired; we are forgiven; we are renewed. We can accept that success and failure are man-made measures. We believe that there is little difference between your faith and mine, but the man-made trappings of religion. We find the unity we seek in sanctuary.

To sit and watch an animal, a flower, the tree, we can recognize the dignity, the innocence, the holiness of nature. All working in unison, at different paces, to create this sanctuary and abide by the cycle of life.

The lesson we should take from this is that all of mankind is a mix of "people becoming"; all at different paces. We are all at different stages of our spiritual evolution. Those at the "same stage" choose to practice similar beliefs. We are all on different paths; not one right or one wrong. It is the search for sanctuary and enlightenment.

Please Mr. Postman

I got a letter in the mail the other day. Not a card, not a thank you note, not a request for donations, not an email, not an invitation; but, an honest to God, letter. A letter with a greeting and all sorts of newsy updates from a friend I haven't seen in quite a while. Snail mail - what a concept.

While reading the letter, I could hear her speaking; just like in the movies. I could tell from the handwriting that she was taking her time penning her thoughts; and, instead of the electronic shorthand "lol", she wrote "ha ha". I really do miss getting letters. But as my mother would tell me, "you need to write one to get one back."

As a child I wrote lots of letters; and have to admit that I did so to get one back. As the youngest child in my family, my grandparents were all gone before I came along. I felt ever so slighted by not having grandparents; all my friends did. My mother had an uncle and an aunt who were still around. My father had an older sister. So I began my letter writing campaign to Uncle Ferdie, Tanta Annie and Aunt Alma.

It started as "thank you" notes for a Christmas or birthday present and became a chronicle of my youth. I wish I still had those letters. I remember sitting at my little white desk in my bedroom, with some pretty stationary and a fresh, new pen. I would tell them about my report card and what school activities I was involved in. I would tell them about outings to the beach or zoo. At Christmastime, I would laboriously list every little stocking stuffer and gift I received. Sometimes I would enclose essay's or stories that I had written (I was editor of my elementary school newspaper).

I could always count on them to find time to send me a return letter. Uncle Ferdie was a scientist and a collector of all sorts of unusual things - he would suggest books for me to read. Tanta Annie would tell me stories about the family and her weekly tennis match. Aunt Alma would tell me about the weather in Alabama and describe the changes in season.

As I grew older, I found others to write to. In college, I would set aside time every Sunday to write to the parents and friends at other schools. I had one friend in college who actually kept carbon copies of the letters she wrote. I wish I had some of the letters I wrote.

My first love was a letter writer. While away at school, he would write every week; beautiful love letters; letters that made my heart beat faster. I wish I had saved those letters. They were burned in the ritual break-up ceremony.

Often, when cleaning out a drawer or an old box I find stuffed away in the closet I'll find a letter I have saved. When I read them, I realize how full of "history" they are. My friends Polly and Donna were particularly good at writing letters (and still are). I have let my letter writing by the wayside.

I believe my generation was the last to embrace the art of letter writing. I can still hear Dean Martin ending his variety show saying, "keep those cards and letters coming in." I can recall pleading with my nieces and nephews to write to me. As much as their parents chided them to write thank you notes, I usually only got a phone call. One time in desperation I bought a book "The Art of Writing Thank You Notes" and sent it to one niece. It didn't make an impact.

Much of history as we know it has been collected from the letters of those who were there. Perhaps it is the voyeur in me, but I love to read the letters of artists and writers; presidents and kings; soldiers and lovers. They saved those letters.

I wish I had saved more of mine.

Addictive Thinking

Blogger's Note: This is strictly commentary and threads of thought. It's me, thinking out loud.

Additive thinking can be very logical, superficially, seductive and misleading.

I learned this week of a friend's son who is facing legal consequences from his addictive behavior resulting from his drug use. I do believe addiction is a mental illness, but I start questioning the validity of the premise that an individual can be genetically predisposed to addiction.

Is it nurture or nature that produces addiction? Is it the chicken or the egg? Does our genetic predisposition produce low self-esteem? And, that low self-esteem permeates one's thinking and then the parenting skills (or lack of skills) perpetuate the legacy of poor self-esteem? After being told over and over again that you are "wrong" or "need" to do things differently. . .you believe it. Self fulfilling prophecies.

Addiction comes in so many forms: alcohol, drugs (legal and illegal), smoking, caffeine, sexual behavior, people, gambling; just the short list.

The behaviors are a defense to thinking and feeling pain. The pain manifests itself in the guise of self-destructive actions; passive suicide if you will. And misery, loves company. Peer pressure is nothing more than "misery recruitment".

Think about how young (and old) people fall to peer pressure. They are made to think that they are "less" if they don't join the crowd. The "crowd" uses the same negative reinforcement that has been used on them to "keep them in line"; the aim is to destruct the self-esteem; question worthiness; control; withhold love and attention. The same is true for physical abusers; the act of violence is their addiction. Peer pressure works best on an already damaged self image.

Guilt and shame lie at the core of addictive thinking. While they are akin, they are ever so different and require much different healing methods. Guilt results from action; shame results from what we are. Guilt can lead to corrective action; shame leads to resignation and despair.

Socially, we create addicts. We set expectations of achievement as a requirement instead of an aspiration. We judge those who do not "fit in" and often ostracize them. We tell them they should be "ashamed" for not marching to the same beat.

Intolerance. Judgement. Gossip. Blame. Perhaps if we could do away with this "addictive thinking," we could help "cure" addiction.

What If?

What if we really accepted all men and women as equals? What if we didn't discriminate between race, ethnicity, creed, gender or sexual orientation? What if the word "minority" didn't exist? What if?

Sadly, I fear we would create the divide anyway. We are genetically predisposed to create sides (at least I believe such). I reach this conclusion after many years of experience as "us" and as "them".

As a young woman, I was part of a club, whose members, somehow, were all blond and bright. We looked alike; with our long locks parted in the middle. We dressed similarly and sounded the same. But, there were some who chose to read romance novels while the "majority" read classic literature. The readers of romance novels were mocked. We found a "minority" within; however petty.

In business, after many years struggling to gain acceptance in the board room, I found myself choosing sides. Not a man-woman issue, but the issue between marketing and operations. It was a continuous, and often nasty, battle between two groups. We all worked for the same company; we all worked toward the same profit margin; yet we chose sides - us versus them.

It is always us versus them: Americans vs everyone else; men vs women; gay vs straight; Christians vs Jew; and, the list goes on.

I believe we get lost in the issue of majority and minority. We say the "majority rules", but it is in fact a "minority" that rules us - that handful of people in government and those giants of industry. They are not really part of the majority. It is our wish in life to be on the "winning" side - survival of the fittest. But, I suggest we can survive with tolerance and acceptance; a win-win equation.

If we survive together, will we not have more plentiful resources of experience, knowledge and culture? But that means opening oneself up to new ideas and embracing the differences. I can hear the mantra now, "but those people are different"; said with a disapproving tone.

We teach difference. We perpetuate difference. We mock difference.

What if we start teaching similarity and symbiosis and mutual interdependence? What if we stop being scared of what is different and embrace the beauty of "not alike"?

What if?

Embrace Your "Freakism"

"Flying the freak flag!" That's what my niece, Veronica, calls it when she reacts (read over-reacts) to a situation. I laugh. I know that the "freak flag" is part of a family tradition.

We are a passionate, opinionated and emotional lot. Chaos follows us. Panic envelops us. Laughter consumes us. We are consummate communicators - we verbalize everything. Those behaviors make some people very uncomfortable. We're sorry, we can't help it; we have learned to embrace our "freakism". And we proudly "fly the freak flag."

We don't think we're freaks at all. We find the humor in our reaction to life's little and huge obstacles alike. We just don't know how to contain the "freakism" before it explodes. Our arms begin waving, our feet may stomp and the words spill from our mouths.

Choruses of "what the hell" and "you got to be f**king kidding me" can be heard quite frequently. Paul Tillich said, "astonishment is the root of philosophy." We're just a bunch of modern day philosophers. We are always astonished by what people say and do, but we are never amazed. We're astonished by what we do and say too. We spend time a lot of time trying to figure it all out. And then, we roll our eyes, throw up our hands and chuckle - maybe we're just a bunch of big freaks?

Can you believe what I said? Did you see what I did? I lost it, didn't I? I'm such a freak! And I come from a long line of freaks.

Freakism is a learned behavior. It is animated and often loud and boisterous. It is raw emotion. When confronted by "freakism", many people view it as anger - sometimes insanity. It is neither. It is a reaction to perceived injustice, prejudice or plain stupidity. It is intolerant to lack of thought and logic.

Methinks we all have a bit of the "freak" within. Some are highly repressed. I suggest that letting the freak out every now and then is healthy and liberating.

Embrace the freak, just don't get it wet or feed it after midnight - remember what happen to the Gremlins.

Experiment in Clarity

Most of us spend our day taking direction from someone for something. We are directed by laws, procedures, guidelines and common sense. Often times we have printed instructions to guide us through a process; other times we have to depend upon our comprehension and memory of someones verbal instruction/direction.

Instructions - immediately I am drawn to the image of my father and brothers trying to put together the Christmas bike or doll carriage. It was bad enough if one of them got hold of the instructions by himself; but to leave the instructions open to interpretation by three tired and frustrated men on Christmas Eve was disaster.

That's the key: interpretation. I have a lot of respect for those people charged with the responsibility of creating instructions for the assembly of "things". The words must be so clear and so concise; and the vocabulary of the most common denominator. Clarity, which can be removed from interpretation, is primary for any instruction. Which right to you mean?

I pride myself in giving very clear driving directions to my house. There is nothing worse than having a guest show up frustrated and frazzled after driving around in the neighborhood for an hour. I have found that landmarks are important. Also, while giving the instructions I make sure I stop intermittently to confirm their understanding. I haven't lost a guest yet.

Verifying and confirming understanding gives you an edge on getting the right message communicated. But what if you can't ask any questions? And you can't point or gesture? In my early days as a communications and marketing trainer, we would use a simple exercise to heighten awareness of clear and concise directions. Let's try it!

Take a blank piece of paper; 8 1/2" X 11" (pull a sheet out from your printer). Lay the sheet horizontally or landscape view on the surface in front of you. You will need two different color pens for this exercise; you may use red and blue, black and blue, black and red or any other combination you choose.

With Color 1 of your choice, draw at the center of the page a circle. The circle should allow white space in about 1/4 of the page to the top, to the bottom and on both sides of the shape.

Take Color 2 and to the right of the circle, as close to the center of the outer circumference and approximately an inch from the circle itself, make a point and label it "A".

From the top of Point "A", draw a line, at an angle upward, cutting through the right side of the circle and coming out of the top, left side of the circle. Draw a similar line, however, angling downward, beginning at the bottom of Point "A", and dissecting the circle on the bottom, left side.

On the right side of the circle, where the line intersects with the circle itself, label the top intersection "B" and the bottom intersection "C".

On the left side of the circle, where the line intersects with the circle itself, label the top intersection "E" and the bottom intersection "D".

We are done. How did you do? How did I do at giving instructions? Oh, you need to see the finished product to compare? Check below the blog achives on the left side of this page to see how your diagram compares with my diagram. I'm interested in hearing about your results.

Por favor, Spechen Sie English?

The other night, my sister and I were watching a film. Two of the characters launched into a conversation in a foreign language and sub-titles appeared. Diane is having some vision issues and asked me to read aloud. I began the translation. At some point, as does happen in many films, the characters lapsed into English. I, however, continued to "translate". Until Diane's laughing interfered; I truly didn't realize they were now speaking English.

Regrettably, I have to admit that I am not multi-lingual; not even bi-lingual anymore. The phrase "use it or lose it" is so true of language. Years ago I was quite fluent in Spanish. After leaving South Florida for South Carolina I found less and less use for my Spanish and eventually lost most of it. I learned German as a child and used it to some degree on my jaunts to Europe. I haven't been to Europe lately and would definitely need a refresher course should I wish to attempt conversational German.

Oh, I say I had a grasp for languages, but then I am reminded of some of my more amusing immersions into a language other than English.

On one of my first tours of Europe I was doing so well in communicating. I could speak English, I spoke Spanish, I had a working knowledge of German and I was great at reading French menus. As the three week trip was coming to a close, I was exhausted. Trying to find common language while drinking mass quantities of wine had become ever so stressful. There were times that I resorted to drawing pictures on napkins. I went in and out of the three languages at my disposal so many times that I wasn't clear on what I was saying. During one of the last stops in Amsterdam, I attempted to get directions from a woman on the street. Not speaking Dutch, I tried English and German and hand gestures and pointing at pictures. The woman was so kind and was trying so hard to make me understand where I needed to go. Finally in desperation I asked, "can you speak English?" Her reply, "I AM SPEAKING ENGLISH." And so she was.

When my father retired, I took he and my mother on a trip to Europe - Germany and Austria. Mom grew up speaking German, but her ability had diminished over the years from not using it. Dad did not speak a second language, but could understand a fair amount of Spanish. I was at my pinnacle of speaking both.

Vienna provided a number of communication challenges. Austrian German is a bit different from the Bavarian German that my mother knew and the Berliner German that I was taught in language class. I had a connecting room to my parent's room at the hotel. The day after our arrival, we were having breakfast in the room. Dad had gone to shower and the chamber maid came in to remove the breakfast trays. Mom began trying on her German with the chamber maid in an attempted conversation. I listened to them both and I just didn't think they were making any progress. I assumed it was the dialect again. Finally I heard my mother say very clearly, in German, "I can not understand you." The chamber maid then replied in broken English, "I AM CZECHOSLOVAKIAN." Ah, that would explain it.

Later in the week, Mom had a unfortunate accident at the train station. A worker was pushing a chain of trolleys through the waiting area and, not paying attention, trapped Mom between a bench and the chain of trolleys. She was taken to a local hospital for examination. My father and I sat in the ER Waiting Room while Mom was examined (she was seriously bruised but not broken). There was a man sitting near us that attempted conversation. I was having a difficult time understanding him. I asked if he spoke English. He said no. He asked if I could speak Spanish. I said yes and we launched into a conversation as he explained that his wife had had a heart attack. I told him what happened to my mother and where we were from and so on and so on. My father tapped me and said, "you know, it almost sounds like you are speaking Spanish." I laughed, we Americans do hear only "babel" whatever the language is. Dad was confused why I was speaking Spanish in a German-speaking hospital.

For many years, Spanish came easily to me. One lazy afternoon, a friend was visiting and we were watching a movie on television. I had seen the movie a number of times; almost to the point that I knew the lines. There was a scene where the characters were all speaking Russian and the obligatory sub-titles appeared. She kept asking me what this was all about. I said they are speaking Russian; she said they were speaking Spanish. I said read the sub-titles. She said I can't. I accused her of having too much wine. We finally realized we were watching the Spanish-language TV station. They were speaking Russian, but the sub-titles were in Spanish and I was in "la la land".

We contend that the foreign language hinders our conversation, but, as we well know, accent and dialect in the same language can prove just as debilitating to communication.

For a number of years I dated a Southern man. He didn't have the slow southern drawl, but had a rapid paced explosion of words. On one occasion I was going on a trip with a friend and he advised that we should go to a particular restaurant. I wrote down his recommendation and upon arrival at our destination I tried to look the name up in the phone book. I was looking and looking and couldn't find it - I was looking under the "B"s. As I searched the rest of the listings I fell upon a restaurant, Vincenzo's. Oh I said, "he said "V" not "B". I thought he said Bincenzo's. Bless his heart; I won't even go into the troubles he had trying to understand broken English in South Florida and blank looks he got from the Latinos.

I am guilty of babel as well. I was once in a conversation with the executive director of a not-for-profit. I explained to him that our organization had a "philanthropic strategy that included youth, environment and the arts." He asked "what?" I repeated. He laughed, "what are youts?" I laughed at the reference to "My Cousin Vinny." He laughed again. "You really did say youts." I was embarrassed. I could say "philanthropic strategy" without stumbling, but I couldn't clearly pronounce "youth."

On the way to the ballet one evening, one of the Russian dancers, who I knew, asked if I could see to it that his visiting Mother found her seat in the theater. Of course. She spoke very, very little English. I began smiling fanatically and asking her if she was enjoying her visit. I spoke very clearly and distinctly. And then I hear my Irish friend behind me, "For heaven's sake Coralee, the woman is Russian not deaf!" Yes, somewhere along the line we learned that speaking very loudly makes us easier to understand.

POR FAVOR, SPRECHEN SIE ENGLISH!

Failed Communication - a pre-existing condition?

"I'm just saying. . ."

You have heard that phrase; used to veil a declaration of displeasure. "I think some people need to practice what they preach." "Really? What do you mean?" "Nothing, I'm just saying." Saying what? Why? What's your point? What prompted the comment? I hear what you are saying, but, WHY are you saying it? Feeling a little passive aggressive today?

Few things frustrate me more than the "disembodied judgement." "Some people need to mind their own business - I'm just saying. . ." I think you need to mind your business and own what you are saying!

It is unfortunate that, as a culture, we prefer to cloak our feelings and ideas in glittering generalities rather than approach our communication with each other in direct sentences. Attribution is our crutch. We can safely set our understanding down without actually touching the ground with full weight. We plant seeds of disapproval, with plausible deniability. Is failed communication a pre-existing condition that we can no longer treat?

While we revert to this closeted communication style, we let "some people" take control of public opinion. Public opinion is shaped by the loudest and most direct communicators. "They" keep screaming out their opinion while others step back and timidly "just say" what they think or understand. We do not necessarily like what "some people" are saying, but we don't want to confront it. We may not understand it.

There is my frustration! To confront or disagree with an opinion or idea you must be educated on the facts of the opinion or idea; understand the issues that form the perception. Is that too much trouble? Apparently.

Over the course of the last month, the news cycle has spent a lot of time discussing the issue of racism as the basis for disagreement with the Obama administration. George Will made the comment that there is a "lust to politicize" every issue these days. I suggest that all opposition is driven by fear. . .I'm just saying. . .Fear of change or fear of loss or fear of not being on the winning side.

In times of unrest, and I submit that we are indeed in a time of unrest (i.e. economy, healthcare, two wars), people flock to sides of perceived, shared philosophy. Shared philosophy can be religious or political affiliation; cultural or ethnic; it can be what we were told we believe. We choose a side where we feel safe in numbers. It is so much easier to follow the herd than to break out onto a new path. We may find ourselves alone on the new path; then again we may find a new breed and join forces. We may find ourselves with the responsibility of leadership.

Perhaps the fear could be reduced if we listened more carefully, studied both sides of an issue and focused on the task at hand. It is not the person that needs to be resolved, it is the issue. Obama will continue to be Obama. Limbaugh will continue to be Limbaugh. Wilson will continue to be Wilson. Clyburn will continue to be Clyburn.

Heathcare in this country can be changed.

I'm just saying. . .

Yeah, what she said!

"Oh what a beautiful morning, oh, what a beautiful day. I got this beautiful feeling, that everything's coming my way." "I've got places to go, people to see, I got a lot of living to do." "Don't tell me not live, I simply got to; if someone takes a spill, it's me and not you; don't bring around the clouds to rain on my parade." "What good is sitting alone in your room, come hear the music play. Life is a Cabaret ole chum, come to the Cabaret."

Ah, the Broadway musical; the soundtrack to our lives. "I hear music and there's no one there." Happy, sad, in love, angry, depressed, motivated. . .there's music and lyric to score the event and emotion. I admit to changing the lyrics, not to fit the event, but just because I can't remember all the words. And, sometimes, it is for the event. It sounds just fine to me and most people don't even notice the difference. Until later, when they hear the words differently; and wonder if I meant to change the words or just didn't know better.

I once typed up song sheets for the family's Christmas caroling. Only my sister-in-law, Bea, caught on that many of the lyrics were "as Coralee hears them" and not as written. Does that mean that we hear what we want to hear or does it mean that we change things to fit our own realities? I'm reminded of Whoppi Goldberg in the film, "Jumpin' Jack Flash" as she tries to decipher Mick Jagger's lyrics. "Come on Mick, what are you saying!

"It's not just in song that we misinterpret the message. That's why they are called "mis-understandings." I tend to over-analyze, intellectualize and try to figure out what you really meant to say when you said something completely different. Yep, that's what I said, read it again.

There is so much danger in analyzing. "Sometimes a ruler is just twelve inches."

While I'm a firm believer in choice and use of words, not everyone else thinks that way nor uses the same point of reference. We all have our language of comfort. A language that provides connection and a sense of commonality. We strive to be "insiders" in these crazy world. We know what we're talking about; the inside joke. Is the outside world so intimidating?

Communicating and really listening is so hard."A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down; in the most delightful way." "Tommy, can you hear me?" "If you could read my mind love, oh the tales the ghosts would tell."

Stop!

Stop! ". . .in the name of love." Stop! "Don't stop thinking about tomorrow." Stop! "You got to stop and get a ticket."

Stop smoking. Stop talking. Stop chewing gum. Stop yelling. Stop drinking. Stop rationalizing. Stop crying. Stop swearing. Stop whining. Stop eating. Stop smothering me. Stop calling. Stop IT! Stop and put your pencils down.

The power of the word "stop" can be life changing. The command, coming from a parent, teacher, boss or loved one can be devastating. Stop being who you are and BE what I want you to be. The word is the only perceived control we may have over the people in our lives and our situations. The word does not always work to "stop" the behavior, but often increases the desire to persist in the behavior. Why is that?

Don't tell me what to do! You don't know why I do that! You don't understand! You don't know what I'm trying to do! Is there any other word that creates so much negativity? Such adversity? Such an impact on self-esteem?

Don't you think we should just STOP the madness? Let's START tolerance, communication and understanding.