William James, Trumpism & Tomorrow

"There is the imitative tendency which shows itself in large masses of men, and produces panics, and orgies, and frenzies of violence, and which only the rarest individuals can actively withstand.”

The above is a line from psychologist William James, in a passage about the human instinct to imitate and to follow others. It follows a quote from the Roman Terence, a slave who became a playwright: “Humani nihil a me alienum puto”, which the poet Maya Angelou translates into: “I am a human being. Nothing human can be alien to me.”

It’s pure coincidence that I happened to be reading William James (a friend and I decided together to explore some volumes of ‘The Great Books of the Western World’) at the very time that Donald Trump’s second impeachment trial was taking place. It’s not so much of a coincidence that I’ve also been reading William Shirer’s “Rise and Fall of the Third Reich”, because it’s the disease of Trumpism in America that drove me to study the rise of Nazism in the first place.

There was a time when Americans looked to Nazism and asked the following questions in total bewilderment: How could they? Can they really believe that? How can they follow him? Don’t they see what’s happening? How can they hate so much? How can they be so stupid, so gullible? If they do see what’s going on, why won’t they stand up to it, defy it? Now, we Americans – on both sides – look at each other with those same questions.

William James (1842-1910) did a deep study of human beings, how we are physically put together and how we work. A lot of his massive work, “Prinicples of Psychology” – at least the parts I’ve read so far – has to do with how we perceive, react, learn and form habits. And when I came to the sentence at the top, and researched Terence’s latin phrase (which James doesn’t bother to translate), I was stopped cold.

It was just two days ago that 43 Senators excused Trump’s involvement in the January 6^th insurrection, after experiencing the assault themselves and after watching hours of evidence linking Trump directly to the attempted coup. Immediately after the acquittal, instead of cries of outrage against the 43, a flurry of attacks and censures was directed at the seven republican Senators who voted along with the democrats to hold Trump responsible. And all those “How could they?” questions are back, pounding in my brain again, as they have for going on five years.

But actually, it’s been a lifetime. A lifetime of wondering how others can see what I see and know what I know and yet hold such drastically different thoughts and feelings about it. How can racists really believe in their judgements? How can so many men believe that women are treated fairly? How is it that adults – who were once children – can accept the use and abuse of children?

The answer that I’ve usually (but not always) strained to reject is that those other people are fundamentally different. I’ve had to strain because this explanation is apparently true. Men and women; black and white; adult and child – all such obvious differences that the answer presents itself. Growing up, I heard this explanation a lot. The horror of racism was explained by, “White folks are different. They don’t think and feel the same. They don’t have souls. They are devils.” Luckily or unluckily, I was able to perceive, in my then mostly-black community, that there was a degree of devilment going on there, too. And there was plenty of conflict – some of it very passionate conflict – that grew out of people not thinking or feeling the same. There were even a few people who gave no evidence of having functioning souls. And so, while it was very obvious that people differed, in subtle and drastic ways, there wasn’t any obvious or simple way to explain those differences.

As I grew up, was able to travel, and began to know people whose lifestyles and backgrounds were very different than mine, alternative answers to the problem of differences began to suggest themselves. Maybe other people didn’t actually see what I see, or couldn’t know what I know. And maybe people’s personal experiences shaped them is such ways that the differences were inside of us rather than in the world.

Maybe one of the most useful experiences in my own life, so far as understanding our differences, was my gradual shift from one who couldn’t understand how people could reject a belief in God, to one who now often struggles to understand the things that people believe to be of God. I don’t struggle nearly so much now as I did before my shift because I still remember my fervent Christianity of before. Because this belief hasn’t totally vanished, but it has changed drastically. The belief system that resonates most for me these last many years is Buddhism. Though I doubt that I’ll ever call myself a Buddhist, I see in that practice the recognition of an essence of goodness in the basic fabric of the universe, in the mechanics of living – that lifts us when we surrender to it (and surrender is a very hard word for most of us these days. Other ways of expressing it are: fully accept, be in flow with, acknowledge as a fundamental principle that will not be evaded). And I experience my connection to a greater, transcendent whole to which I believe we each belong. These notions have totally replaced for me the idea of the egocentric, white, male humanoid whom I once prayed to fervently for my personal salvation. But I can still understand – even feel – the power of that belief. And it allows me to understand the power of belief, whether in Allah or in the hoax of MAGA or Q-Anon.

Access to any belief system requires a process of critical thinking at some point. But, as William James points out, our brains and nervous systems go through phases that predispose us to accepting or rejecting influences at particular times. So that we are influenced when young by trends and styles and revolutionary philosophies that can’t touch us when we are much older. It will continue to take generations for Americans – and, of course, humans all over the planet – to outgrow our traumatic comings-of-age. It had seemed to me forty years ago, that there were levels of healing going on that we’d never again regress from. Now, there are so many fresh, psychic wounds that all that progress seems as lost. Except that the good stuff burrows as deep in us as the ugly, and most of us will try and cling to it tighter.

The Hard Work of Giving a Fuck

I had a difficult realization today, which led to a self-assessment, and then an understanding that I was causing harm to someone who has been a friend. And because it wasn’t an in-your-face kind of harm, but rather one that was caused by retreating, by going silent, I was able to ignore it for a long time.

I only realized the degree of harm I might be generating when I caught myself having thoughts of anger and resentment against someone else for behaving in a similar way toward me. Both situations involved failure to follow up with contact that had been assured, and which was both meaningful and expected. The worst of it was that this behavior had been directed at me by a casual acquaintance, while I’d directed it at a friend.

It isn’t as though I was ever unaware that my own callous act was potentially hurtful. But, the situation was uncomfortable. Basically, I had come to believe that I wasn’t likely to invest the energy in the relationship that was called for, and I just backed off, knowing that it was unlikely that my friend would pursue things. I was faced with a difficulty that I found easier to ignore than to deal with.

This very sobering insight brought to mind the phrase ‘the banality of evil’, coined by Hannah Arendt in her writing about the crimes committed by the Nazis. I know that she used the phrase in reference to particular circumstances and contexts that don’t align with my personal situations, and that are far more serious. And yet, the phrase sticks because what both sets of problems have in common is a refusal to think a situation through, to the point of grasping how ones actions will affect another human being.

My responsibility in this situation is something I want to hold onto. I’ve reached out to the friend I hurt and I intend to endure whatever discomfort may come if he chooses to respond. After all, it was a desire to avoid discomfort that led to me acting as I did.

But I also reflect on the extent to which our society seems increasingly to invite us to not think deeply about how our actions might affect others. An example that resonates powerfully for me is how casually people are fired these days. I have worked in social service programs in which great pride was taken in dealing with clients in a very ‘client-centered’ way, taking their feelings and circumstances into account during every interaction. But employees were regularly fired from these jobs, with no notice or explanation, as casually as documents were shredded once no longer useful.

And I can’t help but think of the political realm, in which it has become more and more common to level devastating personal attacks, picket a person’s home, depict them as monsters, and even issue death threats, simply because someone holds a different political opinion. I don’t think that these ways of treating people would be possible – certainly they wouldn’t be so casual, so easy – if we forced ourselves to think deeply about that person’s actual, physical, temporal humanity, how their human experience brought them to the beliefs they hold, and how they will be affected by the treatment they receive.

All this is pretty obvious, but laziness or the desire to avoid the discomfort of seeing and thinking more deeply often keeps us from taking this step. It plays such a role in racism and other forms of prejudice, as well. We’re so quick to judge others’ behavior against our own perspective and experience. When it might generate so much more understanding to ask ourselves: What life experiences might lead me to act, think or feel as this other person does? Even better, of course, would be to engage in direct communication, while seeking to understand rather than convince or out argue.

Understanding requires effort. Empathy involves the expenditure of emotional energy. It’s work. And it’s often hard work. I intend to work harder.

The Present Calm

I’m amazed at the difference of not having the image, voice, news of Donald Trump constantly disturbing the mental and emotional space of the nation, and of myself personally. It’s like when the neighbor finally finishes mowing the lawn, and the sudden silence sweeps over me, and I find myself taking a deeper breath, and a tension in my shoulders eases.

I experienced an almost instantaneous release of tension a week ago, on Inauguration Day, when the possibility of some final, desperate grasp at power dissolved. The four years that I and many others had endured with clenched teeth was finally over. The fate of the world was no longer dependent on the whims of a spoiled child. (Trump may in fact be a sociopath, but I’ve always seen him as one of those obnoxious and immature adolescents that we’ve all experienced, who plays bully when he can, but most often flails against the reality of not getting his way).

This second relief, emanating from the relative calm and quiet of the past week, is even deeper than the first. It’s a return to normalcy – yes, relative normalcy, despite the pandemic, the economic instability and the resurgence of racial and civil rights concerns. But I won’t allow myself to turn entirely away from all the civil poison that Trump’s presidency brought to the fore.

I find it deeply disturbing that four in ten Americans still support Trump’s politics. And I’m not sure which is worse: that many of them feel that his actions are morally and legally appropriate in a constitutional democracy, or that many of them are aware of the fascist and racist underpinnings of his actions and just don’t give a damn about maintaining a constitutional democracy. Either way, it reveals a stunning disconnect between the foundations and principles of our democracy and almost half of the American population.

I recently started reading William L. Shirer’s “The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich”, because of Trumps determined effort to undermine the election. In retrospect, I’m disappointed in myself for going through my entire adult life with so little curiosity about how the phenomenon of Hitler came about, particularly in a population that was as progressive, educated and advanced as early twentieth century Germany appeared to be. Well, it’s a shocking read.

So much that characterizes Trump’s ascent and rule parallels the rise of the Nazis, including: the scapegoating of minorities, the constant denouncing of political opponents as enemies of the people and of the nation, the sanctioning of political violence, a distain for majority rule, and the total subservience of government and party to a single man. As much as I’ve distrusted the American right, I never thought that it would stoop to these depths.

But sheer selfishness and stupidity are much to blame. Because too many Americans – left and right – are unwilling to educate and train themselves to look beyond immediate self-interest, and to consider how attitudes and policies will affect the health of the nation and of their communities in the long run. More than ever before, I feel that there needs to be a shift in emphasis away from political candidates and to the responsibilities of voters. That alone would make voters less susceptible to misinformation and manipulation. How to bring such a thing about, I don’t know. Especially in this political and social climate, when we can’t even agree on basic facts.

One thing that reading of Hitler’s rise alerts me to is that the danger of far right insurrection is far from over. It’s a threat that has been building for decades, and it hasn’t been widely recognized for the threat that it is. Whole families and communities – including many Christian communities – have grown up around the supposed threats to the white race, the rise of communism and the social evils of liberalism and humanism. As anyone who has been listening has heard lately, there are many who feel that a civil war of good versus evil is long overdue. I guess one of the saddest things about any such war is always the total disagreement about what is good, and what is evil.

Reflections on a Would-Be Insurrection

               If your eyes are skimming these words, you – like me – are probably unable to divert your attention from the car wreck that just happened, and you’re still half expecting to glimpse a mangled carcass or two that has so far been over-looked.

              I have so many thoughts on the events of Wednesday the sixth of January, another “date which will live in infamy”, and I haven’t stopped looking at it from many different angles, including lots of supposes and what if’s.

              Some of them are/were:

-       -   Who didn’t see this happening? Everything was pointing to an overflow of anger and outrage. How was anyone surprised at what descended on the Capitol on Wednesday afternoon?

-       -  It could have been so much worse, given the lack of preparation, and I’m actually surprised that it wasn’t.

-       -   Wow! Police and security forces can be so gentle and patient, when they have a mind to be.

-       -   What a pleasant, surprising, even moving beginning to the end of that night, with Kelly Loeffler giving ground, Mitt Romney sounding so statesmanlike. Even Lindsey Graham, washing his hands of Trump (though, at this late date, that isn’t really possible) and proclaiming the incoming regime. These are all individuals I’ve had to work hard at not outright despising (throw in Mitch McConnell). To think that they each brought me moments of optimism and joy?! Go figure.

-       -   I never in a million years expected that by the end of the night, the way forward would seem clearer and easier than it had a few hours earlier. I’d probably have been less surprised had a full scale insurrection broken out.

-       -   Isn’t it amazing that the historic and impactful events of January 5^th, in Georgia, were so quickly and neatly relegated to the rear view mirror?

-       -   What’s in store for 20 January, I wonder?

What I think is true is that no one knows what’s going to happen, how America will survive 2021, just as not a soul on Earth knew what was about to happen a year ago.

I feel a bit lighter and less tense today than I have because I sense that Trump’s power may finally be breaking. A day after he turned on his lap dog of a vice president and accused him of cowardice and treason (and does any loyal lap dog deserve such treatment?), I hear that some of his Q-Anon idolizers are now turning on him and accusing him of treason, for renouncing the feeble uprising that failed. Karma can be so, so beautiful!

Not for a second do I believe that the madness is over. It’s just that there might have to be a casting call for disruptor-in-chief, and it’s possible that the insurrectionists will break into camps. But it’s not over by a long shot. I hope that the 6th served as a wake-up call, and that security will be much more prepared on the 20th. 

One of the things I’ve done over the last couple of days is to look a little deeper into Q-anon, and it’s helped me to get a better grasp on what these folks believe and what drives them. They are serious! And they are obsessed! They take it as a point of prophecy that Trump will serve a 2nd term. And there are thousands armed and ready to help bring this about. Understanding their mindset and movement makes some of the things Trump has said, and the way they’ve been received, clearer to me. I gladly refer you to the following link for a primer (https://www.neonrevolt.com/2018/07/11/who-is-qanon-an-introduction-to-the-qanon-phenomenon-qanon-greatawakening//). It's disturbing and frightening. But it has helped me to remember that people are often driven to madness via their warped and manipulated sense of patriotism, or justice, or religious devotion.

I still believe that the only way out for America will be for more of us to become able to understand that our opponents are often genuinely motivated by good intentions, even while others are motivated by greed and hatred and poisonous ideologies. It’s hard to break through the level of delusion, fueled by intense fear, that has so many in its grip. It seems to me that Q-Anon and many other right wing movements, spring from fear of Black folks (the bogeyman of the guilt conscience, a legacy of slavery), and the fear of loss of self, that was tapped into by Obama’s ascendency, and heightened by Hilary Clinton’s threatened ascendency. Just as a Century and a half ago, the KKK arose from the fear stirred up by the ascendency of Black power during Reconstruction.

These fears are wrong and baseless, and they succeed by dehumanizing us. But we mustn’t fight back by merely dehumanizing them. It’s no more true or right to label all of those thousands marching in DC the other day as racist, terrorist, insurrectionist thugs, than it was last summer to label every protester against police murder as an anarchist, terrorist, insurrectionist thug. I brand them gullible fools, for believing that Trump is a good and honest leader who cares about them. But all gullible fools aren’t monsters.

Things are pretty damned grim in the US these days. Joe Biden and Kamala Harris sure have a job ahead of them. I wouldn’t swap places with either of them, not for anything. But if Trump’s power is truly ebbing, we may someday look back on 6 January as the bottom from which recovery began. Good things are possible. And hey…they have Stacey Abrams on their side!

Promising and Creating Tomorrows

The main reason I’m writing this post is to keep a promise I made to myself a year ago. At that time, having fallen into a very unproductive writing rhythm, I resolved to post three times each month. If I maintained that pace, it would generate the highest level of blog productivity in several years.

This post marks number thirty-six of the year, fulfilling my commitment to myself. That’s a good accomplishment for a New Year’s Eve, on the verge of what most of us look to as, at the very least, an opportunity for a fresh start.

One of my best personal gains from the year 2020 was the relearning of a very simple lesson: that a habit, a commitment to keeping promises generates great power, that can be sustaining, generous and even transformational. This is the case because, when promises – or goals – are taken seriously, they bring the future present and turn possibilities into actualities.

If I tell myself that I will write a page a day, there is potential to complete a novel within a year. But if I elevate this intention to a promise, one which I bind myself to, then I am changing ‘might’ into ‘will’. I am transforming those imaginary and wishful 365 pages into certainties. When I bring myself to a state in which I trust and value myself enough to believe in my word to myself, my word then becomes very powerful, and speaking becomes an act of creation.

I have to give at least partial credit for this ‘lesson’ to Landmark Education, which grew out of the work of Werner Erhart, and whose programs have benefited me. Erhart’s expressions about promises and personal integrity are perhaps the most succinct that I have ever come across. And I’ve been using them to re-empower myself.

This re-empowering became necessary when I had to acknowledge that, over a long period of time, my words of commitment to myself had lost force. It began with making commitments that I wasn’t entirely committed to, so that it became easy to back out of them. And this progressed to the point where I hardly believed promises I made – to myself or others – even as I spoke them.

Taking up the lesson again meant, first of all, not to make any promise or commitment lightly, but only after consideration, and a clear-sighted acknowledgement to myself that the act of promising is either total or it is nothing. Because if a promise can’t be relied on, trusted in, completely, then it has no more power than a passing whim. And life had shown me how little whims are worth, when it comes to building a life.

One of the first fruits of beginning to take promises and commitments as expressions of my integrity, was becoming reacquainted with the power of will. I began to see how, once I’d promised something, and when abandoning that promise became an impossibility, the ‘will’ to fulfill always generated a way. It’s true. It works. However magical it may seem – and it sometimes does – it is also that simple.

And so, completing and posting this post, on this day, in this ‘last minute’, is important and meaningful to me. It reinforces the power and possibility of promises, as every fulfilled commitment does. And it deepens my believe in the magic that 2021 will bring!

Reflections on a Year

I think it’s always a good thing to look around and remind oneself of all that there is to be grateful for. That may be even more important at a time like this, when it’s so easy to dismiss the entire year as lost, painful and wasted. We are all looking forward so eagerly to 2021, to things being different, to hardships being in the past. It’s tempting to erase 2020 from memory, to let if fade like a bad dream.

But there are always flip-sides to a situation, aren’t there? Silver linings and serendipitous nuggets of goodness. Some of these have emerged because of the painful aspects of the fading year, and will disappear once things are more normal. For example, a lot of us have been blessed with a sense of more space and more time, both for privacy, self-discovery and solo pursuits, and for intimacy, ‘other’-discovery and activities shared with those we have bubbled with. So while I’ve shared accounts with many friends of our struggles with isolation, stagnation and boredom, we’ve also had experiences of re-connection, enlivening and reinvestment that would have eluded us if not for the strange pressures of this year.

Dilok Klaisataporn /iStockphoto

So, much has been lost, and much has been gained. We can each tally up the sides of our personal ledgers, if we want to. But I’m not so sure that it’s important to generate a ‘net’ result. I’d rather just hold on to as much of the good as I can. I want to keep the fresh eyes the year has given me, maintain the renewed connections, be more deeply appreciative of things I took too much for granted or allowed myself to be bored or impatient with.

Personally, I’m not one of those people who is very eager to see things return to the so-called ‘normal’. I’d rather welcome the many new normals that are coming about, though many of them are sure to be ugly. Collectively, we have opportunities to shape and tweak these ‘developments’ as they take place. And it looks like there are massive shifts taking place in work places, in political space and in communities everywhere, as well as inside of each home, each life. Which means there will be displacement, anxiety and fear. 2021 may or may not bring the level of upheaval that 2020 did. But it can’t help but bring a lot that’s unexpected, new and disruptive, because every year brings that.

My list of things to be grateful to 2020 for will be a long one. For all the insanity, it’s been a beautiful year. I won’t be sad to see it end, but I’ll try to hold onto much of what it has given me. It’s good to be alive!

Step by Step

It’s going on a year and a half since I retired, and I can hardly recapture the frame of mind that I lived with for so many years, rising five days a week to go to work and organizing the rest of my life around those committed hours. Fortunately, I managed through most of my life to work at jobs that excited and motivated me, so that whatever resistance there was to the constraints on my time was balanced by an eagerness and commitment to the work itself.

Quite a few of my jobs were project or contract related, or were new or cyclical in some sense, providing me with a sense of creating, developing or building on something that either had a finite end, or that would reach a natural, periodic conclusion. Working through a school year was like that, or counselling a group of youth transitioning from incarceration back into their communities, or putting together a life skills program for a new group home. This enabled me to work at specific jobs for one to three years, and then to move on at a natural end or completion point. Which in turn enabled me to feel just fine about my frequent changes of employment.

My very last job, however, was quite different. I remained in it for over ten years, which proved to be much too long. And while it was work that brought me onboard with a new and growing enterprise, and so had those elements of newness and development, this aspect was essentially done after the first three or four years, after which I found myself in increasingly stagnant and repetitive environments and routines. I should have moved on from there but failed to make that happen, and had become a burnout case by the time I coasted numbly into retirement.

Looking back, I’m struck by the levels of depression I experienced in that last job, and by the depressed energy and suppressed frustration and resentment in those around me. It wasn’t an atmosphere I had much prior experience with. In the past, I’d always felt well able to flee such environments long before the souring had set in. But this time around – having failed to succeed with a number of applications for other jobs, I felt stuck, resigned and hopeless. So I accepted what I’d always considered a ridiculous and unthinkable proposition: remaining in a role where I largely went through the motions, unhappy with the quality of my own work, and finding little or no fulfillment in it.

Retirement has become a kind of drawn out adventure. I feel that I’m engaged in an ongoing process of reinvention and rediscovery, but it progresses slowly. The pressures I’m under are set principally by myself. Goals and projects are my own, self-defined and willingly embraced, but not promptly executed. When I don’t accomplish what I’d planned to in the course of a day, there is no external consequence, and that’s an aspect with two faces.

On one hand, I’m thrilled at how completely free I feel. What didn’t get done today, I can easily put off to tomorrow; there’s no one to care or even to know. The absence of the mounting pressure I’ve associated with procrastination all my life is really beautiful. Whenever I do get to whatever it might be, I feel motivated by my own concerns and wants, instead of by a desire to avoid criticism or disappointment from someone else.

But the other side of the coin is that I let many things slide for longer than my own standards can tolerate. And the feeling of disappointing my own expectations cuts deeper than those complaints I occasionally got from others. And they are a lot harder to dismiss.

Maybe the best side of this process of developing a self-generated work process and rhythm is the fact that it’s so personal, and has involved me getting a deeper understanding of how I tick. For example, I’ve confirmed that the most productive work times for me are late morning – shortly after getting up from bed, and late at night – early morning, really – when the day is over and the next hasn’t yet started. That latter time is like a space in between, and it feels that way, almost as though it floats between those two days, untethered from regular clock time. My late morning and my early morning sessions have totally different feels, and I’ve also found that the second is always best if I’ve already made an investment in the first.

There are a few other things I’m learning about myself and how I work best that are carrying me toward the goal of writing and publishing regularly. I’m sometimes amazed that I’m seeing a piece of the puzzle of myself so late in life. And I’m also seeing that some lessons are so particular to my current stage of life that I couldn’t have learned them any earlier than I have, just as I’ll never do the writing I failed to do at earlier stages, because I’m no longer the person who held those seeds of stories inside himself.

All of this together seems to be opening up a present tense in my living that, while it’s always available, can only be entered into by conscious choice. And I only seem capable of making that choice when I’ve freed myself of distractions and fears, while at the same time accepting whatever structures and demands the moment brings for what they are. And often, as weird as it may seem, that means being willing to act without explanation or understanding. It’s like giving voice to another dimension of my own awareness and intelligence, and trusting that it won’t let me down, because it can’t.

A Win and a Beginning

There’s a magic to this NaNo business that I need to get a handle on in the next few days. It’s a clear and obvious sort of magic, but I haven’t yet learned to make it work for me.

This is my second year participating in National Novel Writing Month, and I’ve gotten so much from it. The month and the challenge – to produce a 50,000 word draft of a novel – will be over tomorrow, and I already have my technical Win. Like last year, it was a tremendous success for me. I started the month with an idea, and over the last four weeks I’ve worked and built on that idea and have sketched out a novel that’s full of ideas and substance. And I’m very happy with this beginning. I hope that the parallel to last year ends here. Because then, I barely advanced with the work over the course of the following eleven months. The mindset that worked so well in November evaporated, and I never figured out how to get it back.

What’s obvious is that it has to do with a deadline and a commitment. Both this year and last, starting with those two elements and a good idea, I was able to force myself to the keyboard multiple times each day, and to press to add an average of 1,667 words to the manuscript each day. After November ended, I wasn’t able to do so. And now, after having re-visited that very productive mindset, I’m at least a little clearer about what shifted that I can’t allow to shift this time around.

During Nano, I’ve granted myself permission to fail. I keep writing even when I don’t believe in what I’m writing, out of the commitment to get the words out and to hit the 2,000 daily that I aim for. I sometimes feel flat, uninspired, a little bored or even miserable as I’m producing those words. Because I don’t feel I’m writing well. The inner critic is very present and very loud in my head, telling me with every key stroke that I’m producing crap.

But rarely does it turn out to be crap. There’s always something there that I can use. Some few sentences, or a description, a character or an insight give me material that actually carries the work forward, that successfully fills in a gap in the narrative, the plot, or in the guts of the piece that I was trying to fill. Which then fuels me to push on, so I go through the entire thing again.

In normal time, there are several ways in which my process would differ. First of all, I typically don’t force myself to keep writing when I feel that I’m writing crap. I might go at it for a short while, but rarely beyond two or three hundred words. And if I do press on, it’s generally going to be with a fresh start, after abandoning what I’ve done that I don’t feel good about. I don’t write far enough through that pain of ‘writing crap’ to have anything to look back on the next day, something I might realize isn’t as useless as I thought it was.

Another difference is that during these Novembers I’ve been able to really put off any editing. I start the month knowing that I won’t be doing any through the entire month. It is really ‘out of mind’. So I continue writing free, able to think of it all as play, experiment, exploration, knowing that in the editing process I may change any or everything.

What it comes down to is that Nano incentivizes me to write much looser than I normally permit myself. And in the looseness lies the magic. I allow ideas to intrude sentence by sentence, make up characters on the fly, bring in or ignore key elements, or zig where I intended to zag just moments before.

Already, I’m feeling the signals of approaching anxiety that’s of a totally different flavor than anything I’ve felt all month. I did feel anxiety during the month, but forced myself to write through it. As I’ll have to force myself through the tightness that’s threatening now. I feel optimistic because I have a better understanding of it than I did last year. And the greatest gift of NaNo is the self-confidence it inspires. It’s amazing to have a rough draft of a novel where a month ago there was barely a scenario. It inspires great faith in the creative process and in my ability to enter into it. Every Day. And day by day.

An Odd Birthday

Today is a kind of birthday. I’m two thirds of a century old. Somehow, shortly after rising this morning, much earlier than usual but fully awake, the significance of the day popped into mind.

Odd, yes. Exactly 66 years and eight months, two thirds of a century pie. I LOVE it.

Maybe the reason I caught the date is because I have a very clear memory of the same happening when I hit the one third century mark. It must have been 25 July 1987 and I was in Seattle. I was – at the time I made the calculation – in a vehicle heading north, with my love of the time and one or two others that I can’t remember. Thirty-three years and 4 months old, I was.

And what did I think of that then? I guess that it seemed a good age to be. I was realizing that I wasn’t young anymore, in the way I had been. And a prediction by an old friend occurred to me: he’d said I’d ‘settle down’ by the time I was thirty-five. I guess he meant ‘get serious’.

He should’ve given me this other third of a century; it’s what I’ve taken, anyway. I think I’ve finally done it though. And if I haven’t gotten serious, I’ve at least gotten a lot more focused.

I’m lately re-discovering the power of promises I can make to myself. I’ve been reacquainting myself with that tool recently, not to hold away the distractions and temptations, exactly, but to press on and do what I committed to anyway. And I’m committed to living leaner these future days than I have my past ones. It’s a big advantage, a gift I can give myself.

Another promise was to do NaNoWriMo again this year, as it helped me so much last year. And it’s been amazing again, and has refreshed my vision and optimism about writing throughout the year.

Thanksgiving is here in the States, and I wouldn’t mind some time there. But the Hammer, here in Canada is home and I’m glad I don’t have that particular set of heightened stresses to deal with. My brother and family are in Atlanta, Georgia, in the state that was such a key flip in the recent election, and that is about to hold the final two nationally significant elections of the cycle. And right in the middle of the Covid explosion.

Thanksgiving was always my favorite holiday. All about actively enjoying the blessings. It’s probably always been a bit too much about indulging, and not enough about being thankful. But enjoyment is a full and direct expression of appreciation, anyway. So long as we’re aware of how blessed we are in having whatever it is we have to enjoy. Even when a lot of pain and lack comes with it. It’s a great strength to be able to thank. It’s a rich and an enriching experience.

Thanks forward, too, for whatever may be coming next. 

Trumpocalypse 3.0

    Version 1.0 was the takeover of the Republican Party with hardly a whimper of resistance.

    Version 2.0 saw Trump winning control of the executive branch of the US, and beginning to impose his will across the nation and the world. That period - thankfully - appears to be coming to an end. But the nightmare won't be over for some time yet.

    The new version of Trump that is emerging - version 3.0 - promises to be as chaotic and disrupting as the others - maybe more so. This latest version, which was unveiled at about 3 am on 4 November, the day after his defeat and removal from office was officially set into motion, is the manifestation of the terrified loser that Donald Trump has apparently dreaded being for his entire life.

    One of the characteristics of Trump that emerged during 2.0 is his need to respond to failure, rejection and criticism with destructive vengeance. And as soon as he found himself on the verge of becoming the biggest loser of all time - victim of the largest voter turnout in US history - he turned his full attention to attacking those entities responsible for his public humiliation with everything he has.

    His first targets: the democratic party and the electoral system that are bringing him down. Starting with the early morning press conference, in which Trump claimed victory long before all votes were counted and accused the Democratic party of fraud, Trump made clear his willingness to intentionally poison his followers' faith in the institutions that sustain them.

    Over the course of the last three days, Trump has done what no other losing presidential candidate in memory has ever done: he's appealed to the most gullible and loyal of his supporters, with lies that his opponents are trying to do what he in fact is trying to do - steal an election. He calls them out to put everything on the line to support what he is willing to destroy, in an attempt to retain the power slipping through his fingers.

    And my fear is that, after the final votes have been confirmed, and his loss of the presidency is clear, he will do what is in his power to sabotage the Biden administration, regardless of the harm it will do his supporters.

    Am I paranoid? Over-reacting? Falling into the bottomless pit of conspiracy thinking? I may be. Trump's insults, threats, accusations and dog whistles, and the unthinking acceptance by Trump nation of his every lie, have me dreading the worst of which Americans are capable.

    There's a silver lining of fresh hope. Actually, it's an enormous opening of possibility stretching into the future. Maybe, just maybe, Biden will restore some sanity to the political realm in the US. I'm actually very happy just now. I was near despair when Trump made his pronouncements the other morning, but by the time I woke, Wisconsin and my home state of Michigan were beginning to trend in the right direction. Since then, through endless hours spent following the developments, one state after another has shifted into Biden's column.

    But Trump isn't going to dissolve like a bad dream. Version 3.0 is newly activated, its ego has been badly damaged, and it's out for vengeance. And it has over two months remaining in power to stir up the chaos it so loves. May we all survive its infectious madness.

Another Go at NaNo!

Last year, my most productive writing by far occurred during National Novel Writing Month. It was quite a surprise, especially since I only decided on it a couple of weeks before it started and began with only a very vague idea for a novel.

I wrote every day but one last November, reached my goal of over 50,000 words, and best of all, wound up with perhaps three quarters of a novel that I was very pleased with. I'd been stuck so long in editing and re-writing projects that have dragged on for way too long, that going at a fresh idea with little expectation, but with the commitment to churn out the words, no matter what, was extremely liberating.

Trouble is, when November ended, I let my efforts slow, and before long, it all came to a halt. Clearly, it was all psychological - both the creative burst and the flat-lining. And, unfortunately, I don't yet understand myself enough to keep myself as active and productive as I'd like to be.

But November is here again, and I'm feeling some of the same sense of excitement and optimism that I felt this time last year. I'm going to go at it, unconcerned about ultimate quality, but alert to the trickle of ideas and motivations that materialized daily during NaNo 2019.

However it goes, I'm extremely grateful to the organization and the volunteers and other participants who make Nano happen. However much I don't understand about how and why it worked for me, it's very clear that Community and Structure were key. I don't expect it to be the same experience as last year (when there was neither Covid nor an Election with the fate of the World riding on it to distract) but I already know that it'll be good!

Actually, I'm realizing that another big factor in last year's success was Trust. Trust in the creative process and the very act of writing. Barbara, a member of my first writing group, used to say about all problems that come up in creative writing, "Work it out on the page!" And she was right. Part of last year's wonder - which I let myself forget come December - was how the subconscious always came through when I simply sat down to write without having already worked out what I was going to write.

So here's to Trusting enough for the writing to be an act of Creative Freedom!

Just Voted!

I just got confirmation that my ballot for the 2020 US Election has been received, my signature has been verified, and my votes have been tabulated. 

I am both a Canadian and a US citizen. I vote in both countries and my US voting home is Seattle, Washington. (for a 2016 post, about the character and substance of an election in the US, go to https://obsidianblooms.blogspot.com/2016/11/)

Like much of the World, I'm caught up in the Trump-Biden contest and think it will mark a sharp fork in the forward course of history, however it turns out. I've been pretty pessimistic about the wisdom of Americans, and fearful of a wave of violence that I think is very possible. But my mood has shifted beyond hope toward optimism during these last weeks. I haven't written the letters or made the calls I intended - any of the actual grunt work of shifting the mildly interested and the borderline unaware into action, into voting. But I've been involved via my thinking and speaking and writing. And whether or not it makes any kind of difference, I'm seeing and feeling so much how the life of an individual is wrapped up in the life of the communities to which they belong. We are such social creatures, and that biological fact, that matter of our wiring, will always have its way with us, with our feelings, our needs, our decisions about what's important. Who we are collectively can't help but mirror who we are individually, in all our unique and multiple glories.

I had some powerful lessons on the impact of individual character on communal character during my years in social work.  For a number of years I worked in public schools, working with some of those students whose didn't manage to thrive in their school environments, and it was a revelation to learn how much these environments reflected the personalities of the principals.

In both Seattle and Toronto I was able to make direct comparisons between pairs of schools with different types of leaders.

One of the Seattle schools had a principal who was always at the front doors in the morning and when the day ended, interacting with students, most of whom she knew by name. She was in and out of classrooms and in the halls. She created an atmosphere of connection and empathy throughout the school community. Even the 'behavioral problems' I worked with liked, respected and felt supported by her. And the teachers all felt that she was aware of the challenges they faced and knew that they could extend themselves and try new things without fear of being unfairly penalized anytime something went wrong.

The principal of the other Seattle school, on the other hand, was almost always in his office or downtown currying favor with the central administration. He was lauded for having 'pull' and for getting resources that other schools didn't, but the price was huge. The entire school atmosphere was weighed down by stress and worry. Teachers felt isolated and on-guard and few were willing to try anything beyond making sure that they met all mandated requirements, whether they had anything to do with actually teaching and supporting their students or not. The student body was chaotic, with a much higher rate of disciplinary problems than the other school, and with problems that reached a higher level of seriousness.

The differences in the Toronto schools was equally stark. One considered itself a 'community school'. The principal was often in the halls and classrooms, as a smiling, supportive presence. But he was also often out of the building, but within the community, working with government and community agencies on issues that directly affected the school community. And these other agencies, including my own, were situated throughout the building, on a daily or weekly basis, providing almost a supplementary staff. Parents were always in the building as well, either supporting teachers in classrooms, or getting services themselves, like ESL lessons or food supplements.

The other Toronto school was like a fortress. Gaining admission to work with students involved an elaborate process. I was one of very few outside professionals who was ever in the building; few of the other community agencies had any presence what-so-ever. One notable exception was that the principal sometimes called in the police. On one occassion, they entered a classroom to handcuff and remove an eighth-grader on the spot. This principal, while often in the halls, was there purely as a disciplinarian, to intimidate the children into obedience. Neither they nor the school staff felt supported.

These 'side' effects of leadership in schools parallel those we see on the national and international levels. Leadership by Trump has stimulated the energies of fear, conflict and mistrust throughout America. Even if one accepts what his supporters acclaim as accomplishments, they have come at an enormous price, which they could not deny if they allowed themselves to see. And I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that another four years of the Trump administration could erode what's good about the US beyond the point of repair. He's a principal who has allowed the heart and soul of the nation to become diseased. Or rather, he's allowed the disease - that is present in any community to some degree - to take hold, spread and begin to damage the vital organs. It's so fitting that he may be ushered out by a viral disease that so perfectly mirrors the spiritual disease he has weaponized and brought with him to the most powerful and important role on the planet.

I'm very excited by the numbers I'm hearing from the daily newscasts, reflecting record-shattering early and absentee voting, and hinting at a potentially historic turnout. My own voting, by the way, was done entirely by email. I submitted my signed package with a click, and then tracked it through receipt, examination, signature verification and tabulation, all within about 16 hours. Amazing.

We may be about to emerge from a national horror. May we do so, and Learn from it.

The Courage Required

          People are always being celebrated for their courage and heroism for doing the accepted and expected thing. Soldiers, police and 1^st responders, most of all, are cited for heroically carrying out their jobs. But these are, in fact their jobs, and jobs they have volunteered for and been trained to do. It’s laudable when they do these jobs well and with commitment, but I don’t think that this, in and of itself, earns them the designation ‘hero’.

          What I think is far more courageous is to do the unexpected and even the un-accepted, for a good that transcends your own, personal interest. So the people I want to call attention to in these troubled times, are the life-long republicans who are speaking out against Donald Trump.

          Personally, I don’t really think it should be a difficult thing to be anti-Trump. To me, the man is so obviously narcissistic, grossly immature, morally vacuous and deeply ignorant that I continue to find it hard to believe that he developed a following in the first place. But what I do understand is that many people, while recognizing all of these deficits, were so committed to particular policy positions, such as a conservative Supreme Court, the repeal of Roe v. Wade, and gun rights, that they calculated that a vote for Trump was an acceptable price to pay. I don’t agree with these conservative positions, so it’s very easy for me to reject Trump for these reasons on top of his character flaws. But I can see how difficult a calculation I’d have to make if Trump and Biden’s policy positions reversed.

          So I want to applaud and thank republicans such as those behind the Lincoln Project, who recognize that the current election is a matter of choosing between Trump and America. They see what a caustic effect Trump’s presidency is having on the most fundamental characteristics of American democracy, things like ease of voting, independence and trust in the courts and the media.

          But I also recognize that many republicans who turn from Trump will pay a heavy cost. Some are being rejected by their communities and their friends. Some will suffer in their professional lives. And some will live with a deep sense of doubt, having turned against the candidate most likely to further their most valued policy beliefs. This is real courage and heroism. And I’m appreciative.

Magic Cities

Awhile ago, I was sitting in Allen Gardens when a friend appeared. We hadn't seen one another for some time, so she stopped to visit with me, and we had a good, meandering talk in the cool of a Fall afternoon. My friend is one of those people whom I felt a pleasant connection to almost immediately upon meeting. There's a sure sense not only of enjoying her company, but knowing too that she enjoys mine. So meeting is always a pleasure. I feel that she carries a spark of magic.

Our connection has never gone beyond our casual meetings, but I feel that it easily could. So much so that, if she and I weren't both married, I would absolutely want to explore our possibilities. And perhaps that explains why we've allowed our meetings to remain random and unpredictable.

So here we were, on a perfect day, in a beautiful setting, relaxed and with no sense of expectation. And we chose to speak of cities. Which was the perfect complement to all the other elements. Because, just like special days, special places and special people, there are cities that possess qualities that are in no way exceptional, that may not stand out on their own, but that when combined is a particular way - including the ingredient of he or she who gets to behold it - becomes something magical.

We both came to Toronto about twenty-five years or so ago, she from a small community in Quebec, close to Montreal, and me from Seattle. Neither of us was very impressed with Toronto upon arrival, but we each discovered - after two or three years - that it is special in a number of ways. But we also agreed that, though Toronto has become, and we suspect will remain, Home, it is not a city that we would ever designate as magical. And we agreed that Montreal, on the other hand, is a magical city. This didn't mean for either of us that we'd rather be in Montreal than here in Toronto. Nor did it mean that we were sentenced to carry a regret for the rest of time, that we'd accepted living out our existence in a place as un-magical as Toronto. It was simply the recognition of a special and rare quality that sets some places apart from others.

Cities that I've felt this magical quality about, and that I've been blessed to live in, include New York and San Francisco. Others that I'm sure have this quality, and that I'd love to spend more time in, to confirm, are Paris, New Orleans, Prague, Krakow and Old San Juan.

And just as is the case with Toronto, there are cities I have personal history and strong connections with, that I've come to love, but to which I wouldn't attribute this same sort of magic. These include Boston, Seattle, Chicago and Berlin.

I wonder what other people think and feel about this: about the presence or absence of something very special in certain people and places; something not easily defined or quantified, but that is somewhat above and beyond the ordinary, the natural; something that speaks to spirit.

I'd love to learn what other people consider to be magical cities. I haven't travelled nearly as much of the World as I'd like, and it would be great to add some other special places to my list. I hope you'll be willing to share!

Ten ECM Albums that will Take You Places

Manfred Eicher's ECM label out of Germany has forever been a source of a fresh listening experiences for me. I did most of my exploration of new music during the seventies and eighties, and I still go to those decades for music that's new to me, however known or obscure its standing in the World. The label has a long list of regulars who return again and again at different stages of their careers, often collaborating with one another and incorporating new influences.

I have about sixty ECM albums, mostly from among their first two hundred issues. Collectively, they make up a good chunk of the progressive, non-commercial, freer part of my vinyl collection. These ten albums are my favorites from among them.

It's fitting that the first album I'll rave about it one I just came across about three weeks ago, in Dr. Disc, a great shop here in downtown Hamilton, where I picked up about twenty used albums. Six of them are ECM and the chance to take up that many discs by mostly unknown artists was easy to take up, because the product from that label is always good, and almost always something unique.

Barre Phillips: Journal Violone II

Incredibly beautiful tapestries of string bass, sax and voice. I have another of Phillips' efforts with the label and I like it, but this one is in a different league. 

One of the most wonderful things about all of the arts is how they remind us of the infinity of possibilities, and that creativity is inexhaustible, despite the too ubiquitous human habit of clinging to what we think we already know. Improvisational and experiential music can always brings us to something beyond what we know. And there's a quality it can have - but doesn't always - of feeling new even when recorded and listened to hundreds of times. That's because it carries us to places we aren't accustomed to being, into spaces and angles that we aren't used to inhabiting.

This album evokes all those qualities. It is an instant favorite and I'm looking forward to growing into it.

ECM, as a label, is supreme in inviting its guest artists to explore new combinations of sounds. Very often, the work an artist records for ECM is totally different than what they've recorded elsewhere, or even their other work on the label. I've assumed - though I haven't done the research to confirm - that Manfred Eicher was a producer who invited artists to do what they hadn't previously had the opportunity or the space to do. It usually feels like the musicians have plunged into some dimension just beyond where they've become settled, so that what they produce surprises even them.

Maybe that's only a reflection of how this music feels to me.

Keith Jarrett: Facing You

This may be the first ECM album that ever came into my possession. That would've been in '75, when I was twenty-one and living in Central Square in Cambridge, Massachusetts. There was a used record store called Deja Vu - the first in my experience, and a place I explored whenever I had a few bucks extra from whatever I was gigging. In those days I spent money on rent, books, food, ounces of herb and records. And life was pretty simple. I listened to Eric Jackson's late night radio show, and he was always hipping me to artists that opened my ears in different ways, that brought something alive inside of me that felt like possibility, like newness, like the untried. And I also picked up new tastes from friends, swapping visits and thumbing through each other's small but always growing collections of lps.

One place this album takes me is to church, and into the ecstatic joy that church sometimes inspires. And it doesn't just take you in the front door, bound up in suit and tie and good manners. This is like stepping into the side door of a Baptist church, where the brothers shout and the sisters catch the spirit and roll in the aisles. And in the kitchen, some of the church ladies are preparing suppers for sale: greens and fried chicken and cornbread. Jarrett takes his solo piano on journeys to wherever his mood and spirit and thundering or tickling fingers take him.

The Koln Concert is of course Jarrett's and ECM's most revered classic and all-time best seller. But this studio album was Jarrett's first solo album, and it's may favorite because of "In Front", the tune I've been referencing.

Keith Jarrett: The Survivor's Suite

I intend to mostly stay away from multiple works by one artist. But Jarrett need this representative of his other most loved performance idiom, that being the small combo. And - respect to the Peacock/DeJohnette tandem, and to the Garbarek/Danielsson/ Christensen quartet - my favorite is his "American" quartet, with Dewey Redman, Charlie Haden and Paul Motian. This is characteristic of their terraforming magic.

Julian Priester: Polarization

I wish there was more of this out there in the World. Julian Priester was onto something with this and his earlier atmospheric beauty. Ephemeral, pulsing, moody. It's long been a late night favorite of mine.

Bennie Maupin: The Jewel in the Lotus

This is undoubtedly one of my three bests on this list. It too is moody, but also sweet, caressing, evocative. This is a prime example of an artist's work diverging from the rest of his discography, which features Head Hunters funk. If I was a smoother guy, this would've been my 'make out' album.

Dave Holland: Conference of the Birds

Here, we're more into the hard bop side of ECM, with Holland mixing it up with Braxton, Rivers and Altschul. This is a great batch of quirky melodies that actually do evoke a social clustering of twittering, squawking, keening birds. Bright and bouncing.

John Abercrombie, Dave Holland & Jack DeJohnette: Gateway

A driving, grooving Set featuring the virtuosity of three masters. If you like it, they reassembled every couple of years until they'd recorded four.

Jack DeJohnette: New Directions

Another of my top three! This impressionistic stew finds DeJohnette with Abercrombie again, and joined by Lester Bowie and Eddie Gomez. They all play their instruments loose and rolling, slippery and smoky, with the leader dancing around and beneath them. Bayou Fever for REAL!

Pat Metheny: 80/81

At the time this came out, I had Metheny pegged as a proponent of music that wouldn't offend the ears of the tourists who want to listen to jazz as a backdrop to their cocktails. This album showed me how transcendentally beautiful his music could be, and that Metheny subordinated his chops to the service of his land and spirit-scapes. "Everyday I Thank You" is truly prayerful.

Chick Corea: Return to Forever

For me, this is the top of the mountain, a musical voyage that delivered the World to my ears. It's earthy, impassioned, playful and soulful all at once. And it jams! The musicianship of Joe Farrell, Stanley Clarke, Flora Purim and Airto Moreira is epic!

Feed your Hungry Ears!

Trickster Trip

We’re in Niagara-on-the-Lake, and it’s been a helluva time getting here.

We left Hamilton on the 15^th on our sailboat Trickster, expecting to arrive that night.

But we’ve endured high winds, a loose shroud and torn sails, and sputtering and stalling engine. We’ve run aground and got our jib line tangled in our propeller. We’ve been rescued by the Coast Guard and chased out of Smuggler’s Cove. And we spent a night bouncing around off an anchored buoy in the mouth of the Niagara river, and spent a night dodging visions of coming loose and wakening as we hurtled over the Falls. (It was pointed out to me that this fate was impossible, as Niagara-on-the-Lake is down river of the Falls. Embarrassing.)

And now we have to turn around and try to make it home without drowning!

And it’s been a WONDERFUL trip!

My Bardzo often teases me about being boring, and with good reason. These days I’m generally happy with my books and lps, Netflix and NPR, and the odd bike ride and takeout from Popeye’s.

She, on the other hand, can be accused of being the antidote to boredom! Meaning, interesting things always happen when I hang out with My Bardzo. And it’s been just that kind of trip. So full of the unexpected. One of those reminders of the incredible richness of the world and of simply being alive and in it.

We’ve spent the nights in beautiful spots, have had wonderful meals on the boat, laugh about Mawa, our cat, waking us every night with her squawking and squalling, have met a handful of really nice, helpful boaters, have enjoyed having electricity, thanks to our newly added solar panel, and even the motor, as tempermental as it’s been, has always come through strong when needed. And the job of diving under the boat, to cut and clear the tangled line was both easy and provided a huge boost of confidence, and plenty of story material for years to come.

It's actually been an intention of mine these last weeks, to consciously feel all of my feelings, especially the fears. Reaching my late sixties has me wanting to prepare for a healthy death. And it's been said - and I believe it - that one of the best ways to gift oneself peace during one's last years is to meditate on death. And this trip has given me more than one premonition of dying, and with them a very clear-eyed appreciation of whatever the circumstances were at the moment. Even with the motor unresponsive and our sails down, and a strong offshore wind of 20 knots pushing us out onto Lake Ontario as dusk approached, the sky and clouds and light were God's gift beautiful. And then, when death doesn't happen...!?