This Is the View from Where I Am Now

This is what I am thinking through right now. It is sparked off by a Middle-School scavenger hunt atthe Library where one team did bad stuff to win. Most of the kids got pleasure and new knowledge from the exercise.  The group that cheated, however, was rewarded for their jerkdom. Not a good outcome.

The question is : What to do with the jerks? Do we even really know how jerks get that way?

How can jerkdom be lessened without harming the good qualities a partial jerk may posses, since to save the village by destroying the village is to be a more than partial jerk oneself.

Jerks come in many forms. Pure jerks are probably sociopaths or something even more deep set, and short of going the putative Inuit method where the elders push a young offender off the ice flow while hunting, society has no real way to restrict them as long as they are not caught and convicted of breaking the law. Isolating them from the harmless is our last resort.

But what of the partial jerk? What, in fact, of most of us? Lord knows I can be a jerk and I doubt you, dear reader, are blameless. So how am I a partial jerk and what can I learn from that?

As the child of rich New York Republicans I was raised to be competitive. Competition is the universal cure-all for Republicans, but, as the scavenger hunt showed, can reward the wrong people--the bullies who wins by cheating, intimidating and creating damage (and yes, that's what the winning kids did.) Now, I may have been the kid of rich Republicans, but I was also a child of the Eisenhower consensus. I was taught that it was rude to flaunt wealth. That everyone who worked deserved a decent living and that merit, which was virtue joined with ability, should be rewarded. That the purpose of sport was to learn sportsmanship and self-control. That to cheat, sneak or shave the rules was shameful and belittled one (and yes, I was taught to say 'one'.) That to cheat meant that you had lost. Ditto for being petty. That privilege begets responsibilities. That power inevitably corrupts and so governance is needed to restrain, temper and balance. That integrity matters and a handshake can seal a deal. Not to waste money as people have worked hard  to create the value in a dollar. That luck is always a factor in life, so if you do well, don't get too "full of yourself." I was taught that the essence of good manners is to make others feel comfortable. That joie de vivre, verve and flair enhance life for everyone, as does self-deprecating humor, openness, curiosity, educated taste and doing your duty to family and friends, country and God, and always, to your own conscious.  I was taught these values at home but even more so, at supporting institutions, at school, Scouts and Sunday school, at camp, and by the books I read and the movies I saw.

There were also things I was taught by the behaviour of those around me, things that weren't put into words because they so obviously jarred with the values listed above. First and foremost--achievement takes the day. Sportsmanship matters but you better damn well win. That outward appearances count, so keep up a good facade no matter what. Never let on that things might hurt or that you might be losing. Authenticity is either a weakness or does not exist at all, so snap out of it and put on your winner mask. Intelligence makes for power. But on no account be an egghead. Know how to win. Show your intelligence in conversation by crafting perfect put-downs.  Wit is its own excuse, cruelty and dehumanization perfectly acceptable as long as entertaining. Wit and intelligence wins. Win. 

For a complex (spirited, intelligent, brash, sensitive, introspective, creative, dyslexic, ADD, depressive,) young woman with nerdy interests, the contradictions were a little too much. I crashed in my early 20's and went Christian, affirming that hope, faith and love were the most important things. Since then, I have worked hard, strengthening what many would call outmoded, idealist values into actual behaviors and doing what I can to ameliorate my jerk behaviors without destroying the brave, blurting part of myself that can occasionally speak unpopular truth to power (not least of all, to my own ego.) I have noted that actions society excuses in a man it may then accuse in a woman, an unfairness I have had no stomach for. Still, because I value kindness as one of the highest goods, I have worked on softening the jerk in me. Some days, weeks, years, I am more successful than others. Some days I can be a bit of a jerk. Some days I might even be recognizable as a follower of Jesus Christ. If so, it is luck, or grace. Most days I am a strange mix of all the above. And often I am just plain grouchy.

Just about all of us have blind spots where we can be unknowing jerks, If power and choice doesn't isolate one in a narcissistic success bubble, age can slowly rub away at these blind spots. This is one of the great virtues of aging. Few talk about. But one aging pundit is-- though from another angle.  And he is getting a lot of good press for it from both Republican and Democratic. Since I share affectionate intellectual crushes with him, especially on  Edmund Burke, Samuel Johnson, Francis Perkins and  others, I am not surprised by this turn. David Brook's new book talks about  a person's resume worth versus their eulogy worth--in short. how success values parse a person's achievements, and how more traditional values do. Material success versus a deeper success, the effect that you have really had on the world. All the stuff for which competition does not give points.

As a contemporary liberal with 1950's values, I am not quite at home in either party, though I often find myself supporting Left candidates, since I think they may do less damage. (I recognize that others think they have valid grounds to chose Right candidates for much the same reason.) I have empathy for the poor and for programs that can assist people in moving into the working and middle-class, however, I do not let that empathy ignore the damage of violence or other self-hurting behaviors. As a woman who has always been a bit too large for the small definitions of traditional femininity, my old-fashioned values luckily value reform (remember the afore-mentioned Burke.)  I recognize that patriarchy was perhaps essential at a certain point of human development, however, here in the West, we are now past that point. Our world is evolving out of it. Yes, there are certain innate differences that show up between the sexes due to biological differences. However, these biological effects produce a wide and often unpredictable range of human beings, and these humans are then subjected to a culture that so far has been structured to put multifaceted beings into one of two tiny boxes. Positive, meaningful reform takes time, generations even. This is a sea-change. It helps if we can be patient, disciplined, respectfully curious and kind while dealing (for me, hard to follow advice) Those on the extremes of both sides have reason to disagree with me, and since the extremes seem to get the most press--they noisily lead the parades going off two separate but equally steep cliffs. 

The reasonable middle, both left and right, does not go off cliffs, get press, or at this point, even have a political party, partially because we are too busy dealing with the ever-growing, complex duties of work and family. And, dear reader, this directly ties in with jerkdom.

Jerkdom is often a form of extremism. I think it is an extremism of self.  It's base is that I, and only I, am going to look out for myself because people are only capable of self-interest. No one else will help me so I'm not helping anyone else. A slightly less extreme version brings in those, a group, that I can identify with my I, "people like me ."   But--that is not all we are. No lone I can survive to be an I without the loving, nurturing, safe-making generosity of a different, often silent aspect of human nature. In this time of sea-change it behooves us to recognize how what were considered female virtues were and remain, unnoticed and undervalued. One good thing about this sea-change is that the boxes are breaking down. We can see how every human has within them what were once considered male and female virtues, and that both types, and all the ones in between, are of inestimable value. The privileging of an idealistic view of competition is no more realistic or adaptive than the privileging of any other one value. For it to have become the leading myth of our culture shows how deluded we have become.

As long as the myth of the virtue of competition is not properly tempered by a common sense moral realism that other values, values often belittled, typed as merely subjective, need to be affirmed, we are in trouble. As long as resume values are the goalposts, kids will be raised to be jerks and then schooled and rewarded for being jerks. Moral ideas such as sympathy, self-restraint and self-examination, a sense of what is seemly, sensitivity to what lies under the noise, a nose for nuance, these are unrewarded, unmetricized eulogy virtues that we could reward if we wanted. It is my inkling that this present sea-change will not be just about what jobs women and men do. It will also be be about why and how they do them. It will be about having a set a values less likely to encourage us to act like jerks. Can we create a culture that refuses to entertain at any moral cost, or a business model that refuses to exploit?

And, in case you are interested, that winning team for the scavenger hunt was female, led by an highly-capable Queen Bee who will probably be very successful. Or not--  Right now an art sale is going on. It's for a painting by Picasso that shows the outlines of dismembered, distorted, discarded female bodies. I gather it is set to become the most expensive piece of art on the planet. Really? Compared to this our own partial jerkdoms seem  almost negligible. Oh please, lets get our act together and make a slightly better world where jerkdom is not always so well rewarded.

For another opinion

Try The Atlantic,  June 2015

http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2015/06/why-it-pays-to-be-a-jerk/392066/

or, this one

http://pres-outlook.org/2015/05/a-pr-problem/

PORTRAITS

 Recently, half the pictures I take feel like portraits, especially those I take of dogs.

 

They just have such obvious personalities. Personalities? Well, it's the most fitting word I can think of, even though it is not supposed to apply. Look at the pug above, he looks anxious, doesn't he. Does not want get run-over by the larger dogs.

On the left is Bear. She is old and very sweet. When all the other dogs are zooming around the dog park she will  amble stiffly through the humans, looking for someone to rub her ears.

You kinda knew that from the picture, right?

 


The dog in the top picture is my baby. He is sweet, smart, goofy and socially awkward, which does not in the least stop him from having fun with the other dogs and any human he can recruit. But again, you could tell that from the picture, right?

Cause these are not pictures. They are portraits.

 This female, named Ella, has one of the most beautiful coats I have ever seen. Just watching her move, muscles visibly curving under sleek taupe fur, is joy. Her sweetness, combined with so much strength, feels like a dispensation from the commonplace.

 

 Plus,  she also has a sense of humor. 

 
Humor? Oh yes, I've met dogs with a sense of humor.  And if you mention dogs and humor you have to give a shout-out to the comeliest comedian in any house: the poodle. In fact, I have heard it said that poodles are hard to train as guide dogs. While loving, they are just not quite submissive enough. Meaning, that they will play jokes on their people. Fine in regular life, not so good for a guide dog. Thank God they are as sweet as they are smart.Plus, they like to hold your hand. With their mouths. Very gently. And pull you to where you need to go. My mom used to tell our standard poodle to go get my dad and me when dinner was ready. And so she would.

This little guy above is obviously quick and affectionate. While the big guy below has seen his share of life and aquired whatever dog wisdom there is.

                                                             

  So, see this girl with her shiny pink collar? Not hard to tell she's a lovebug.

While this fellow needs plenty of excercise or he get rammy and eats the sofa.

While this girl wants a lap to sit in and as many humans as possible to tell her how wonderful she is.

Well, you get the point. Funny how accessing a moment with a camera helps you to find out what you've always sorta known, but now you can know it better.

So the next time you're at the dog park, look around and enjoy.

Avast Ye Glummies, or The Homely Glory of New York

It's a hard winter in the East this February. And it may be starting to get to me. To help myself I'm  seeing if I can put together a decent post of some of the pictures I've taken of New York. For me, fighting off the glums means short circuiting their message, the feeling that I've lost ability, intelligence, vision or talent (looks are so long gone they've fallen off the list.)  Insecurities go vast if not refuted or transended.

The New York I love, the New York I see through child-like eyes, is where I love taking pictures in hope that I can get my delight across.

 Above, along one of the Beaux Arts side streets in the East 60's, is a mansion that obviously didn't get the manditory "we are chic," memo. Bless the uninhibited inhabitants and their taste.

Part of the fun of the Upper East Side is the juxtaposition of high swank with more earthy realities. Buildings, no matter how grand, still need pragmatic things like maintenance and back alleys for the garbage.

And then, there are always kids going to the Park.

  

And the Park, even in winter, is perhaps the greatest glory of New York.

It might seem silly taking so many pictures of rocks, paths and sward. But to a child, especially a child who played before all the fences went up, these rocks, paths and sward were worlds. Nannies got left sitting on the benches outside the playground; kids, approx. ages 4-10, scampered off to the mountains, towns, houses and ships that awaited them.

Can you honestly tell me this is not a ship?

Of course it's a ship, one of two ships we used to sail, race, board, wreck and, of course, rescue.  Now the playground is enlarged and modernized. Fences forbid people from leaving the paths. The old gazebo that had so come apart that the only thing holding it up was the wisteria growing thru it is now so spanking and large that it dwarfs the highest rock that was our hideout. What do the kids do today? Actually play in the sanctioned playground? Egads, whats the world coming to? Yet imagination can be sparked off by almost anything, and the city, Thank God,  has an abundance of almost anything.

Fog, Rain, Virginia, Rain, Fog

 My husband and I have always wanted to explore the mountains in Virginia and see Monticello.

The weather was bad, but nothing can put a damper on Monticello.

  

 I recommend getting there early and maybe in the rain. It holds off some of the hordes.

What was best about the house were its proportions and scale, which felt uplifting but not grand;  Monticello is actually smaller than a typical MacMansion. Jefferson's architecture is all of commodity and light, with  sufficient ornament and  space to allow clarity of soul and mind.

 Below it, he built whitewashed, windowed tunnels for the slaves.

Beyond it all, he built flowerbeds and vistas for visitors

Plus gardens

 

Below is the grave of the mother of the Jewish family, the Levy's, who saved Monticello till the WASPs got around to taking care of it.

And a burial ground for Jefferson and his descendants, that unfortunately does not include Sally Hemmings or her descendants.

 I recommend a trip to Monticello for any citizen of the US. The beauty of the place, the achievements, interests and complexities of the man and his world, and the complexities of us, the American people, come together here. 

I walked away with a sense of how extraordinary Jefferson was, but also how many human beings had to be counted as less than fully human for Jefferson to be able to be Jefferson. Without their labor and misery he would not have been able to develop, to think, to write, to serve and to rule. He was their unwilling achievement. We owe the Declaration, the Lewis and Clark Expedition, the Louisiana Purchase, the Statutes of Virginia, the University of Virginia, and much more, to them as much as him. 

And so we departed for the Blue Ridge Highway.

It was fog-bound, which is a bit chilling as you pass open precipices. Luckily a band of motorcyclists were just ahead of us most of the time, so we could follow their light.

Mike said we were fine with just the yellow line, but I got comfort from their lights.

It cleared a bit and we got off at Lexington to see my Dad's college, Washington and Lee.

It is a beautiful town and campus. But we were dismayed by the size and placement of Lee's effigy in the Chapel. We then followed what sounded like a full marching band playing "Shenendoah" and came upon the VMA parade grounds, where the cadets were pulling out all the stops for Parents Day.

 

As I have a weakness for men in kilts, I enjoyed it. We then had our best meal of the trip, at a place called Le Bistro in downtown Lexington. All I can say is ...peacan pie and bourbon ice-cream.

We then put up for the night in a generic motel and went the next morning to Poplar Forest, Jefferson's "country" retreat, or where he went to dodge all the visitors at Monticello.

 

It really is a mini-Monticello, built on much the same modified-octagon plan. Because it is smaller, less crowded and less furnished you really feel the power of the classical proportions when you are in the rooms. Our tour-guide, as were all the guides we heard on our trip, was amazing.

And from there we headed up to see a Lodge in the mountains we presumed closed.

Except that it wasn't. And we got to spend the night there.

It's called The Peaks of Otter, and it is wonderful: not to expensive, comfortable and low-key,  and flush with nature, with trails leading up, down and around.

 It would have been nice if the fog had lifted so we could see the mountains, but I do not think my husband or I felt any the less cheer for the lack.

I do think though, we have to go back to Virginia at some point when the sun is actually out.