I love my dentist. That statement carries a lot more weight than you might think, because yesterday I had a combo root canal/bone graft. After an alarming amount of vigorous scraping, poking, cutting, and stitching, I felt like a construction zone. I found the easiest way to get through this thoroughly disturbing procedure was to close my eyes and tightly squeeze the armrests. Blessedly, the Novocain did its work. I only knew I was being stitched up when I felt the feathery thread brush up against my lip.
Don’t tell anyone, but besides for the unnervingly strenuous scraping, the actual dental work was not as bad as my anticipation of it. I was tremendously fearful about it. In the days before the procedure, I walked around in a snit, cranky, inconsolable, and imagining all the things that could go wrong. I felt extremely vulnerable. It’s a bit unnerving to realize just how afraid I was. I’m well aware that the unexpected can and often does happen. I live in a city where parts of skyscrapers have detached themselves and fallen far below on some unsuspecting pedestrians. Where an airplane overshot the runway and plowed into a car carrying a family and instantly killing one of the children. Where medical equipment has been found inside patients post-surgery, including someone I know. In my own neighborhood, a person walking home was run down in the middle of the afternoon by an out-of-control car that jumped the curb. I have learned that it’s not wise to take things for granted.
Last year, I had a routine outpatient medical procedure that landed me in the hospital because I overreacted to the anesthesia. Not the way I imagined spending Memorial Day weekend. But these things happen. I have concluded that it’s too debilitating to go through life ruminating on all the bizarre mishaps that may occur. Instead, we must go about our business assuming that we will most certainly wake up the next morning, that cars will stay in their own lane, and that planes will remain in the sky until they land safely at their scheduled destination. As anyone who has had a near-miss will quickly admit, though, it’s really all wishful thinking. What happens in the blink of an eye can change our lives forever.
We’re feeling particularly vulnerable in my community because a spate of mothers my age have recently died of cancer. One was our new neighbor Bonnie, whom I only had an opportunity to meet once, but with whom I shared a sports carpool years ago. Another was the mother of my son Michael’s grammar school friend, David. I remember Racheline vividly. She was full of life, down to earth, always positive, a great folk dancer, an interesting conversationalist, a woman of outstanding values, and the mother of two terrific kids. I never even knew that she had gotten sick. She made a conscious decision to live her life to the fullest, doing the things she loved, until the last possible moment. Michael is very shaken up. He missed school last Monday morning to attend the funeral, and was so freaked out about it that he stayed home on Tuesday. I suggested making a shiva call to the family. He went over Tuesday evening and I think it helped. He and I are very attuned to one another, and I can almost hear the wheels turning in his head. He’s saying to himself, “This happened to my friend, David. Why couldn’t it happen to me?” Why not, indeed?
And there’s the rub. I’m happy to report that I’m pretty virtuous. I don’t smoke or use caffeine, and while I’m not a total teetotaler, a glass of wine makes me silly and light-headed. I swim regularly and vent through my writing and political activities. But the truth is that I can only control certain circumscribed aspects of my life. Genetics and luck also play a role, beyond any good intentions on my part. I can promise Michael to do my best and I will; the rest is simply out of my hands.
How do we respond when we feel vulnerable? Everyone’s different. I don’t know about you, but I tend to withdraw within myself. I want to be alone – I dim the lights, listen to sad music, put on my pajamas (when I can), and eat lots of carbs. Maybe it’s the third alternative to fight or flight: hunker down. But I think the best answer lies elsewhere. We need to stave off those debilitating feelings of isolation and powerlessness by connecting with others. Instead of turning inward, we need to reach out, however counterintuitive it may seem.
Let me illustrate. I can easily go for days without much outside contact. If left to my own devices, I can drive carpool, go to work, come home and sit down at the computer for hours on end, barely uttering a word. During these periods, I’m living strictly within the confines of my own head. While I imagine that I’m being incredibly productive, my isolation eventually sucks the positive life force out of me. At a certain point, I simply run out of gas, having nothing more to draw from.
The day before yesterday is a good illustration of a different path. My daughter, Ariella, and I schlepped around doing errands after work. At Macy’s, I returned a pair of sandals my son Michael bought in June. We wandered upstairs and while Ariella browsed the racks, I struck up a conversation with another shopper. I hate shopping, but I love talking! By the time we were through, we had accompanied Laurie to her dressing room to help her decide on what to buy (at her insistence) and exchanged telephone numbers. The saleslady kept asking me “Are you sure you aren’t old friends?” Then, we went to the fruit stand where we ran into an old family friend and schmoozed for a good 20 minutes. From there, we went to the public library where we actually ran into our friend’s husband. Everything took much longer than usual but so what? It felt good. I felt connected. It gave me a buzz.
I get the same feeling when I take Emma for a walk. We get to hang out with the other dogs and owners, catch up on things – me on conversation, and her on smells. When my schedule isn’t in sync with our fellow dog walkers, I feel out of sorts. On an off day, I’m reduced to merely waving at people as I drive swiftly past, pulling my car into the garage and closing the door, literally and figuratively shutting off the chance for any more contact. In the days before cars and 60-hour weeks, people used to stroll (what a concept!) and neighborhood watch was a given, not a program. Before air conditioning, people used to hang out on their front porch, veranda, or stoop, and chat with their neighbors passing by. Life in the slow lane has a definite appeal.
Also, this week, my family and I faced a major economic crisis and, until the last minute, didn’t even know it. It’s a little complicated but ties in nicely with just why I distrust our national love affair with, and overdependence on, computers. Bear with me. My husband, Rafi’s, weekly salary is usually directly deposited by the payroll company. Each week, I get pay stubs that I religiously enter into our check register so that I have an idea where we stand at any given moment. A few days ago, Rafi’s partner called to tell me that for reasons unknown, the payroll company had stopped directly depositing his checks and hadn’t bothered to let us know. This shook me up plenty. The next day, I found out that none of Rafi’s earnings for the last month had made their way into our bank account. I had visions of bouncing checks, bad credit ratings, missed mortgage payment with looming foreclosure, scads of credit card late fees – the works. I think that we have now straightened things out but I won’t feel safe again until I get my monthly bank statement and see with my own eyes that we are not overdrawn or otherwise in dire straits. The whole thing was very unsettling. You go along, eating your spinach, flossing your teeth, and assuming that all is well, and then pow! Major fake out.
Naturally, the payroll company denied any responsibility whatsoever, saying that someone had removed Rafi’s name (and only Rafi’s) from the list of employees with direct deposit. Since Rafi’s partner in charge of preparing the payroll doesn’t even know how to execute such a feat, it clearly was a computer error or glitch. That does not reassure me. While we may yet emerge unscathed, even with the bank’s assurances, I’m not confident. Too much power resides in a quixotic, capricious machine that may or may not feel friendly towards me or mine on any given day. Like those computerized voting machines that ate 18,000 votes in Sarasota’s 2006 congressional race, or the votes that mysteriously flipped from one candidate to another. Or the machines that break down altogether, or don’t boot up, or tote up negative votes (Volusia County, FL, 2000 at a really critical moment in our history). Think about that one for a moment. What kind of adding machine can come up with a negative 16,000 votes? What is a negative vote? It’s like my daughter Yael’s computer in college that would always crash right before she was ready to print up one of her myriad term papers. We’ve signed our lives and liberty over to these machines. What were we thinking?
Every fall, we celebrate the holiday of Sukkot, when we eat our meals in a roofless hut, surrounded by family and friends. While it’s everyone’s favorite holiday, it’s also the most unpredictable. We never know if we will be wearing coats and gloves, whether the wind will carry the sukkah across the yard into the bushes, whether we will be inundated with bees and wasps, or whether it will rain and force us to eat inside. Or throughout the weeklong holiday, it may be all of the above. Like the Nation of Israel wandering in the desert for 40 years, we are reminded of how dependent we are upon conditions beyond our control. For a society that generally lives in air conditioned/centrally heated homes, and for whom walking is exercise rather than a mode of transportation, it’s novel and refreshing. It’s good to connect with what’s real.
During a recent power outage following severe thunderstorms and flooding, a friend of ours was trapped in his condo because he couldn’t open his electronic garage door. Other friends borrowed space in my freezer until their power was restored four days later. My family was lucky enough to lose power for only a few hours. We ended up having to reschedule our movie night/pajama party and instead had an ice cream social by candlelight. We played cards and enjoyed some family time. The only thing lacking was that the hot fudge was served at room temperature, but it was a small price to pay for something that could have been much, much worse.
Now, each time I walk by my neighbors’ house, I get a jolt. I’m going about my business, caught up in whatever momentary aggravation or issue, and they’re struggling to pick up the pieces following Bonnie’s untimely death. I could head the other way, or harden myself to their situation, rationalizing and distancing myself. But I really don’t want to. They are a wonderful family with three fine sons. What happened is awful and very, very sad. If I stop feeling their sadness in order to feel safer, I’m only kidding myself. I tap those raw emotions – fear, anxiety, grief – to remind myself that I am, thank God, still alive and able to enjoy my life, my family, and my work. For as long as I’m able, I want to be there for my kids, and to let them learn from the many mistakes I’ve made along the way. I’m not ready to let go of them or of life.
The bottom line is that it’s not really up to me. All I can do is savor every moment and memory and try to accomplish as much as I can in the time I’ve got. And that’s true even in a week like this last one full of challenges of all shapes and sizes. Those bumps in the road make life interesting and give us a chance to learn how to navigate in less than optimal conditions. Which, if you think about it, is a really useful life lesson. How often do things ever turn out exactly the way we expected or wanted? We need to hone those lemonade-making skills; lemonade never goes out of style. It’s the downs that make us appreciate the ups. Or, to use another analogy, dealing with life is sort of like learning to be a good short-order cook. You have to learn how to catch whatever they throw at you and keep your cool all the while.
Joan Brunwasser is a co-founder of Citizens for Election Reform (CER) which exists for the sole purpose of raising the public awareness of the critical need for election reform. We aim to restore fair, accurate, transparent, secure elections where votes are cast in private and counted in public. Electronic (computerized) voting systems are simply antithetical to democratic principles.
CER set up a lending library to achieve the widespread distribution of the DVD Invisible Ballots: A temptation for electronic vote fraud. Within eighteen months, the project had distributed over 3200 copies across the country and beyond. CER now concentrates on group showings, OpEd pieces, articles, reviews, interviews, discussion sessions, networking, conferences, anything that promotes awareness of this critical problem. Joan has been Election Integrity Editor for OpEdNews since December, 2005.
Outrageous! I just had this conversation about root canals yesterday while I was a short time inpatient at Cedars Sinai getting some tests done. Joan... this piece is great. It's really a magazine piece. A woman's magazine. I wonder if you can get it published in a print mag after you've published online? I've done it but it's been my friend's magazine and also with a couple others where the understanding was that I was publishing the piece in both venues. But the understanding was upfront before it published anywhere else.
Great
LM
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Joan Brunwasser (133 articles, 3335 quicklinks, 3 diaries, 589 comments)
on Tuesday, October 16, 2007 at 5:49:35 PM
Thanks for the shot-in-the-arm re the unpredictability of life. It is a theme in things I'm reading the last few days, reminders to let go because we don't control the situations around us like we think we do.
I'm such a worrier -- I even take a supplement called "No Worries" that does soothe anxiety -- now I'm worried that since I've been reading so much stuff about letting go and accepting, something BIG is going to happen! Arrrgggghhhh!!!
So, I'll just remind myself to breathe and enjoy these quiet moments before the inevitable...
Thanks for sending your musings to me.
KG
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Joan Brunwasser (133 articles, 3335 quicklinks, 3 diaries, 589 comments)
on Tuesday, October 16, 2007 at 5:59:55 PM
Of course you could look at that dream as a way of showing that even when EVERYTHING goes wrong, you have the stamina to keep the charging Kangaroo from getting through the front door!!!! You could see the gift of quick thinking and hope that your subconscious mind wanted to share with you. You could choose to realize that you are very capable! And that’s why so many people look to you……………
You could choose to believe that the 3 or 4 mishaps you mentioned (buildings breaking off, planes running into cars on frozen roadways) are so unlikely that they make headline news. You could choose to realize that nearly every single second of every single day of every week, month and year goes EXACTLY as it should for you!
And you could choose to want to live so your kids can see your joys and accomplishments….instead of learn from your quite rare mistakes!
I truly loved the personal touch on this piece!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
But I also truly hope that you can choose to look at life a little more positively…….you have so much! Family, friends, heat, air, community, health………………so many more positives in each day than negatives…….I’m curious about why the negatives get so much more of your attention?
KH
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Joan Brunwasser (133 articles, 3335 quicklinks, 3 diaries, 589 comments)
on Tuesday, October 16, 2007 at 6:02:12 PM
Dearest Joan: This piece may be overly long...you might like to edit out parts not dealing directly with Bonnie's death, your root canal and the interesting dream that you had. Punch it up a bit if you can. REmember your swimming piece? (Hope I haven't hurt your feelings but you said you wanted constructive criticism).
Your pal - another suffering writer,
p
PS: I just went to edit your piece and I found your email truncated. But I think you can get the gist on what I am saying. I suggest that you edit out a great part (maybe put into a different piece) and pick up with driving past Bonnie's house.
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Joan Brunwasser (133 articles, 3335 quicklinks, 3 diaries, 589 comments)
on Tuesday, October 16, 2007 at 6:17:04 PM
Absolutely wonderful. I couldn't stop reading, and really "getting" what you are talking about. Thank you for being so willing to share, and for reminding us, that life is not a rehearsal. No, it's not. Good on you, Joan! Onward, with zest... SM
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Joan Brunwasser (133 articles, 3335 quicklinks, 3 diaries, 589 comments)
on Tuesday, October 16, 2007 at 7:00:55 PM
which seems to me the most miserable place on Earth ( although I am wrong, sure) and I do feel vulnerable. Actually, I felt vulnerable through all my years in here, 19 years in all. This sense of vulnerability is especially strong when I leave the family, go for training or seminars in unknown places. It just seems surreal.
We lose our feelings. Food loses taste. And then we start to appreciate the losing -that' the last stage.
Love your essay
Mark
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Mark Sashine (47 articles, 19 quicklinks, 235 diaries, 3360 comments)
on Tuesday, October 16, 2007 at 9:44:58 PM
i especially appreciate your comment because all the responses up til now have been from women. i thought this might be too 'touchy-feely' for the male half of the population.
glad i struck a chord. i'm very interested in this isolation and vulnerability issue. it's like a poisonous gas that has pervaded our society, keeping us apart from our neighbors and limiting our effectiveness. it's not good in terms of building coalitions or grassroots movements. apathy only serves authoritarian purposes.
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Joan Brunwasser (133 articles, 3335 quicklinks, 3 diaries, 589 comments)
on Tuesday, October 16, 2007 at 10:27:40 PM
Allo Ms Brunwasser--Read it. You are an engaging writer, and a delightful thinker. I didn't once reach for my virtual pencil and I am a longtime editor--a good one. Thanks for letting me read this.
AM
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Joan Brunwasser (133 articles, 3335 quicklinks, 3 diaries, 589 comments)
on Wednesday, October 17, 2007 at 6:31:50 AM
I like it. The core of it has the quality that Michael Ventura achieves at his best. I love Michael Ventura's writing. Sometimes he wanders a bit though, as I think you do a little in this piece. It could be tightened and focused more. But I like it -- a lot. DW
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Joan Brunwasser (133 articles, 3335 quicklinks, 3 diaries, 589 comments)
on Wednesday, October 17, 2007 at 6:33:31 AM
i'm not familliar with michael ventura but appreciate the comparison since you love his writing.
i also was afraid this was a little run-on but my pruning daughter/editor said 'run with it'. i've had a few comments like yours (and i'm sure many other readers who would agree but be reluctant to write me that) and others saying that it was just right.
also, i feared that men wouldn't get into it either, too touchy feely.
in any case, thanks for your input.
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Joan Brunwasser (133 articles, 3335 quicklinks, 3 diaries, 589 comments)
on Wednesday, October 17, 2007 at 6:36:57 AM
It's as if you were reading my mind! I've felt many of the same feelings you've expressed here, particularly in the last year or so. Many days I've closed myself off from the outside world in an effort to "see some kind of light" that would lead me to a solution, an idea or an action that I could take to lessen this feeling of sadness and helplessness in the face of so much, for lack of a better word, "evil" that seems to have overtaken so much of what's going on around us.
I think many women will identify with your "musings" and they will touch a nerve, as they have with me. I'm not so certain how men would react to these thoughts and emotions, as I'm afraid they would have difficulty allowing themselves to go this deep within themselves. How sad for them.
Lately, I keep vasillating between anger at "God, Buddha, Mohammed, the higher power" and complete acceptance. As Gandhi wrote, "Be the change you wish to see in the world." It carries more meaning to me now than it did when I first read it on a refrigerator magnet and gave it to my best friend, who is an election reform advocate too.
I liked what you wrote because it was honest, straightforward and courageous. I look for those qualities in a person, as they give me strength and hope for the world. Find another unique and special place in which to release this written piece and see what comes back. Little by little, by the responses you get, you will see where and how far these thoughts will fly.
Best regards,
KW
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Joan Brunwasser (133 articles, 3335 quicklinks, 3 diaries, 589 comments)
on Wednesday, October 17, 2007 at 6:34:30 AM
I often write my "musings" in a personal tone and consider putting them in OpED News as diary entries and then I don't, but I sure wish to. (some are pretty personal in tone, though)
I've put this on digg in hopes that will get it more attention.
I think it deserves wide circulation, but I would not delete one single word from it. Try reading it aloud and you'll see just how every word is necessary to achieve the necessary brain balance in the import it is <b>made</b> to convey.
I have leaved with this feeling of disconnect since I got booted out of the US in 1994, these identical FEELINGS of hopelessness and helplessness and have to seek on a daily basis to overcome them. This is PTSD in a nutshell, described to a "tee".
Men have it, too, but are less prone to identify it, having been told to be macho about it all. While the US government SAYS only 50,000 of US vets are suffering PTSD, a look at VA Stats on addictions covering it up and the depression, it something closer to the range of 188,000 vets are suffering that they will ADMIT.
This is the sleeper disease that we must learn to cope with.
see here and here for a short video about what's been wrought on us all as we live in a land where our health doesn't count, but the 100-year or perpetual war is the major political agenda about the US political landscape. m.
I've done over 1600 blog posts in the past three years to help people identify it (diagnosis it), get a prognosis going and find a protocol to deal with it when it's on a social/political level having figured it all out.
Not a "pleasant" read, but one with which I totally identify. I hope you keep this up.
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ladybroadoak (37 articles, 20 quicklinks, 12 diaries, 392 comments)
on Wednesday, October 17, 2007 at 12:41:57 PM
Joan dear: please don't be discouraged by my criticism. I realize that I forgot to say what is so good about the piece...your writing style is so intimate and vibrant. When I read your pieces I feel like I'm sitting with you over a cup of coffee. Your writing voice is something I need because I live an extremely private life. My only interest is my work - which I find consumes all my waking hours. (Slightly narrow eh? I have no husband and my children are of the four-legged furry kind. If you google me you will find that I have spent the last 25 or so years of my life plotting, planning and conspiring and ultimately working my head off for the cause of peace and justice and most lately against election injustice.)
So for a person like me - living inside my head as do you - your writings are like a refreshing visit with a good friend. Please don't stop writing. I look forward to the day when I see you name on a daily column or better yet on the spine of a good book.
P
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Joan Brunwasser (133 articles, 3335 quicklinks, 3 diaries, 589 comments)
on Wednesday, October 17, 2007 at 1:56:02 PM
Joan, this was a gift to those of us who don't know how others cope with their lives. And when I was reading it, it occurred to me that I somehow knew you deeply. More so than people I have actually met and spend time with. :-) You are generous in giving us, all of us, your very central thoughts. So many people are protective of what they call their privacy. But there are no walls around you and I know you won't ever allow there to be.
AM
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Joan Brunwasser (133 articles, 3335 quicklinks, 3 diaries, 589 comments)
on Wednesday, October 17, 2007 at 2:11:49 PM
This was a wonderful essay, filled with powerful images and reflections on the fragility (and illusion) of the control we think we have in our lives.
You might want to consider sending it out to some literary journals, maybe reworking parts of it for even some consumer magazines for next year (think Sukkot 2008).
Thanks for sharing these eloquently expressed thoughts and emotions that hover just under the surface of us all, but aren’t always so well-expressed.
LG
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Joan Brunwasser (133 articles, 3335 quicklinks, 3 diaries, 589 comments)
on Wednesday, October 17, 2007 at 2:13:06 PM
I think this is wonderful. You are a very skilled writer, and, as is quite apparent in this essay, a thoughtful, caring person, with all the correct values. I am honored to know you and to be your friend.
RM
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Joan Brunwasser (133 articles, 3335 quicklinks, 3 diaries, 589 comments)
on Wednesday, October 17, 2007 at 9:38:17 PM
I really liked that piece. You sure file-dumped (sorry for the computerese) your life onto Op-Ed. I am sorry events were so hard for you, especially the homicidal kangaroo. But dreams are intimately bound up with life, and raging animals reflect raging emotions. Next time you dream of animals employ rabbits and lambs (the non-carnivorous variety) in your visions...
Well, enough. Work calls. Your dumping doubtless stimulated mine. :)
MJ
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Joan Brunwasser (133 articles, 3335 quicklinks, 3 diaries, 589 comments)
on Thursday, October 18, 2007 at 3:37:52 PM
As always, I enjoyed reading your philosophical musings on life. You're a fine writer with much to say. I agree with you about the randomness of life and the need to live it to the fullest.
JV
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Joan Brunwasser (133 articles, 3335 quicklinks, 3 diaries, 589 comments)
on Thursday, October 18, 2007 at 6:36:49 PM
