Bad Choices: Why We Make 'Em

I'm going to defer to the authority...his examples are great - the kind that makes you shake your head and say, no, I would never think that, I'm better at math than that, until you realize you fall into the pitfalls too (yes, I know, some few super-math-and-logic-guys out there don't do it). The question is whether being cognizant of our proclivities for messed-up-reasoning can help us prevent ourselves from acting on it, even if we can't prevent our minds from jumping to silly conclusions.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Dan Gilbert, with an early TED talk (2005) that is still worth it.

One Foot after Another

Sometimes, the hardest decisions to make are not the big ones that are surely around the bend.
Sometimes, the hardest decisions to make are the ones that facilitate patience until you round that bend.

It's not just that the "waiting is the hardest part" (thanks, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers), but the unknown....not even sure what is around the bend, but knowing that it is there, and that you can make it, or shape it, or foster it, as you come to know what it is. One day...hour...minute at a time...one foot in front of another...and the decisions will surely come to roost, until you're ready to make them.

http://www.savagechickens.com/2008/05/patience.html

Trying It On for Size Doesn't Always Fit

There's an old piece of advice: when in doubt, do without. This is a reasonable way to go in that it is able to save you money and shame. It's also a ridiculous way to go - as a matter of policy, I mean - because it risks leaving you out of all kinds of great experiences...and perhaps the paths that would turn into avenues of all kinds of opportunity.

If that sounds preachy, it's unintentional, and also irrelevant, since it's not really the focus of today's post.

Another reasonable piece of advice - when facing decisions - is to try the different options on for size. That is, "decide" in favor of one option. See how you feel about that. Then "decide" in favor of the other option. See how you feel about that. Does one of these two attempts (or however many options that you might have) feel better to you? More natural? More appealing? More lasting? If so - when so! - you have a fairly good idea of which choice is the one you want (whether you're correct in your assessment is a different matter).

The problem is that it doesn't always work. 

Sometimes, you may feel certain (whether pro or con) regarding a particular option, but you know that you are not in a position to trust your certainty.

The obvious example of this is heroin. But there are times we dupe ourselves into poor decision-making, or even decision-avoidance without the excuse of substance abuse.

If you are over-joyed, or depressed, or grieving, or letting your hormones rule your actions, or simply too cluttered in your mind from general busy-ness, you are at risk of not being able to process your decision well. Trying it on for size may be simply insufficient. Sometimes, and it's a radical thought for me, we have to gamble that our heads know what is right for us...even when our heads are steering us differently. On this kind of (rare) occasion, we need to trust we know now what we will want then, when our decisions come to fruition, even though we don't want it now, and act accordingly. It's not a trial run, then; it's going through the motions, but for real. It's wearing the decision, and it's assuming you won't shed it down the road.

Choosing the one option over another when you don't feel vested in what you know to be the right move does more than put your strength of intellect before your strength of feeling. It counters the emotion that is dragging you to choose otherwise, and requires that you trust...not your gut, but your underlying self that you are doing right by you.

The Many Faces of Facebook

Once upon a time, as I'm sure many people know, the "facebook" was a hard-covered, bound, crimson-colored book with all of the "faces" of the Harvard freshman (ahem, first-year) class. I had no objection to the Freshman Facebook.

But when my then high school students pleaded with me to join Facebook in 2004, I declined. I had made myself accessible to them in any number of other ways. I felt no need to be on Facebook.

Then, a few years later, my friends and peers began joining Facebook. But showcasing my life in that mingled fashion to both my students and my friends did not appeal at all. I wasn't interested in my students knowing "my life," and I wasn't interested in my friends getting involved in my professional world.

Then, a few years later, I was no longer teaching much, and my friends had begun treating Facebook as an essential to life: "What? You're not on Facebook? How will you know about the event? I can't be bothered to be in touch with anyone who's not on Facebook."

Really? Well, that did not appeal either. I kept myself apprised of (most) events anyway. I kept in touch with (most) people anyway. A few kind folks clued me in to the Facebook notifications I was missing. And things were good.

Eventually, a former student gave me the credentials to access a spoof account she'd created. That is, it was a real account, but she only used it to show people pictures, as opposed to all the other nonsense (er, important communications) that populated her regular page (sorry, that's a slur on FB, not on my former student's interests, which are far from nonsense). With access to that account, I became "friends" with several other people over the course of a couple of years, each time for the purpose of seeing pictures on their respective pages.

But I wasn't interested in being "on Facebook" for real, or as myself. Though I was no longer bothered by the privacy issues, nor particularly bothered about being out of the Facebook loop, I was certain that it would be what a cousin recently dubbed a "time suck." I have encountered a lot of people from a lot of places over the years, and I know myself well enough to think it realistic to fear spending hours upon hours researching the lives of people I went to first grade with - despite not having been in touch with them since, and not having any interest in knowing them now.

So...with time comes foolishness (er, wisdom). Over several months, I found myself using my former student's mock account to pay attention to all kind of things that were "happening" on Facebook. Events, yes. But also debate. And connection. For the first time, I began to feel like I was missing out, and minding it.

Given this nature of this blog, it will not surprise you to hear that it took me several weeks...hmm, months?...to decide to put up a profile of my own (well, I converted the mock account, with my former student's blessing). I weighed a lot of pros and cons, and spent some time figuring out the privacy settings before releasing anything. But my former students, as you hear, are now my friends for real, so I'm not hiding from them - I just needed to learn the system. And indeed, reconnecting with a virtual community of people I really do know, just not recently, has been valuable. I've enjoyed the surprise of discovering old friends who now live close, so the "virtual connection" is not as personal as a face-to-face, but it has led to more than one real live liquid cup of coffee.

For all the benefit, I'm still ambivalent. The "time-suck" factor is real, but not as bad as I expected. I think it would be hard to choose to take myself down from there now that I'm up (though a friend who opened a profile the same night I did after years of avoidance took his down as a matter of self-preservation!). For now, I'm getting a feel for it, and playing around with how much (rather, little) I want to post. And enjoying the people...when I'm not dismayed by them. Bottom line: not a bad decision under the circumstances the propelled me there, at least for this time, and I trust that the degree of my Facebook use will shake down and normalize as I continue...

(Posting here over the past month has suffered for it though. Apologies.)

In the Merit of National Mourning

Today is Israel's memorial day, Yom HaZikaron, which leads in to Israel's independence day, Yom HaAtzmaut (commencing at sundown, within the next hour or so). It's a painful day because Israel is a small, close-knit country and her sixty-five years have been fraught with wars and acts of terror.

Watch here for Leo McGarry's voice of authority on how Israel memorializes her losses (hat tip to a friend's sister for reminding me of the clip):

Everyone knows someone, at least one someone, who has perished in battle or at the hands of terrorists. Or so I thought.

Today, a co-worker told me that she felt no connection to the day, that it doesn't touch her. She said it had even been suggested that she ignore the siren during which most people stand in silence in memory and respect for those who gave their lives for the sake of the State (or sometimes - terror victims - because they were Jews in a Jewish state). She stood in silence anyway (she's very respectful), but I was startled at her disconnect. I have to admit that even at my most apathetic, and some days these days, that's quite apathetic, I cannot relate.

I'm told that since the founding of the State of Israel, sixty-five years ago on May 14, 1948/5 Iyyar (this year celebrated on the 6th, but that's a different story), 25,578 soldiers have fallen in battle and 2,493 people were murdered in terror attacks. Many more have been injured, of course. I'm having a hard time with the fact that the correct verb is "have fallen," etc. I'd rather say "fell," but I'm sadly sure that these deaths continue. And yeah, I'm one of those people who knows at least one someone who was killed.

I don't have a television and I haven't been steeping myself in the mourning. But this country is built not only on sweat and tears. It is by virtue of those who gave their lives that the State of Israel exists. It is by virtue of those who dedicate themselves to protecting the State - may God protect them and keep them from harm - that a vibrant nation, with its many foibles, dwells in the Jewish homeland. Even when I'm not paying much attention, I can't lose sight of that.

To those who feel the disconnect, then, I would say: go watch the television count and the elegies and the bio-pics. Make a conscious choice to feel the loss. For without it, we could not be here today, nor on the cusp of celebrating tomorrow.

http://www.megapolis.org/igorp/0608_Lebanon/capt_sge_bfj21_020806184201_photo03_photo_default-415x512.jpg

Counting Up

Most of the time, we count up, of course. How many settings for the table? How many shirts for the trip? How many containers of milk to last the week? 1...2...3...4...5....

But when we look forward to a certain event, we generally count down the months or weeks or days or hours until that event comes to pass. 4 months until the wedding...3 weeks until summer vacation....2 days until the concert...3 hours until the long weekend...

Counting the seven weeks between Pesach and Shavuot - constituting the counting of days and weeks until the commemoration of the receiving the Torah on Mount Sinai - is an experience of counting up. One...two...three...seven days which are 1 week....33 days which are 4 weeks and 5 days...

Beyond the count, however, is the challenge: to count every evening for seven weeks, without missing a night, lest the sequence be incomplete, and in fact, not count.

Somehow, this challenge has always appealed to me. It's not easy. I remember the days when I didn't make it through the 7 weeks (and I pray that referring to those days as if they are past tense does not jinx my count this year!). But there's something about the requirement to keep track that is more than just a contest to make it through. It's a conscious choice - every single day. You need to pay attention. And it's by paying attention that we achieve a deeper awareness of anything we do. Surely this is true even when we count down, crossing off the time and moving past it, but certainly when we count up, where each day counts to help us get where we want to go.

http://www.albertabarley.com/policy/updates/updates.html

Music & Champagne

A few days ago, I stood next to a tombstone which was engraved, in addition to the usual name and date, "Amo de la Musica y el Champagne." Lover of music and champagne. By my math, this Spanish speaker was 81 at the time of her death, nearly 82. Old age takes on a whole new dimension: the idea that who we are, our joy of life, continues with us into our twilight years suggests that the sun will continue to shine instead. As another bystander commented that day: "Don't you want them to say that about you, when you go?" Lover of music and champagne, indeed.

I was, of course, standing in a cemetery (the Hebrew, which translates to "House of Forevers" is such a much nicer name). I was, of course, attending a funeral.

The man who had died, a friend's father whom I first met when I was 18, had that same joy of life. He lived with gusto. When I last saw him, six weeks earlier, he looked at me, grinned, and in a booming voice audible to the entire courtyard in which we stood, proclaimed, "I LOVE YOU BECAUSE YOU REMEMBER ME WHEN I WAS YOUNG." Maybe those were not his exact words. Maybe he said "knew" instead of "remember"; maybe he said, "like" or "love seeing you," but no matter. You get the point.

I should be clear: to my eyes, he looked the same as he had when I met him. He hadn't aged, as far as I was concerned...and perhaps I didn't see him as all that young when I met him as my friend's father all those years ago. He was a "grownup," after all. But he really did look the same. I'm sure he'd slowed down a bit, but in my brief encounters with him of late, I didn't perceive it, not really. Trim beard? Check. Shiny pate? Check. Larger than life personality? Check. Love of family - and even the friends of his family? The most important Check.

In fact, I have been quoting (or misquoting) that utterance for a month, in my attempt to characterize this man, my friend's father, who demonstrated (in another original quote that doesn't pertain to this post) that he was a big fan of mine - and that he thought everyone should be. More to the point today, everyone was a big fan of his.

Let's talk about decisions. This was a man who, upon his death, could only be described as one who chose to live well. Born a Jew in the Soviet Union, he uprooted his family and brought them to America for freedom and Judaism and who knows what opportunity. His daughters embodied his kind of American dream, becoming both learned in Torah and attending the top universities in the country. And they followed their father's choice of life - but it entailed uprooting themselves and their families to settle in Israel, embodying the Jewish dream of centuries. And this man (and his wife) followed his children (ahem, grandchildren) to resettle himself in his years of retirement. Another uprooting, but by all accounts, in the end, it was done with joy.

Back in the day, when I was more of a regular in their home (how many times was a really there? Twice? Three times? It certainly felt like more...), I was amused by the family dynamic - to the extent that I dubbed the dinner table a "sitcom." The family remembers this - six weeks ago, my friend's sister (who after all these years may also be called "friend," I believe) reminded me of it, and maintained that nothing has changed. Rather, they now have spinoffs upon spinoffs (starring the grandchildren, of course).

What do I remember? I remember that this man got in the car one Sunday morning to drive his daughter to visit her boyfriend (now husband), who was working in a summer camp. The drive was approximately 3 hours. Each way. I know. I was in the car (for me, it was just a fun Sunday - to visit friends - but then, I wasn't driving).

I remember, from the stories at the table, that in his excitement to be able to keep kosher, my friend's father could not believe the vast number of products that were under rabbinic supervision. Until he discovered that the symbol of an "R" surrounded by a circle is not the same as the symbol of a "U" surrounded by a circle.

I remember that, more recently, every time I ended up at my friend's for a visit, and saw her father after shul, he greeted me with that booming excitement, apparently rather happy to see me, always asking me how I was doing, and so on. Despite many years separating my visits. As a fairly reserved person, I might have retreated from his welcome, but I never felt invaded or put on the spot. Rather, the opposite is true: he brought out my own ability to smile big. It did not surprise me (or anyone) to hear my friend say, in her eulogizing her father, that this man could not walk down the street without stopping every few blocks (yards? feet?) to shake hands with yet another acquaintance. 

Even when things were hard - even when daily circumstances shifted (different countries, different health at home) - it was that effusive personality that put everyone at ease, that approached every day with healthy perspective, that carried out every act with dedication, that I think embodied a decision to live with joy. .

I've always liked the dedication of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik's Lonely Man of Faith, to his wife, "a woman of great courage, sublime dignity, total commitment, and uncompromising truthfulness." It's a strong characterization, and I've always understood that she was an impressive, formidable woman.

But what's missing in that dedication (though perhaps not in the woman herself, a"h - I don't know) is the recognition that appreciating the fun in life makes it joyful - with music and champagne. Or a sitcom, if need be  And life is better when it can be lived with joy. An object lesson from my friend's father - on how to live from now until that house of forevers.

יהי זכרו ברוך

Bad Choices: When the Pickin's Are Slim

Often, I've discussed bad choices in the context of those I could have should have made better.

I've talked about it being bad when the choice is out of your hands.

Today's conundrum is when your options are limited to begin with. Rather, mine.

Under such circumstances, I have been rebuked for my lack of enthusiasm for an option that I am certain is not a good one for me.

Now, I make no pretense of being omniscient. It is always and certainly possible that I am wrong. Even when I'm certain that I'm right. But I'm tired of being told that just because you had an idea, I need to think it's a good idea.

Specifically, I'm talking about dating.

Here's what happened: a friend of mine knows I'm officially in the market for a serious relationship. She suggested I meet the guy she'd just met herself, whom she deemed "a nice guy, but not for her." I appreciate her estimation of him and her thinking of me. But I realized that I know who this guy is and what I know of him makes it unbelievably clear to me that he is not for me (nor I for him).

My well-intentioned friend points out that a cup of coffee is an hour of my life, what do I have to lose? I agree...except that in this case, the guy would have traveled a bit to meet me, and I don't see why I should waste more than an hour of his life, if I'm already clear that we are not going any further than that.

I've always thought that the reason people date (not the "have a good time" motive, but when intent on a real relationship) is to see if they might (eventually) want to spend the rest of their lives together, however that works for them. Thus, if I already know that I don't want to spend the rest of my life with someone, I should not be meeting him under the rubric of "dating."

My friend's response, however, was a put-down: "Good grief."

I've been dating for a while. Admittedly, not successfully in that "rest of my life" kind of way. But I've been exceedingly successful in knowing when the guy is not right for me - and not because I write him off, but because he articulates that conclusion before I have to. Yes, of course, sometimes he wants to continue when I don't, and on the rare occasion when I meet someone whom I find compatible, it has happened that I've been the one to envision more. Nearly always, however, the sense of "wrong" is clear to both of us.

I accept that I'm a challenge - not that I'm such a difficult personality (I'm pretty sure that nearly all of the time, I'm not, and I'm not just saying that because I'm me), but that I don't fit into categories and labels and so on all that easily, which makes it harder to find someone comparable. Indeed, when one of those rare compatible guys recently told me that he wanted "to find someone like you," with the clear indication "but not you," I refrained from pointing out that no one else out there fits that bill (and others agree that I'm not just saying that because I'm me).

http://www.tributemedia.com/blog/kelsey-bates/nows-time-be-unique

But just because relationships and compatibility are complicated (often, anyway) doesn't mean that I need to meet anyone you suggest just because he's available. At this stage of the game, I've earned the right to trust myself as to who is going to be wrong for me, even if I can't know yet who is going to be right for me.

"Good grief" says I'm doing something wrong in dismissing someone I know quite a bit about just because I haven't met him in person. I understand the criticism, but I find it misplaced. If I knew nothing about the guy, I would meet him on my friend's say-so. But I do know about him. So for all that "you never know," sometimes, truly, you know!

I have to trust myself, or I've got nothing. I have to trust also that if the guy is right for me and I'm being "stubborn" in my perception that he's not, then time will tell, and I'll be corrected, but not because I've been rebuked for acting as I see fit. The pool of guys who are eligible for me is not large, and the pool of those who might actually be compatible is far smaller. At the end of the day, however, it only takes one (please God). And if my options are limited, that does not tell me that I should entertain bad ideas simply because they've been suggested. As much as I have a real interest in finding the guy who is right for me, I have no interest in dating "just because."

Am I being picky? There are those who credit me with "always being open-minded." Truthfully, they're giving me too much credit, at least, these days. I'm willing to be open-minded about most things, including all kinds of difficult things (most notably, what luggage the guy is shlepping along with him), but only within the pool of guys who might actually be compatible. Let's call it beneficially selective. And if you think that makes me picky, well, consider the guy who at 45 (I think) refused to date anymore. He'd had enough, there was nobody out there for him, and there was no changing his mind. Except that an ill friend asked him to meet her friend, and he couldn't refuse that. He married that date. It's no predictor for anyone else, necessarily, but clearly opting out of the bad choices doesn't mean the good one won't find you.

...or what's a heaven for?

http://yag65.deviantart.com/art/487-352902985
If I could buy this print, I would, but so far it's only available at the above URL.

There Are Ways...And There Are Ways...

That's my final decision, and I don't want to discuss it more, or read
or hear any more about why you feel differently. It takes an emotional
toll to keep reading or hearing about it. I want it behind me.

Ironically, the above was said as a reaction against something that hadn't even been said. It's a harsh statement that suggests the context of an argument. But I hadn't been arguing. Nearly three weeks earlier, it had already been exceedingly, if unfortunately, clear to me that the decision was final. While it's true that I didn't think the decision should have been final (or made at all, for that matter), after my initial plea for a different course of action three weeks earlier, I left off agitating for what I thought to be better.

Which is not to say that I left off communicating altogether. Hindsight suggests that I should have. There's no question but that it would have been more considerate of me to have left things alone altogether. But I was experiencing my own emotional toll, and no longer had the context to warrant moving myself over to honor the preferences of the other. Maybe if I'd had hope that reticence would have produced a different result, I would have managed it. But I didn't.

Thus did I express what I found myself pressed to express.

In my own defense, I will say that I revised and edited and re-read and re-read before hitting Send (email, of course). I made sure that I wasn't lashing out. I kept from being defensive or attacking or whining. Believe me, I have greater reason in this particular circumstance to lash out. An attack from me would have been understandable, and more warranted. But instead of wanting to slash tires and the like, I was stuck in caring and gratitude and whatever shredded modicum of hope I could muster.

I tried really hard to pay attention to the impact my words would have on my reader - since I couldn't manage my reader's ideal of no words from me at all.

So what makes me find the above statement particularly harsh is that it was not couched in any niceties at all. I understand that it was coming from a place of frustration and hurt and some measure of emotional turmoil...but the same point could have been made nicely, and without the implicit attack on me. Some recognition of how that "final decision" was affecting me (not well) would have been welcome. Made the undesirable decision that was not mine more manageable.

It may not be fair for me to judge others for their decisions when I think they're wrongly made and poorly rendered, but in my unfairness, it is clear to me that the same message wasn't presented...well, better.