Cooperation to Brooklyn

Picture it. Manhattan. October 9, 2011. A youngish man of 36 is driving his 2007 gray Hyundai Accent, that he has lovingly named Sophia, down the long stretch of Manhattan pavement officially called the FDR Drive, otherwise known as the eastside parking lot.

Although the man is late for a rehearsal on Staten Island, he enjoys the weather and sings along to the music that is never far from his mind. "I'm every woman - it's all in me...everything you want done baby...happens naturally." As he is about to sing Chakakan's name, he notices traffic ahead-two miles of cars in the right lane trying to get onto the Brooklyn Bridge.

He looks at the clock. He has forty minutes. He decides to stay on course and enjoy his alone time with Ms. Whitney Houston. Ten minutes go by—five hundred feet closer. Five more minutes go by—another few hundred feet closer. He looks at the time again. Twenty five minutes until rehearsal and still a mile away from the exit that is another seven miles away from his destination, which in New York means he could be on the road for another two days.

It has not gone unnoticed by the man that the cars to his left are moving with ease. In the first fifteen minutes alone, hundreds of cars speed past him. He envies them until he realizes they are why he is stuck in traffic. He thinks to himself, "Why do people do this? Why do people ignore the line of cars and then think it is all right to squeeze in at the last minute, making everyone who follows the signs pay for following directions? We don't tolerate line cutting at the grocery store; why should we tolerate it on the road?"

Just then, he notices a driver pass him on his left. He looks at the driver who is peering at him through her tinted BMW windows. He sees in the woman's eyes a look that says "Sucker." The young man replies with his eyes, "I'm not in this lane because I'm a sucker; I'm in this lane because I respect my fellow motorists." And with that, he stays in his lane....for another ten minutes until he finally realizes that his respect for others is going to make him REALLY late for rehearsal!!! Sorry fellow motorists.

The young man in the story was me and I tell this story because it highlights what I consider the difference between competition and cooperation and ultimately what is wrong with this country. 

We live in a competitive society. Whether in sports, education or even dating—you name it, we're competitive. Don't get me wrong; I don't think there's anything wrong with competition. But what happens when that competition leads to the Divided States of America rather than the United States of America—creating a pile up of cars going nowhere with only an entitled few whizzing by in their BMW's? Occupy Wall Street is what happens.

Occupy Wall Street protesters are the drivers who have decided to pull out of the slow lane to block any traffic from cutting the line. The challenge is, in terms of Wall Street, it seems as if every lane that is blocked opens up a new lane, leaving those of us who are playing by the rules frustrated and defeated as we watch others speed by.

You may say that everyone has the option to get out of the slow lane and cut the line like I did (which I'm not proud of by the way). But what about the drivers who don't even realize they are stuck because of the actions of a few? What about those who believe in following the rules regardless of the inconvenience? What about those whose cars have overheated because of the wait and now can't go anywhere? Are they suckers? No, they're the 99%.

This is where it gets tricky. I hate the idea of us vs. them; the 99% vs. 1%—especially since, in the case of cutting the line, all of us have probably been them at some point in our lives. But what if a car whizzing by noticed an overheated car and pulled over to help instead of cutting them off? What if all of the "BMW's" got in line earlier? Yes, the line to the bridge would be longer, but buy cooperating with their fellow drivers, everyone in that line would at least have the opportunity to get to the bridge. That is the cooperation I think is missing in the big picture of our democracy.

For those of you who say, "There will always be people who cut the line to the bridge. Why shouldn't I?" I say to you, be the change you want to see in the world. (Okay, Ghandi said that, but I second it.) Cooperation cannot be legislated, but every day, I can choose not to cut the line and respect my fellow motorists’ right to get on the bridge.

I believe three things:

1.    I believe that until we begin rewarding cooperation as much as competition, people will continue to cut the line, leaving the majority to sit and wonder why they aren’t moving.

2.    I believe that the power of one can lead to change that inspires others to follow.

3.    Most importantly, I believe that a deeper commitment to cooperation can lead to a more healthy competition; one where the players account for more than 1% of the team and those on the bench are looked at as teammates rather than suckers.

With that, from this day forward, I pledge not to cut the line. I pledge to cooperate with my fellow motorists on their journey to the bridge in any way I can and I pledge to smile peacefully at those in the fast lane who think I’m a sucker. Guess I’d better start leaving a little earlier for rehearsal.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

I have been struggling with this post for days trying to figure out how to judge rich people who don’t want to pay more taxes without really judging them. Can you judge someone a little? My gut says no. I sought the advice of my boyfriend. He asked, “What are you trying to say in the blog?” “I want to vent about rich people.” His response, “I think you should start by acknowledging that you are rich to most of the world.”

That would be what Oprah calls an ah-ha moment. And that would be why I love my boyfriend.

All of a sudden, instead of worrying about my frustration with other people, I am looking in a mirror. On the mirror (in red lipstick) are two words: wants and needs.

I want things. I want a 2,000 square foot apartment in a high rise doorman building that overlooks Central Park (I would want an even bigger place, but I have a hard enough time cleaning my 450 sq.ft. studio). I want to fill that apartment with vintage Mid-Century Modern furniture that will cost a fortune, but make me look like I live the life of Don Draper. I want a beige mini-cooper convertible with black leather interior that I can drive really fast to and from Connecticut so everyone who ever made fun of me in Newington will see me and say, "Is that Don Draper?"

Then there are the things I need. I need food. I need water. I need love. I need happiness.

Those are two very different lists. And to be honest, it's taken me almost thirty-six years to be able to recognize that there are two lists. I do budget workshops for high school students where I ask how much they need for clothes each month. Without fail, someone says, "Two thousand dollars." I clarify, "I'm not asking how much you want for clothes. I'm asking how much you need for clothes." Pause. “Two thousand dollars.” It is so easy to judge these students, but when I look in the mirror, I see those sixteen year old kids looking back at me.

Tom Shadyac, a big time movie director, went on Oprah last year to talk about the journey that led him to create the film I Am. After a bicycle accident left him with something like a permanent concussion, he decided to make a film in which he asks scientists, deep thinkers and spiritual leaders two questions:

1. What's wrong with the world?

2. What can we do about it?

“The more I studied the issue, the more I felt drawn to a simpler life. It was a gradual thing — I didn’t move from my 17,000 square-foot estate in one step. I sold my property and rented a 12,000-square-foot house. I was happy there. It opened me up to how simply we can live and still find life beautiful.”

Now Tom lives in a double-wide mobile home and says he has everything he needs. Granted, his double-wide is amazing, but what I took away was this; rich is relative.
My income has nearly doubled since starting my 9 to 5 two years ago. In that time, my needs haven’t changed. What’s changed are my wants. I want to eat out more. I want to go on more vacations. I want to get a trainer so I can look like Don Draper.

Looking in the mirror, I realize that those wants have quickly turned into what I perceive to be needs. If that’s happening now, what will happen when I make $1,000,000? Will I feel I need a new boat? Will I feel I need two vacation homes? Will I feel I need more money? I hope not.

I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with wants. Someday, I plan on living it up in the apartment of my dreams and sipping champagne on my small but tasteful yacht. But when that day comes, I hope I am willing to sacrifice a few of my wants to help others meet their needs.  

Shoes for Pooping

Have you ever gone into a bathroom and seen that someone was in a stall but not making a sound? It's creepy because you both know what they're doing yet the person sitting there thinks that if they play statue (one of my favorite games in college), you won't notice that they're there - as if them not breathing through their nose means you won't smell it either. One of my favorite things to do when this happens at work is to stay in the bathroom for a really long time and see how long they can hold it.
I know I'm horrible, but I think karma has finally caught up with me.

I love going to Just Salad for lunch. It's this crazy good place that is recommended by Oprah and Martha and gives you a huge chopped salad of your choice with a free piece of bread (which I'm not supposed to eat because of my gluten intolerance. Whatever.) On Monday, I decide to venture back to the buffalo chicken salad - an old favorite of sun dried tomatoes, celery, tortilla chips, cheddar cheese, and chicken all topped with a buttermilk ranch dressing that rocks! I have to poop just thinking about it.

I take this creation back to my desk and notice that instead of cheddar, they put pepperjack in the salad. I think, I could use a little pepperjack in my life. So I eat. I relax. I smile. Fast forward ten minutes, and I almost explode.

Now, because of my joy in making other colleagues suffer while they "drop the kids off at the pool," you can imagine how reticent I am about doing the deed in a shared bathroom. But this is no time to be shy. I walk casually to the bathroom so as not to alert any colleagues that my ass is on fire. Wouldn't you know, right before I get to the door, my regional director appears and darts into the bathroom. Without blinking, I wave, walk past, and do a circle back to my desk.

Five minutes later, beads of sweat on my forehead, I try again. I nod at my colleagues in hope that my smile will disguise the effort to clench my ass. I get in the bathroom and am about to get in a stall when someone comes in. ABORT! I make pretend I just came out of the stall and wash my hands while we have a conversation until I finally give up and leave. Back to my desk.

I make one more attempt a few minutes later with no success. I even walk upstairs to try the other bathroom which two guys enter as I walk in. I wash my hands again and leave. (I'm surprised security doesn't come and question me about why I keep walking around the office just smiling and washing my hands!)

Finally, on my way downstairs, I decide I can't hold it anymore. I go into the bathroom, run into the farthest stall and have an out of body experience. Luckily no one is there because all attempts of "calm and collected" go out the window once I make the decision that this is the moment.

After the initial release, I hear the door open and I think, REALLY!!! There is nothing I can do except play statue and not breathe through my nose. Side note: it's interesting to me that I don't breathe through my nose so I won't smell it, but tasting it as I breathe through my mouth is fine. Anyway, I think this person likes to play "Let's See How Long He Can Hold It" because I sit there motionless for at least three minutes while he washes his hands. That's when I have a brilliant idea.

The biggest issue for me about pooping at work isn't that it smells or that I may leave skid marks in the bowl; the issue for me is that if someone comes in, they will know it's me by looking at my shoes! I don't want to be known as the guy in the office who can't hold his pepperjack! I can imagine the guy going back to his cubicle and telling everyone on the way that Jason just destroyed the bathroom, leaving me to walk back to my desk amid smirks and giggles. (I recognize that I may be projecting here since I would definitely tell my colleagues who laid one out in the men's room.)

Anyway, here is my brilliant idea. POOPING SHOES. What if I had a pair of shoes in my drawer that I put on just to go to the bathroom - shoes that no one would ever expect me to wear. Then any guy who comes in would leave the bathroom and be stumped. He'd say to his colleagues:

"I just came from the bathroom and someone was cracking a couple of bricks. Whew!!!"
"Who was it?" they would ask.
"I don't know ... I couldn't tell."
"Well, what kind of shoes were they wearing?"
"Combat boots."
"Hmmm ... I guess it wasn't Jason."

Hey, maybe I could finally get those pumps!

No ... they'd definitely know it was me.

The Long Road to Ruby Bootstraps

Growing up, I was taught that all you had to do to make it in America was work hard; and if you run into obstacles, just pull yourself up by your bootstraps and try again.

My whole life, I have had the privilege of options. When I wanted to take ballet, my parents signed me up. When I wanted to go to the theatre, my parents took me. When I needed a role model, my parents and teachers showed the way. When I chose to go to college, my parents helped pay for it. Those options paved the way for other options, especially when dealing with work. When I was an actor, if I wasn't performing, I used my computer skills to temp. If I didn't have temp work, I could be an acting/vocal coach, or a pianist, or a motivational speaker or a rehearsal pianist or a church organist. Whatever it was, I had options. That's not to say the options always panned out, but I knew that I had the social and professional skills combined with a college degree that would help me find some way to make money. And if worse came to worse, I knew I had the support of my very generous family. All in all, my circumstances put me on a path down a paved road with very sturdy bootstraps with which I was able to pull myself up when times got hard.

The problem with having these options is that they led me to believe everyone had these options which meant that anyone who wasn't as successful as me or anyone who couldn't find work must be lazy. But does everyone have the same options? What about people who can't afford college or don't have special skills that make them marketable in today's job market? What about people who don't have role models or family that can help them in their time of need? What bootstraps are they supposed to pull themselves up with? Is it fair to blame individuals for their circumstances? Does everyone in our country have the same opportunities available to them?

This summer, I had the privilege of working with "Ruby', one of the most inspiring young women I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. She wasn't the smartest; she wasn't the prettiest; she wasn't the most appropriate, but she WAS the most honest and her honesty taught me a lot about my assumptions. Here's what I learned:

1. Rehab is difficult not only for the addict, but for their family too.
Ruby came to work one day without her signature smile. When I saw her in the hallway, I asked if everything was okay. She told me her mom left for rehab that morning and she wouldn't see her for three weeks. I asked how she was doing with that and she said she was happy her mom was getting help again because she worries when she doesn't come home at night. In later conversations, I found out that most of Ruby's family is struggling with drug addiction.

2. Low expectations lead to low performance.
On the first day of the internship, every intern got a folder of information. Somehow, we got on the topic of notebooks and Ruby admitted to never having a notebook at school. I asked her how she takes notes and she said she didn't. I asked her how she studied and she kind of laughed. Fast forward to the end of the internship when she came to my desk to proudly show me her latest report card. Mostly B's and a few C's. Really?! How is she getting B's and C's without taking notes or studying, I thought? She was quick to say that all of her friend's tease her for getting such good grades. After congratulating her, I asked her if she thought she was capable of A's. She hesitated. I don't think anyone ever asked her that before.

3. Everyone has to be taught.
One of the challenges with Ruby was her wardrobe. "Business Casual" was expected but their was little evidence of the "Business" in Ruby's outfits. The problem was, I didn't want to embarrass her or put her in an awkward position of not having the resources to buy more appropriate clothes. Finally, my boss called Ruby into her office. As she passed by my desk on her way to the office, she said she felt like she was being sent to the principal's office. I played dumb and acted like I didn't know why my boss wanted to see her. On her way back, she confided in me that the meeting was about her 'attire'. When I acknowledged that many of her skirts were short, this is what she said, (and I quote) "But Jason, when I put the skirt on at home, it's down to my knees, but when I get to work, it's up to my thighs!" To which I asked, "Why do you think that is?" She responded tentatively, "Because they're too tight?" HELLO!! But what stuck with me the most was when she said, "I'll work it out. It's just that no one ever told me before."

I am so grateful for meeting Ruby this summer. Because of her, more of my baggage has been unpacked. I no longer assume that everyone has had the same expectations presented to them and because of that, I no longer assume that young people who have poor social and professional skills are purposefully disrespectful and obnoxious. Most importantly, I no longer assume that everyone has had the same privilege of options that were presented to me in my life.

I am not trying to make excuses for anyone. There are obviously many people who have struggled through there circumstances to become some of the most successful and influential leaders in the world just like there are many people who use their circumstances as an excuse to sit back and feed off of the system. But I do believe these are the exceptions.

My gut tells me that a majority of people want the opportunity to work and aspire to a life that will make the world a better place - if not for everyone, at least their children. And I do think there is a certain amount of responsibility that everyone must take for the road they travel. BUT, I think we do ourselves a disservice if we believe that everyone is born on the same road. I was born on a road paved with opportunity and with this road came a map to help me navigate the potholes along the way.

Ruby's road is different. With all due respect to her family, Ruby was born on a dirt road filled with never ending obstacles and potholes and no real map to guide her. To expect her to arrive at the same destination as me is, in my opinion, ludicrous.

I hope this summer provided a fork in the road for Ruby where she can choose the new path of higher expectations that will lead her to realizing her complete potential. I also hope she chooses the path that leads to longer skirts! Whichever path she chooses, though, I will always be there to lend her my bootstraps until hers are nice and strong.

Self Actualized in Red Gingham

It was a red gingham skirt. It twirled up when I spun around, and it was my favorite thing to wear. The only problem was, it wasn't mine. It was my sister's. The other problem was, I was a boy and boys aren't supposed to wear skirts, let alone red gingham ones.

I've never really told anyone about the red gingham skirt before. I've also never really told anyone about how I mastered draping my bed sheet into an exact replica of Anna's gown in the King and I when no one was home (I project runwayed that shit out!) While I'm at it, I've never told anyone how much I used to loved going over to my aunt's house when I was young to try on her awesome 80's heels (I could teach a few things about walking in heels....just saying.)

I think the biggest thing I've never told anyone is that I've always been afraid of admitting all of this. What would people think of me if they knew I had enjoyed a good spin in a full skirt or enjoyed strutting my stuff in heels? Would they think I am less of a man? Probably. The sad thing is, somehow, at three years old when I was twirling in my sister's red gingham, I knew this and consequently spent the next twenty years trying to be the man my parents could be proud of.

I tried little league. I tried cub scouts. I even tried archery. The problem was that while I was failing at the masculine stuff, I was excelling at the feminine things. I could crochet an outfit for my cabbage patch kid, french braid my sister's hair for school, and pirouette until the cows came home. These were things i couldn't be proud of though because what I was good at was girly and I didn't want to be a girl. I was a boy, goddammit!

It wasn't until I understood the difference between biological sex and gender that I was able to start unpacking the shame I had packed away in my gender baggage. Here's the thing. I grew up ashamed of who I was. Even with parents who recognized and supported my talents, I was still made to feel as less of a man because of society's definition of what it means to be a man. But that is the key to understanding gender - the recognition that gender is socially constructed.

Think about colors. In our culture, we typically think of baby boys in blue and baby girls in pink. I grew up thinking that was the law until I learned that prior to World War II, baby boys were put in pink and baby girls were dressed in blue. Why? Pink was considered a diluted red which was a power color while blue was considered soft and feminine. It wasn't until the Nazi's started using pink triangles to identify gay men that we made the switch. What was once masculine became feminine almost overnight.

That got me thinking; what if we could alter other gender stereotypes? What if instead of worrying about raising good "boys" and "girls", we focused on raising good "human beings"?

In my work, we ask people to come up with a list of words that describe someone who is self actualized. The list usually includes Happy, Fulfilled, Confident, Peaceful, and Strong. The words that never show up on the list are masculine, feminine, or straight. What would happen if we focused on raising children who are more concerned with becoming self actualized as opposed to becoming masculine or feminine? I'll tell you what would happen; we would have happy, confident, fulfilled, peaceful, and strong children who would grow into adults that would have one less bag to unpack - a bag that is full of gender stereotypes and norms.

As someone who has never really fit into society's gender norms, I can tell you that that bag can be one of the heaviest bags you'll ever carry. The only solution I see to keep from passing that baggage on is to challenge gender stereotypes. A boy wants to take ballet? Fine. A girls wants to play football? Awesome. A boy wants to grow up and be a stay at home dad? Good for him. A girl wants to be president? Go for it!

I long for the day when boys won't be afraid to cry and every girl will recognize their true potential - a day where colors are genderless and talent is talent. Until that day, I will continue to unpack my gender baggage and hope to get to a place where I believe in my gut that I am a human being my parents can be proud of. And who knows, maybe when that day comes, I'll be self-actualized enough to buy a red gingham skirt and matching pumps to celebrate.

The One Part II: For Better or Worse

Since posting about The One last week, I have been doing a lot of thinking. First thing I have to admit is this; As hard as I try to be in the moment and be modern by not labeling things, I can not seem to get rid of the idea of finding The One from my mind. I guess it is part of my collection of baggage that I may need to unpack.

The second thing I have to admit is; I can't tell the difference between the challenges in a relationship that should lead to communication and growth and those challenges that should spell the end of the relationship. That whole idea of for better or worse; what is the gauge that tells you when you are past worse? I've seen people give up too soon and I've seen people hang on too long. But even saying that makes me realize that it is all about perspective and to make judgment calls about anyone else's relationship is silly.

I have a friend who has been in a relationship for over a year with a man she adores. They are about to move in together, but after reading my post last week, she kind of freaked out. Her boyfriend, who always teases her about wanting to get married, is sure that she is The One. She has always gone along with that idea, but all of a sudden she found herself wondering if she was ready to put her head outside of the car window and exclaim it to the world (see last post for reference). What if she meets someone in a few years and finds out that she has settled? What if she moves in to this apartment and realizes that he's not The One at all?

In a panic, she asked her boyfriend these questions at 5:00 AM on Wednesday morning. He listened. She asked, How do you know? He said, I just know. She continued, But what if I meet someone else? He said, Well, I can't compete with an imaginary man. With all of her doubt, he assured her of his confidence in their relationship. It wasn't until he was driving home later that morning that he started freaking out himself. What if he makes the commitment for better or worse and gets dumped four years down the road? Was his confidence in their relationship based on the assumed confidence she had?

They had a rough couple of days. Even though she called later Wednesday afternoon to say that she had over reacted, he was now not so confident. He expressed his hurt and fears and they both decided to take it one day at a time. They talked. They listened. They didn't accuse. They didn't blame. And by the weekend, he started to feel the confidence return and she was able to reveal that even with her fears, she wanted to move forward together.

That brings me back to the question How do you know when you are past worse? In an ideal world, I guess you know when you've been able to talk through your feelings with your partner without blame or accusations and decide that the relationship is no longer working for either one or both of you. If that is the case, how can you ever believe in The One when there is always the threat of the relationship ending?

Well, as a reader commented last week, The One is more of a choice rather than a happening. There can be many One's throughout a person's life that were the right One at that time, but deciding that someone is the LAST One is a choice. That is certainly true for me. I would not be the man I am today without my experiences with two men who were the right Ones at the time.

I guess this week has brought me closer to understanding the importance of marriage vows. There are no guarantees. There is no way to compare relationships. There can only be a promise to listen to, support, and love one another. A promise to understand that what works for some will not necessarily work for you. And most importantly, a promise to let each other be authentic and grow into the person they are meant to be.

For those of you who freaked out reading last week's post, sorry. That was not my intention. But if it brought you closer to understanding the truth of your relationship as it did for my friend, then great! I myself have found a man that I can imagine choosing to be the LAST One, and if we decide one day that we are in fact on the same page with that and are ready to make that commitment to each other, I will not hesitate to scream it out the passenger side window, for better or worse.

The One?

There is a lot of debate out there whether there is such a thing as The One. I have stopped debating this issue because really, I don't care. If you feel like you have found The One, awesome! If you have twenty The Ones in your lifetime, good for you! This is less about whether The One exists as it is about not being afraid to say The One if you find someone who fits that title.

I was the kind of kid who liked my parents; I actually hung out with my parents which is probably why when I would be hanging out with kids my age and they would say "What's up?", I'd be like, "Well.....ummmm....I went to the store and now I'm going to do my homework."  I didn't know how to answer the question. A simple what's up? threw me for a loop. It wasn't until college when I met my friend Amy and instead of saying "Hi",she would say "What's up, Brotha?" that I realized, Oh, I don't actually have to answer. It's a rhetorical question. A simple "Nuttin'" will suffice. I think that's when I learned what rhetorical meant.

Anyway, so I used to hang out with my parents and this one time, we were at my parents' friends' house and we were leaving and I'm sitting in the backseat of our maroon Grand Marquis boat of a car with gray interior (that was a big thing back then because you used to see a lot of gray cars with maroon interiors, but never maroon cars with gray interiors. We were very proud of that) So, I had my eleven year old head sticking out the back seat window to say goodbye and all of a sudden the window started going up. My dad was by the driver's seat saying goodbye so I was like, "Dad, stop it!" 'cause he was the kind of guy who would think it was funny to get his kid's head stuck in the car window. And then the window started going up again and I was like, "Dad, it's not funny!" and the window started choking me. My Dad was like, "Jason, it's not me.", and I was yelling, "Stop it! It's choking me!" So he turned off the car 'cause obviously there was something wrong with the electrical system.
All of a sudden, I see my dad's friend coming out of the garage with a shovel to break the window. And at the very moment that I start to see my short life flash before my eyes, I feel something beneath my hand. I yell at my dad to start the car but he won't do it. After he hears the desperation in my voice, he starts it and I move my hand to the right a little and the window starts to go down. Here I was thinking my dad was trying to kill me and come to find out, I was the one trying to kill me. My hand was leaning on the power window button and I was making it go up.

This week, I had drinks with a friend. She just broke up with her boyfriend after living together for almost a year. I remember it being a big deal that they were moving in together, especially since she said she would never move in with someone unless they were The One. I heard nothing but great things about this man. After the move, I was impressed every time she talked about how she was learning to compromise (not her strongest suit) and I was so happy that I had someone in my life that was so confident that she had met The One. Who am I kidding...I was JEALOUS!

You can imagine how surprised I was to hear that they had broken up and the first thing she admitted to me was that she hadn't trusted her gut. Although things were good before the move, things had changed once they were living together. But what was she supposed to do? Move out and look like a fool for telling everyone he was The One? No. It was better for her to ignore her gut and save face than to recognize the truth and face the criticism.

So we were having a drink and I was listening to her story as a good friend should until she said, "I will never use 'ultimates' again. I am never going to say, 'Oh, he's The One'. I don't believe in that anymore. I thought he was The One and look what happened." Without hesitation I said, "Wait a minute...you just said that your gut was telling you he wasn't The One but you ignored it. Just because it didn't work out with him doesn't mean you can't use 'ultimates' in the future. It means before you use them, you need to listen to your gut."

I usually try not to be preachy like that with friends unless they ask, but I think I was saying it for my own benefit. I kind of had an "Ah, ha!" moment. Okay, imagine your relationship is a car. Now you want to stick your head out the window to tell everyone that the person driving is The One, but your gut is telling you to get out of the car. You ignore your gut and in your effort to ignore your gut, you unconsiously put your hand on the power window button by rationalizing everything that doesn't feel right in the relationship in hopes that things will change. Before you know it, the window is closing and you don't know why. He is probably messing with the controls on the driver's side. Bitch! It's everyone's fault but yours, until you take a minute to evaluate your situation and realize that you have been pushing the power window button all along. You were so good at ignoring your gut that you ended up ignoring your hand on the power window button that was raising a window of rationalizations until you began to suffocate.

Okay, maybe the analogy is a stretch. My point is this; I was raised to believe in The One. I spent my twenties and early thirties looking for The One and thought I found him. Twice. But low and behold, those relationships ended, so I stopped believing there was such a thing as The One. I mean, what are the chances of finding The One three times? But this is where my gut comes in. If I'm honest with myself, I have to admit that I knew they weren't The One way before I ever declared they were. So why did I do it? Because it was easier to lie than to be single and as a result, I kept my hand on that power window button until I felt suffocated enough that I had no choice but to listen to my gut.

The question is always, "How will I know they are The One?" and the answer is usually, "You'll just know." When I heard someone say that when I was single, I wanted to strangle them. Why couldn't there be a checklist of things to look for in The One? But now I get it. You will know when someone is The One IF you listen to your gut. Just make sure it's your gut your listening to and not your insecurities.

I don't know why my friend ignored her gut but I hope this experience doesn't keep her from sticking her head out the window some day and proclaiming that the man she's with is The One. If you can't do that, you should probably get out of the car.

Obama is a Muslim

This is actually what he said. “One thing I do believe is that Barack Hussein—I’m sorry, but that IS his name—is a Muslim. You know what they are trying to do? They want to keep having babies so they can be the majority and take over. Have you been to London? They are everywhere. And the Koran says to kill the infidels. The infidels are anyone who is not Muslim. Did you know that?”

This post isn’t about the fact that this man I was talking to used Obama’s middle name. It isn’t about the fact that he used “they” as if EVERYONE who identifies as Muslim wants to kill EVERY non-Muslim. It isn’t about the fact that this man probably has never read the Koran. And it isn’t about the fact that this comment came from a self identified liberal Democrat. This post is about my reaction to his comments.

I work for a civil rights organization. My job is to coordinate and facilitate programs that educate people about bias and prejudice in hopes that we can all get along. I point out the benefits of getting to know a person before passing judgment based on stereotypes. More specifically, I teach people how to challenge others when they say “they” as if everyone in a certain group is the same.

So what did I do in this case? Nothing. I was speechless; not because I didn’t know what to say, but because I didn’t know how to say it. This man is wealthy, generous to people I care about, and someone I respect. How do you tell someone that they sound prejudiced?

This made me start thinking about people with money. Although I’m a fan of Oprah, I wasn’t into watching her behind-the-scenes show on the OWN Network. Seeing her “off camera” drove me nuts. From my perspective, she is surrounded by people who don’t have the guts to say “no” to her, which is kind of sad. I used to get so mad wishing that someone, just once, would be like, “Eeeww, Oprah. You’re being unreasonable! Stop.”, but it never happened.

My inaction also gave me a better understanding of our political system. If you are a political candidate who is receiving large amounts of campaign contributions from a certain company, are you going to stand up to that company when they say or do something that goes against everything you know to be right? Probably not.

My gut was screaming for me to say something, but all I could get out was, “There are things that the Bible says that aren’t great, too.” My gut was like, “Really?!? That’s all you’ve got? Can’t you say something like, ‘It’s interesting to me that someone who claims to be anti-steroetyping uses stereotypes to justify his prejudices.”  I didn’t say that, though, because it would be rude and it has been bugging me all weekend; not because I didn’t listen to my gut or even because I believe his words are so dangerous. This has been bugging me because I realize that my silence in this situation supports the power structure in our society that lets people with a lot of money have free reign to do as they please. And let me take this moment to say that I do not believe that having a lot of money inevitably makes someone bad. I really do believe that this man has the best of intentions. But I do believe that having a lot of money makes it more difficult for those around you to be honest and say, “Eeww. You’re being unreasonable. Stop.”

So, in an effort to move forward and learn from this experience, here is what I will say next time something like this comes up. “With all due respect, it makes me uncomfortable when you use the word ‘they’. I’m sure you understand the dangers of stereotyping. Many might say that the way you are talking about Muslims is similar to how Germans spoke about Jews before World War II. I know many Muslims who I believe would stand up for my right to freedom of religion. Yes, I’m sure there are extremists who may believe what you have quoted from the Koran, but to lump all Muslims into this category is dangerous.” And if I am really feeling courageous, I might add, “Obama is not a Muslim. But if he was, why would that be a problem?”

Birthdays, Fishing, and Liquors

It's my brother's birthday today. He's 43. For 11 of those 43 years he didn't speak to me because I am gay. We were never really close growing up since he is seven years older than me, but I do have some fond memories of our childhood together.

Once at a local pizza place, he told me a joke when I was about 6 that went like this, "How does a woman hold her liquor? ....By the ears." I didn't get it. Until I was 25, I kept having this image of women having some kind of chamber inside of their heads that held the liquor they drank. That's until I realized there were two ways to spell liquor. Aahh!!! I laughed.

Another fond memory is when my brother bought me a fishing pole for my sixteenth birthday. I had never been fishing and never had any desire to fish, but I recognized the effort he was trying to make. It wasn't until I was in college that he took me to a lake to show me how to fish with worms and everything. Let's just say fishing is not my thing.

The night of his wedding, I remember helping him unload his truck of the gifts he got and he stopped me, kinda drunk, and told me that he new we had never been all that close but I meant a lot to him and he appreciated me. He hugged me then. I think that was the first time we hugged. I was 15.

I think those might be the only good memories I have of my brother before he stopped talking to me. And for the next eleven years, I held out the hope that he would realize that I was not some alien freak who wanted to molest his children. I hoped he would see me as an individual and not a collection of stereotypes he had in his head. I hoped that one day he could stand to be in the same room as me so our parents wouldn't have to feel the pain of holidays with part of their family missing.

And you know what, that day did finally come, but not before I realized a few things (in therapy).

1. Being rejected by a sibling sucks and causes emotional scars.
2. Those scars can lead to relationships with guys who treat you like shit.
3. It was okay to be angry with with my brother for how he treated me.
4. All I really wanted was to have my brother back.

Today, I called my brother to wish him a happy birthday. It's been a few years since we've gotten back in touch, but listening to our conversation, you'd think it was our first time talking. We didn't talk for long, maybe two minutes, but it was two minutes that I couldn't have dreamed of 11 years ago. And the funny thing is, whenever we have one of these conversations, I always get choked up at the end as I hang up. Maybe it's because he says, "Okay, man, I'll talk to you later." To be called 'man' by my brother is indescribable. Maybe it's because I feel like a four year old kid who can't believe his cool older brother pays attention to him. Or maybe it's simply because for the first time in my life, I feel like I HAVE a brother.

It would be irresponsible for me to say that it has been an easy few years getting reaquainted. We still have things to work through and we still don't have that much in common. We still have only hugged that one time at his wedding. I'm still not a fisherman and I don't think I will ever be a woman's licker at this point. But we are family, and that seems to be enough for now.

Happy Birthday, brother.

Choose Your Own Adventure

Remember "Choose Your Own Adventure" books? I LOVED reading those books. I've often thought there aren't enough choose your own adventure reading options for adults, so this week's post is going to be a choose your own adventure.

Remember in my first post when I said how brilliant I was for telling my therapist many years ago that I needed therapy to help me differentiate between my insecurities and my intuition? Well, here is what I was talking about.

It's 2007 and I was on the search for a husband. Jared was a sexy man; one of those people that had charm oozing out of every pore (until you got to know him of course).  Unfortunately for anyone interested in Jared, he had an ex. But not just any ex.  This ex was a Greek god.  He was 6'5", built like a brick shit house. I don't know what that means exactly, but my friend says it all the time and it sounds strong! Anyway, he and Jared had met in their 20's and had a relationship for 15 years before Denny (the Greek God) decided he wanted to be cutting some greener grass while still mowing Jared's grass.  Not wanting an open relationship, Jared decided not to compromise his morals, so they broke up.  You're probably thinking, "Wow, sounds like Jared knows what he wants and isn't afraid to stick to it".  You would be right, except you're not.

Although Denny moved out and found another boyfriend, both he and Jared still shared a very strong connection.  You may think, "Well of course they did, they were together for 15 years".  Like before, you would be right if it was only a strong connection that they shared, but it wasn't.  Five years after their split, they continued to work together (they owned their business), shared the house they built on the Jersey shore,  shared a car,  shared meals outside of work, etc.....Essentially, the only thing that had changed since there break up was their living arrangements.

Enter me. Now, I am not a jealous person.  I try to respect people's relationships and needs without trying to impose my insecurities on them.  In other words, I try not to blame other people for my shit!  Remember, it's 2007 and I am in therapy at this point trying to recognize the red flags that seem to keep waving in front of my face every time I go on a date. Here is a man who clearly is not available, but despite all the warnings from my friends telling me of the "ex", I think "This man wants ME!  Out of everyone else in New York City, Jared wants ME!"  (you may be thinking that sounds like a red flag, but we're not focusing on my red flags yet...we're focusing on Jared's red flags.  YOU DON"T KNOW ME!)

Fast forward two weeks into our "relationship".  Jared and I were having dinner at a romantic Italian restaurant.  We had shared many passion filled nights together up to this point, and this night was to be no different. We were holding hands across the table, looking into each others eyes...actually I think I was staring at a stray hair coming out of his nose, but you get the picture. (my god, another red flag!) Anyway, we were sharing this intimate moment when Jared's phone rings. Jared answered his phone. (red flag number 1,200,198)

Now, like I said before, I am not a jealous person.  I try not to jump to conclusions.  Maybe his Dad was calling to say his Mom died...I don't know. I sat there, still holding his hand across the table, waiting for Jared to say one of two things; either,  "I can't talk right now. I'm having dinner with the most amazing man on the planet" or, "Oh my god, Dad, I can't believe she died.  I'll be there right away!"  Strangely, neither sentence came out of his mouth. 

Instead, I sat there, still holding his hand, realizing that this was a call from Denny, the Greek God; and not an important call, just an "I'm checking in" call.  I waited for two minutes which may not sound long, but trust me, when you're listening to your date talk to an ex in that annoying "hey, how are you" voice...two minutes might as well be two decades! l started looking around wondering if I was on "Totally Hidden Video" or something.  And here's the kicker...Jared ended the call with "Okay, well I hope you feel better...I love you...okay, I love you too.  Okay, bye." BIG RED LES MIZ F*CKING FLAG!!!

Time to choose your own adventure! At that moment, would you...

A. Get up and leave?
or 

B. Stay and ignore the call?

If you chose A., let me congratulate you. You must be very secure in yourself and understand your worth as a human being. I hate you.

For the rest of you who chose B., welcome to my world.

Here's what happened. Sometime during the call I let go of his hand. When he got off the call and reached for my hand again, I pulled away and took a sip of wine. He asked what was wrong. I answered, "That was a little weird hearing you talk to your ex while I'm sitting across from you on a date." He responded, "Well, if you can't handle that, then this probably won't work out."

Here is the argument that followed in my head...

Gut: "Get up and leave."

Insecurity: "Jason, he is hot and sexy and wants you! Don't be stupid!"

Gut: "Are you kidding...he is an idiot and a bad kisser!"

Insecurity: "But he is willing to kiss YOU!"

Gut: "But why do you want to kiss HIM?!"

Insecurity: "Listen, other people find him desirable, which means YOU'RE desirable by default!"

Gut: "But..."

Before my gut could respond, I said to Jared, "No, it's no big deal. It just felt weird." And then I held his hand.

I dated him for two more months and in those two months, there were a lot of internal arguments that my gut lost. The red flags kept waving, but I kept marching past them until one day, I just got bored and ended the affair.

There is no happy ending to this specific adventure. I didn't have some great epiphany that made me leave Jared and love myself enough to not need validation from someone else. I spent the next four years going from date to date trying to find the man that would love me enough for both of us. I never found him. What I did find is the reason I didn't love myself; a huge suitcase of insecurities created by a childhood of being bullied.

I am still unpacking that suitcase and probably will for the rest of my life, but each day the load gets lighter and each day I get closer to finding true inner peace. It is never too late to choose your own adventure.

So if you chose B. like me, I'd encourage you to ask yourself why. And if the answer is anything like mine, I hope you someday find the courage to love yourself enough to choose A. because you know what...YOU DESERVE SOMEONE WHO WON'T ANSWER THEIR PHONE AT DINNER...ESPECIALLY TO TALK TO AN EX EVEN IF THEY ARE A GREEK GOD/GODDESS!!!

Epilogue

For those of you who are interested, the best part of the night happened when we went back to Jared's apartment to get ready to go dancing. Come to find out, he was babysitting the Greek God's dog and even though I had to get ready for the evening, he asked if I would mind walking the dog before we went out. I think I was in shock at that point, so I said fine and took the dog out. I called my best friend on the phone to tell her how crazy my life was and just as I was telling her everything, the dog took the runniest shit I have ever seen. There I was, picking up the diarrhea of my boyfriend's ex's dog. It all felt like an episode of Sex and the City. The best part came when I returned to the apartment and he tried to kiss me. I was so turned off that when he went to the bathroom I texted the same friend to say, "He just kissed me and I didn't even feel anything." Five minutes later as we were getting into a cab, my friend texts back, "Uh-oh...time to get out the porn!" I giggled and put my phone away. He said, "What was that?" and I responded, "Oh, nothing. Just my friend being stupid." And he said, "Well, that's kinda rude." REALLY?!?!

Packing Lite

I had a director once tell me that actors need to be "detectives of the human race." Audiences respond when they see themselves and their behaviors on stage, and to be able to hold that mirror up to the audience, the actor must fill in the blanks left by the playwright.

There are a lot of ways to fill in those blanks. I like to focus on a character's "baggage". Baggage is the stuff we carry around that shapes our behaviors towards and relationships with other people. A friend of mine always says we spend the first 17 years of our lives packing our bags and the rest of our life trying to unpack all of the shit we don't need. (And for some of us, unpacking becomes a very expensive process!!!)

There is an activity that is used in anti-bias work that illustrates "baggage" perfectly. The exercise is called "Earliest Messages". Take a moment to think of the earliest message you received- positive, negative, or neutral, of "those" people who are a different race than you. Go back as far as you can and think about what the message was and how you received that message. When you have that, think about how that message affects you today.

My earliest message was that black people were dangerous. I learned that when my Mom locked the car doors when we saw black people on the sidewalk. Is my Mom racist? No. Were my Mom's actions based on stereotypes? Probably. Did this message stay with me? For a while. How did I undo this message that all black people were dangerous? I educated myself.

I encourage you to do this activity with any group; those of a different race, ethnicity, religion, socio-economic class, sexual orientation, gender, etc. The point is we all have received messages about "other" people and those messages inform how we behave around "other" people. Some of the messages came from our family, others from our peers. Many came from the media and we even learned some of these messages in school. Wherever we got the messages, they were packed into our baggage and have provided us with a point of view ever since. The same is true for characters in a play.

Let's take a brief scene between two characters and fill in the blanks. Let's assume all we know is Judson is a conservative leader of the Republican party who is opposed to tax increases. Leo is the president of a union who believes that tax cuts are do not create jobs. Here is the exchange.

JUDSON

 (condescendingly) I'm just curious who you think creates jobs? Who creates jobs?

LEO 

Well...

JUDSON

(overlapping) Does Bill Gates create jobs or do YOU create jobs? I think the rich people of this country DO create jobs? The successful people CREATE jobs. YOU don't create jobs. You create a lot of hot air, but that's about it.

LEO

 ...(overlapping) certainly not the billionaires that are sitting on a trillion dollars in their bank accounts and not spending it.

JUDSON

What did they do, win the lottery? No, they became successful and created jobs.

Now, let's assume I have been cast as Jud. Here is the "baggage" that I would create to help me commit to his point of view in this scene.

Judson was raised in a family of privilege. As a young white man, he always heard his father say, "If you work hard, you can make it. Anyone who doesn't make it in this country is just plain lazy." As a child, he was surrounded by people who believed strongly that money=success. Consequently, everyone he meets in his life who isn't wealthy is lazy and unsuccessful and underserving of 'handouts'. He believes in picking yourself up by your bootstraps. He believes everyone starts on a level playing field regardless of race, gender, ethnicity, etc. In one of his economics classes in high school, he was taught trickle down economics by a teacher who praised him for his understanding of how the free market works. He also grew up hearing his father joking with his buddies saying things like, "By the time the unions know what hit them, we will have torn them apart." 

With this information, I would be able to play Judson without judgement. I, the actor, may not agree with his point of view, but I would understand his point of view, and that is an actor's job; to have a point of view for every word.

Okay, enough with the acting lesson. The truth is, this scene is not fictional. This exchange between Judson and Leo actually took place on the Ed Show on MSNBC last week between Judson Phillips, founder of Tea Party Nation and Leo Gerard, president of United Steel Workers International. You can see the clip at http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/43749203#43749203 beginning at 10:42. (You don't have to watch it to continue reading).

When I watched this for the first time, I was struck by Judson's seeming connection between "rich" and "successful". Many might say his statement about job creation is true and I will be the first to admit that my interpretation of his words may be influenced by my own baggage around "those people" who are of a different socio-economic class than me. Regardless, my gut is screaming, "This guy is classist!" And instantly I wonder, is it my baggage screaming?

That is the challenge of living with baggage; it can mess with your gut. The black man that mugged me on the train many years ago happened to mug me at a time when I was trying to unpack the message my mom taught me at 5 years old by locking the car doors. Instead of listening to my gut, I assumed the message of danger I was getting on the subway was based on the stereotypes I had packed away when I was five.

I have no way of knowing if the baggage I created for Judson the "character" is the same baggage that Judson Phillips carries around with him each day. My gut says Mr. Phillips has got a huge steel samsonite case of stereotypes and prejudices to unpack. But who doesn't? That is the point. I believe we all have a responsibility to unpack our baggage of stereotypes and prejudices by challenging our earliest messages. If we don't, we are destined to be weighed down in a way that will prevent us from fully engaging in everything life has to offer.

As an actor, I say bring on the samsonite luggage with no wheels! The bigger the better! As a human being, I'll settle for a man purse.

Women In Pumps

I was a temp once for the non-profit The Hunger Project. This was an organization that was dedicated to ending hunger around the world through sustainable means (I can't believe I still remember the language they used!) Their solution? Educate women. The theory goes that as long as girls/women are looked at as less than boys/men, hunger and malnutrition will continue to plague our planet.

Why do I bring this up and what does it have to do with my gut? Well, it doesn't really have to do with my gut, but it has to do with trusting one's gut. And it does have to do with the power of women. This week, I want to focus on women, their guts, and how their guts save lives.

PART I: Jaycee Lee Dugard

Last night, I watched Diane Sawyer's interview with Jaycee Lee Dugard, a 31 year old woman who was kidnapped at 11 years old and held captive for over 18 years by a man and his wife. During that time, she was raped by the man and gave birth to two of his children. As horrendous as the events were, the part of the story that shocked and angered me the most was the fact that law enforcement had visited the house on 60 different occasions over the eighteen years and never caught on to what was going on.

See, this man was convicted of raping a woman for eight hours in a storage unit. (He also allegedly raped a 14 year old although the charges were dropped when the victim refused to testify) As part of his parole after only serving a fraction of his sentence, law enforcement made regular visits to his house, and on more than one occasion came in contact with Jaycee and her two young children but did not ask any questions.

According to the report, it wasn't until the man took Jaycee and the young girls with him to a nearby college campus to evangelize that law enforcement stepped in. Two women, both working for campus security, noticed the three young women and sensed something was up. Not knowing the background of the man, they listened to their gut and did a little digging to find that the man was a convicted sex offender. As a result, they called authorities who brought him in for questioning at which time he confessed to the kidnapping.

My question is, why did male law enforcement officers not question who the three girls were in this man's home while two female law enforcement officers, who new nothing of the case, suspected something was up and ended up cracking the case? Do all male law enforcement officers suck? I hope not! But, I do have a theory.

PART II: OPPRESSION

I come from a family where a woman's place is in the kitchen. There's a song that I think Dean Martin sang in the fifties that basically said, "Wives, if you don't look good and have dinner ready for your husband when he gets home, he's going to stray and it will be your fault." Really?!?! That's my family. Growing up, the women in my family always looked fabulous in the kitchen; hair done, cleavage, heels. To this day, many of my aunt's still where pumps while cooking. WORK!!!

The trouble was/is, my aunts didn't/don't have a choice. There has never been a time when my uncles have said "Hey, you ladies sit down. You work so hard always making our lives easier. It's our turn to cook."

Many will say that this is cultural. Some of my aunts may argue that it doesn't bother them. My dad might say it was a different generation. I think it is bigger than that and I think it is why the male law enforcement officers didn't suspect any foul play when they checked in on the convicted sex offender and saw him with three unidentified young girls.

In my work, I facilitate conversations around bias and discrimination based on race, religion, ethnicity, sexual orientation, gender, etc. One of my favorite conversations is around oppression. We look at four kinds of oppression. The first is Ideological Oppression. Take a minute to think about what our society, in general, says about women. What are the stereotypes? Women are emotional, bad at math, bad drivers, only good at jobs that involve education or caregiving, they are weaker. 

Now think about Institutional Oppression. How do our institutions oppress women? Workplace: women make $.77 on the dollar for the same work; Government: they had to fight for the right to vote, the first female appointed to the Supreme Court wasn't until 1981, even though women make up more than 50% of the population, only 17% make up our Congress; Sports: lack of support at the school and professional level. These are only a few examples.

With this in mind, how might a woman be treated because of these ideas and institutional oppressions, in general? They might be marginalized, victimized, thought of as less than, condescended, sexually assaulted, raped, treated as sex objects. This is called interpersonal oppression.

The last oppression is internalized. Because of all of this, women may internalize these oppressions and feel worthless, dumb, less than. The list can go on and on.

You can do this excercise with many different kinds of identities; sexual orientation, race, religion, ethnicity, etc. I am focusing on women because I think the ideological oppression and institutional oppression that exists in our society towards women may have kept the male law enforcement officers deaf to their gut telling them something was up.

In the report with Diane Sawyer, a psychiatrist who worked on Jaycee's case said that a male police officer had come up on Jaycee's kidnapper when he was raping the woman in the storage unit many years before. Instead of arresting him, the man convinced the police officer that the woman tied up, naked and screaming had actually consented. With that, he left the scene. Would a female police officer buy the story that a naked, screaming woman was consenting? I can't believe she would. But my gut says that because of the sexualization of women in our society and the belief by many men that "no" means "yes", the male police officer probably didn't even think twice.

Are all men pigs? No. Are all women victims? No. But I do believe the privilige enjoyed by my uncles in the kitchen is the same privilige that can make them deaf to their gut, especially when it comes to women. As a man, I have made it my mission to make sure that the priviliges I experience because of my gender, race, age, etc. are available to everyone. Is that realistic? Who knows? But my gut says that I have to try.

I hope that all women, especially my aunts, will one day enjoy the privilige of being treated as full equals (while still wearing pumps!). I just hope in that privilege, women don't lose the connection to their gut. Without that connection, we're screwed!

Common Sense

Happy Independence Day! I've never really been all that patriotic...unless you count the Memorial Day Parades I marched in with my piccolo in high school (don't judge). And the fact that I was in three productions of George M! in my 20's. Maybe I am patriotic...a closet patriot!

Anyway, in an effort to understand the movement towards smaller government and going back to the original intent of the founding fathers, I started reading Thomas Paine's Common Sense. I figure, if it can help Stan's cousin Magda on The Golden Girls understand the fundamentals of democracy, then it can certainly help me. And you know what? It has. I don't think I actually expected it to be common sense, but it is one of the most straight forward pieces of non-fiction I have ever read (except for the fact that I have to read everything twice to understand the messed up English from back then).

The part about monarchies and the fact that anyone with that kind of power is bound to misuse it. And the fact that without any question, the throne is passed down to the next generation regardless of qualifications or desire. I totally agree! It made me think about William and Kate. Do they really think they are all that? My gut tells me they understand how ludicrous the whole idea is and when they are the King and Queen, won't make other people stop eating when they are done. I heard that's what happens now when the Queen is done with her meal. Everyone must stop eating. I'd be that person stuffing my face as the servants came to pick up my plate. Kind of like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman at the dinner meeting.

The thing is, this book is making me grateful to be living in a democracy, especially one that has the opportunity to evolve with the times. In my effort to understand people who are calling for a return to the original concepts of the constitution, I can't help but wonder if the authors of our Constitution wanted us to be using the words today without change. Like Dorothy says to Blanche who is wishing to go back to a time when men were more chivalrous, "How far do you want to go back, Blanche? Do you still want to be able to vote?" (see how relevant the girls are even today!)

To me, if you want to fight for some of the original ideals, then you have to fight for all of the original ideals. I can't imagine many Americans publicly calling for a return to slavery or a time when women were considered property. If not, then who gets to choose which ideals are worth revisiting and which ones are not?

The line that sticks out to me is "...in order to form a more perfect union..." To me, that sounds like the founding fathers understood that things might come up that they missed.  I read an article in Time magazine  recently that talked about all of the things Jefferson and Adams couldn't have known about like our ability to fly, to talk to someone on the other side of the planet in real time, to go to the moon, to destroy a whole country by pressing one button, etc. Because of these creations, we must amend the Constitution to protect our liberties and freedoms as well as the welfare of the country as a whole.

So, what I think it comes down to is change. People fear change. I truly thought that President Obama picked the wrong slogan for his 2008 campaign when he said "Change you can believe in". I see people everyday fight change. Even I am reluctant to accept change. You should see me at work. I always thought I was such a team player, but just watch me when someone suggests a change. I'm like, "What?!" (I'm working on that).

The point is, as hard as change is, I feel grateful to live in a country where change is possible. I want to remember this feeling when I am frustrated listening to today's political debates. This is when my gut will come in handy. I am noticing lately that I am less about blindly supporting one side or the other and more about finding the common sense in the arguments. Eliminating the minimum wage to end unemployment? That doesn't make sense to me. Saying marriage equality is going to ruin the sanctity of marriage? That doesn't make sense to me either. Having cable news programs and politicians only speaking to there base instead of taking the risk to have an audience with various perspectives? That definitely doesn't make sense.

My gut tells me that there is common sense to be found in every political debate. That is not to say that there is only one right answer, but to me, it means that everyone involved in the political debate has to be true to the ideals of the Constitution, not necessarily the exact letters of the Constitution. To me, those ideals are that all 'men' are created equal and everyone should have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. (Okay, so that's from the Declaration of Independence...you get my point.)

What does your gut say?

P.S. I want to acknowledge how difficult it is not to be judgemental when talking about politics. I strongly believe, though, that partisanship, especially today's, only alienates people rather than bringing them together. It becomes about stereotypes rather than human beings. I think that must be a challenge for politicians, being able to stay connected with their constituents while living in a world of privilege.