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.