Blah.

So I'm going through a bit of a dip right now. Not loving it. But it is what it is. Been struggling all month, getting weepy, feeling listless and uninterested in the things I'm normally into. Classic depression. And we have a winner!

There are many reasons for this: both of my kids are teenagers now, and that feels like a big deal to me. My daughter turning thirteen seems particularly fraught with intensity for me.  (She claims nothing has changed, and, frankly, she's mostly right.) She has so many times told me that she does not want to grow up. And still, she persists in doing so. She is amazing, and I'm proud of her. I'm also proud of my fifteen-year-old boy, who still shows me affection in public. I'm lucky.

I know it's the natural order of things for your children to grow up, launch into the world, and hopefully be happy, healthy, independent and true to themselves. That's all anyone can ask or hope.

But I've spent so much time with these lovely people, and the idea of them leaving the nest fills me with a sadness I can't deny. I hear empty-nesters saying that they are finally able to go on trips, do their own thing, be spontaneous, so much freedom, but that doesn't appeal to me. I love hanging out with my kids, hearing their stories, singing and dancing with them, comforting and listening to them, appreciating them. But I am trying to build myself a little world where I do things outside of my house and family. I'll need it when we're empty-nesters. Isolation really does make you sicker.

There's also the delightful perimenopausal factor. I basically menstruate 3/4 of the time now. Seriously?! So I know my feelings are all over the map because of the massive and wildly changing hormones coursing through my system. It's wonderful being a woman!

Then, of course, there's the usual mental health issues I have: depression is just part of my life. It's part of so many people's lives. I was listening to Krista Tippett (best radio name EVER) on her podcast, On Being, and she was talking to people about how depression is an issue related to the soul. That it's a crisis, it's soul-crushing. And that it's so very lonely. Even when you are surrounded by good people you love and who love you. In this episode, she talks to people who mention that when they're depressed and someone says "Cheer up, go outside, it's beautiful out!" or "Look how great your life is, how can you be depressed?", it only makes them MORE depressed. And guilty. Because then they feel like a failure on top of the depression they already can't shake. I can totally relate to that.

Trust me, if we could shake it off, we would have done that a long time ago. It's not fun to be joyless. It's not fun to be exhausted. The podcast also talked about how tiring depression is. Periodically, throughout my life, I've found myself reduced to tears, repeating, "I'm so fucking tired of trying all the time". I know I'm not the only one who feels this way.

When I feel like this, and my cycle is downward, I just try to stay afloat as best as I can. I keep exercising even though it's like moving through cold molasses in January. I meditate even though my mind never ceases to wander. I eat, I eat, and I eat. I don't seem to not eat. But my tastes change. I find certain things repulsive when I'm depressed. I end up eating a lot of cereal. But I supplement it with all kinds of good shit, so it's not so bad, really. And I definitely love me some dessert when I feel bad. Nothing like eating your feelings.

I also watch a lot of streaming TV or movies, because I want to lose myself in someone else's reality. But I have to be careful that it isn't too depressing, and honestly, when you're depressed, most things are depressing. Death, divorce, guns everywhere the eye can see, post-apocalyptic scenarios and cyber-dramas and dysfunction. Gray-colored glasses. And kooky comedies come off as glib and superficial. What I'm really loving is "Broad City." So crass, so funny, so satirical yet genuine.

And I read about depression. It makes me feel more normal and less alone.

So, there it is.

FYI, NEVER say "Hang in there" to a depressed person. Think of the image it conjures. Keep imagining that. See why you shouldn't say it? Thank you.

One foot in front of the other. That's my motto right now. Or, as Dory from "Finding Nemo" says, "just keep swimming."

Phew, Just in Time

I guess I got lucky when I suspended FB a little over a week ago. (I'm not arrogant enough to say I'm prescient.) Now, it has come out that pretty much everyone has been being heavily mined for personal data, to put it mildly. Privacy is a joke at Facebook.

So, yesterday, my husband and I both DELETED our FB accounts. That's different than suspending it. They try to make you keep the door open, so that, in a moment of remorse, you return to the fold to check and see what's going on, terrified at the prospect of missing anything. (My friendly acquaintance got a new rug! Who cares?") to see if you've missed anything.  FOMO has completely fueled FB. We're so afraid of missing something, but who wants to stare at a screen all day if you can go outside?

Anyway, it's done for good now. I know that I'm saying aloha to my FB friends--but I'm keeping the real ones in person, or via text or phone, so it's not a great loss. The ones I actually have a relationship with know how to find me, and vice-versa.

And there are other ways to drum up business for my work. I have had exactly zero referrals from using FB to promote my business. It's just not the right avenue for what I do.

Fortunately, my husband, who is a total geek, is going to show me how to beef up my privacy on Google, among other things. I've been really naive.

And look, we all know that there is no such thing as privacy on the Web. But we can at least attempt to create some boundaries where we can, right?

I've watched so much "Black Mirror", that I may sound anti-tech at this point. My daughter accused me of this very thing last night. But I'm not anti-tech. I just don't feel like giving my personal data to companies that want to sell me more shit, or influence my political or personal decisions. I'm already susceptible enough to others' opinions anyway; I don't need the whole freaking InterWEB up my ass, tracking every purchase, knowing what lotion I use, where I wear my pants, where I went to school. Yikes.

I feel really liberated, actually. And now, I won't have to explain ad nauseum to others why I am off FB. I can just say, I'm not interested in a company that does shit like that. Full stop.

Intolerance Exposed

So last night, my son, who is nearly fifteen, was talking with us about colleges, because his dad pointed out that in another year, he will be an entering junior in the fall, so will need to start thinking about where he wants to go to school.

Apart from needing to tamp down the obvious silent inner shriek that my baby boy is almost in college, I found it an interesting discussion.

We were talking about where he might like to go. The US, Canada, who knows?

My husband mentioned that there are many places that would seem familiar to him, but that if he went to say, Alabama, there would be some adjustments required. So I went ahead and opened my mouth and out popped my bias. I said something negative about Alabama, and the deep south in general, and while I tried to couch my criticism of the southern racist stereotype with historical precedents, my son saw right through it totally called me on it.

He said, "Aren't YOU over-generalizing and being prejudiced against THEM?" And he proceeded to absolutely trash my house of cards argument that there are more racists "down there". What do I really know about Alabama, anyway? Why am I so scared of Mississippi? (I had a friend who grew up there, and she told me scary stories.) (And yes, I love her, and think she's cool, and SHE'S FROM MISSISSIPPI, ergo, not everyone from Mississippi is ignorant or racist. It's so logical.)

So, really, who am I to criticize?

Yes, my son has lapped me in the rational argument department. He totally caught me in my own bias and ignorance.

I tried to pivot within the discussion, and tell him I was "intolerant of intolerance", but he said, "Well, then you're intolerant". And he's RIGHT.

I like to think I'm not that judgmental, but I'm judgy as shit. Maybe we all are.

Fortunately, we have the kids to call us out on our blind spots and massive overgeneralizations.

Thanks to my son, Emma Gonzalez, and other kids all over the world who are calling BS on our own negativity, judgments, and ignorance, I think we grown-ups need to shut up and listen.

It's Done. But For How Long?

Okay, I did it.

I ripped off the band-aid.

I stopped the madness.

I quit Facebook.

And, full, disclosure, not for the first time.

I just have had enough of the meaningless banter, the photoshopped images, and the concept of “likes” and how it can give you a bit of a rush when you get a bunch of them, and how you can catch yourself checking it several times a day, with total FOMO.

I’ve spent much of my life seeking extrinsic validation. I’m really ready to stick to the intrinsic. I mean, that’s what we want to teach our kids, right? Nevermind, I don’t need you to agree, I’m okay.

So sure, I’m done, but I’m not going to say it’s forever. I mean, I fall back into when I need it. When we were moving every eighteen months, I needed it to stay in touch with my friends. It was a lifeline during a very lonely time. But now that I’m grounded and growing roots somewhere, I have the joy and blessing of friends whom I can see IN PERSON. So why would I want to see a photo of them when I can meet them for coffee or walk down to the beach with them?

Let me be clear. I am not saying Facebook is bad. I am not saying I am better than Facebook. Please. I love my pop culture, Entertainment Weekly, I watch lots of shows on Netflix and Hulu, and I enjoy texting and emoticons, maybe even more than the next person.

So I am not a Luddite, nor am I anti-technology.

It just wasn’t working for me.

It didn’t make me feel good.

I used to call it Fakebook, because I felt like people were hiding most of their real lives, only showing the shiny parts. The only FB page I really loved was one by one of my former students, called My Mundane Life, where people honestly and actually talked about those aspects of life, and it’s funny and relaxing and mellow. I’ll miss that.

So what’s the point of being on FB?

Arguably, I’ve gotten in touch with people from long ago, which can be fun. But, ultimately, I believe, if you haven’t spoken to someone in 20 years, there might be a reason for that, and if you REALLY wanted to find someone, you could do it in other ways.

I needed Facebook when I first moved in my community. But I’ve been here for nearly three years now, and I am fortunate enough to know people I can ask for plumber recommendations, or information on classes for my kids, and, most importantly, I can have meaningful discussions in PERSON.

I don’t discount social media. I am especially impressed with the young adults who use it for good, to rally for social justice. But, come on, THEY don’t use Facebook. They use Snapchat, Instagram, House Party, and God knows what else. I mean, my teenage kids have zero interest in Facebook. It’s for middle-aged people with too much time on their hands. I don't mean to offend. I mean, I’m a middle-aged person with the luxury of too much time on my hands. Total First World Problem.

But you know what? If you like it, use it. If it’s fun for you, go on, then. You do you. I’m not judging you for using Facebook. I’m choosing to spend my time in other ways. I’m making a decision based on what I want to do, not what I think everyone else is doing, or what everyone expects of me. I’m getting too old to worry about impressing people. It’s been half a century, I’m exhausted. Enough, already.

Besides, of the 175 or whatever “Friends” I had on Facebook, the only ones I’m really still in touch with live around the corner, or down the street. So why not go and see them? Many names are on my list of people from three or four moves ago, and I can barely remember them. That’s not a friend. That’s a contact. Nothing wrong with that. But I have nothing to say to them and they don’t have anything to say to me, either. Otherwise, we probably would have said it already.

I’m just more interested in seeing Faces IRL. And I'm lucky enough to get to do that.

It Has to Stop

Gun control.

Mental health.

"If I'd been there, I would have gone in myself, even without a gun".

Words, words, words.

After the millionth fucking school shooting a month ago today, it seems so hideously and alarmingly...normal.

How did this happen?

Guns. Fucking guns.

Emma Gonzalez telling that buttoned up, out of touch lady from the NRA that she cares more about her kids than NRA lady does.

Backpedal. Backpedal.
Obfuscate.
Prevaricate.
Deflect.
Lie.
Lie,
Lie.
Dead children lie on the grounds of their schools. And teachers who tried to save them.

All. Fall. Down.

Look, someone who's depressed is not going to shoot up a school. He's going to shoot himself.

Someone with an anxiety disorder is way to freaked out and caught in her own head to go and get a gun, let alone shoot at ANYTHING.

It is far more likely for a person with mental health issues to hurt THEMSELVES than others.

So don't just blame mental health on this. The key ingredient in all of this is guns. Motherfucking guns. They're too easy to get, too easy to use, and always end in tragedy.

But He Who Must Not Be Named is all about changing the narrative. Who cares how easy it is to get a gun? Let's all just take more Prozac and hope for the best!

His ignorance is stupefying. Terrifying.

I am just so fucking sad. And scared.

Even when I see a police officer with a gun, I am leery. Power can go to your head. People trained to shoot or kill are trained to depersonalize others. My fighter pilot cousin told me things that made my blood run cold.

When I taught high school in Southern California, my students complained all the time about getting stopped by the cops because of the color of their skin, the size of their t-shirt, whether or not their boxers were showing. They were kids. They were drinking Slushies.

In Canada, when I was growing up, police had batons. That is SO Canadian.

"Get back, eh, or I'll beat at you like a kid does to a pinata. Seriously, okay?"

Still, a club is better than guns. My Canadian friend told me that the cops in Canada now carry guns. I didn't know that. I guess I'm more of a tazer person, as these things go. Not pleasant, sure, but not deadly. I mean, for fuck's sake. Why does everything have to be ALL or NOTHING in this country?

In my desperation to make sense of all of this tragedy, I bought four different political/fundraising t-shirts within a week.

Today, young people all over the country stood silently for seventeen minutes to honor the dead. And today, the police did their jobs with grace and aplomb, protecting the teachers and students and staff, and allowing them to share their grief and solidarity.

My heart breaks as I see and hear these images and words of the youth of today standing up and saying, NOT ONE MORE. All of those silent students, with their heavy backpacks and their heavier hearts. What a horrible legacy.

It's time for the grown-ups to start acting like these kids, before another victim is murdered.

Wear orange, be safe, choose love, not hate. And follow the children. They know better.

Everyone is your teacher.

Yes, that's what I'm thinking about right now. Every person you meet has something to teach you. I believe that's Buddha-inspired, and I like it.

But not always.

I mean, sometimes, a new person you meet turns out to be kind of a pain in the ass.

And yet, there is surely something you can learn from them.

In fact, if you are uncomfortable with someone, it is really freaking likely that you can learn something from them.

You may not want to, but you can.

I'm feeling that right now. I've met a lot of people in my life so far, most of whom I find quite delightful, fascinating, lovable, interesting. But we musn't forget the challenging ones.

Damn, I hate the challenging ones.

When someone gets under your skin and you can't figure out why, there is usually a lesson there, in my experience. It's not fun to learn, and it's never easy, but it's there.

What I've found thus far is that if someone new I meet "bugs" me, it is because they are either just like me, the exact opposite, and/or. they make me feel insecure because they play higher status than me.

Let's pause for a minute to discuss status.

I'm not talking about bling. Cars. Houses. Expensive dye jobs.

I'm talking about the feeling of being powerful, and the ability to hold your own with whoever comes your way, without withering into nothing or turning into a babbling idiot. (I just did that a few days ago. But more on that later.)

I'm referring to Keith Johnstone's definition of STATUS. I would call him the grandfather of Improv. His book, Impro (no V), is a fascinating read, and not just for people who love the theatuh.  His chapter is a deep examination on status, and how every single exchange we have with people all of the time is a "status transaction."

Now, lest you think I'm being too clinical, I'll just mention that I have been accused of being  oversharing, mushy, and emotional, on numerous occasions. I prefer the terms open, loving, and sensitive, but, potato, potahto. So I am not without feeling.

But, for example, in an improvised scene (which is just real life, anyway) Johnstone shows how people try to outdo each other when they complain, or when they talk about their accomplishments. If I say I've read some challenging novel, like, say, Ulysses, and if the other person I'm talking to wants to raise their status above mine, they would say something like, "I did my PhD dissertation on Ulysses." Whoosh, goes the air in my intellectual balloon.

If I'm standing with my toes pointing inward, and my head down, and the other person is standing Superwoman Style (a la Amy Cudi) then I feel like shit, and they feel awesome.

I found myself babbling incessantly the other day when I ran into some women I don't know very well. Was I trying to impress them? Share my excitement? Maybe a bit of both. I think I felt insecure, so I just did NOT stop talking. My enthusiasm for life is probably both endearing to some, and annoying to others. I was feeling low status, so I think I tried to raise myself, albeit probably not very successfully.

In his chapter on status, Johnstone says that every time you say you did something well or garnered some form of accolade, it is like giving the other person in the conversation a kick. I find this fascinating, because it doesn't feel that way if you really love and enjoy the person telling you. You can actually have sympathetic joy, and be happy for your friend or family member.

If, however, you don't know the person so well, and they tell you how great things are going, it can feel like a kick, a bit of, "Gee, what's wrong with me that I'm not achieving x, y or z?" So I feel like an asshat for babbling to these women I barely knew, because I probably sounded like I was just kicking away there, when I was really more nervous because I didn't really know them, and I got a bit anxious, and my mouth just started going and wouldn't stop.

It's challenging to be mindful of when to speak and when to listen. I'm not always so great at that, but I'm working on it.

So I am perpetually fascinated by people who make me feel low status. What is it that they are doing that makes me so uncomfortable? Am I just on auto-pilot, seeking approval, as is my default mode? What is it about them that makes me feel so uncomfortable?

Yes, they say you should only spend time with people who lift you up, and I tend to do that, but still, I am fascinated (and vexed) by people around whom I feel uncomfortable.

What do they have to teach me? In the above case, humility. Being a better listener. Not worrying so much about what they think of me. I barely know them! They barely know me!

There's always a lesson in there somewhere.