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Unbroken (The Book) and the pattern -- scarcity, poverty, lack

5/16/2015

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More than one person recommended Unbroken to me. I resisted it because I suspected it might be one of those works lately classified as "torture porn." After being assured that it was much more than that, I picked up the book and I admit that I am inspired.

This is a story of one human being's miraculous ability to survive a relentless stream of conditions that most of us would simply not live through. It certainly helps put a person's troubles into perspective. There is always something to whine or worry about and it helps the rest of us realize how easy we have it. We suffer over poor service at a restaurant, a thoughtless remark from a coworker, or having nothing "good" to eat in the house. Lord! Unbroken should be required reading for every middle or upper middle class whiner or potential whiner.

UPDATE: So I stopped writing this "review" or whatever it was yesterday and just saved it in my drafts folder. I might as well release it now because I realize that I'll never finish writing it in the way I had intended. The reason is that I feel I have no right to comment at all on this man's life. His experiences are so far out of the realm of my reality that all I can do is be a humble spectator and hope that his story was moved into my awareness for a reason.

Those of you who are Spock-types or (more confusing to me) religious but you don't believe that there is any divine intervention in your daily lives will not appreciate my constant search for patterns with meaning. That is the way I think -- whether I may be judged as superstitious, gullible, ignorant, etc. -- looking for patterns and the lessons in them is compulsory. That's the way I roll. I respect the scientific method, believe that evolution is a reality, and I also think that there is a reason I am here and that clues are being dropped all the time (by... some intelligent being...?) with the intent that I notice and learn from them. Maybe the person reading this extremely obscure and self-indulgent blog might wonder why they are reading a discussion of Louis Zamperini and the loss of everything save the will to survive... maybe?

So, just as I have been noticing a pattern of these issues of poverty coming to me (see previous posts), Unbroken is a continuation of this. This is a true story of a man who was stripped of everything -- food, safety, shelter, clothing, health, intimacy, love, vocation, and respect -- and managed to not only live but come through whole on the other side. What do these illustrations of scarcity and loss mean for me? Is it trying to tell me that I shouldn't feel sorry for myself? Is it encouraging me to take my skills and privilege and do something dramatically unselfish? It's not all that obvious yet, but I feel sure it has something to do with my reactive misery* over this job search.

When I was a little younger, good career opportunities just fell in my lap and I took them for granted. Though I was the sought after individual, I was probably not always the best person for these positions because I didn't have the kind of deep work ethic that I have now. When I was teaching in public school, I did have a powerful work ethic, but approximately ten years ago my life situation (i.e. new mother) interfered with my being the best that I could be; I had a job to do that was even more important than breaking down the literary elements in Of Mice and Men (and I do not underestimate the importance of that, not one bit). I had to leave long enough to get my babies launched into health and well-being.  Now that I've gotten them there, I'm feeling lack -- lack of money, lack of connections, and lack of good opportunities. This is a new and depressing experience for me, especially since I know that I am a good bet to be a loyal, humble, long-term employee because my family and I are so ready -- and I want it so bad.

We don't always gets just what we want in life. Louis Zamperini prayed for rescue, first from a raft on the Pacific and later from a POW camp. I'm praying for something much less dramatic -- just a job that fits me -- that will pay my bills and allow me to put money away for college before my children turn eighteen. My wants are laughable compared to his -- absolutely ludicrous -- but feeling ridiculous about it doesn't make me want it any less. I'm hoping that I will figure out this lesson about poverty soon, because I have this idea that figuring it out will get me unstuck.





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Hope

3/24/2015

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Tranquility. Beautiful word. Worth a second post.
I have been reconnecting with old friends (and old superintendents and supervisors)  from my public school teaching days. With all of the difficulties brought by the NCLB Act and it's flawed understanding of children like my own, I still loved teaching. I remember that alarm going off in the dark and being miserable (I'm not a morning person), and then walking through the door to the school and being so happy to be there. Call me crazy, but spending my days with eighth graders was a joy for me (all except that last week in June when some of them turned from sweet Mr. Jekylls into terrifying Mr. Hydes).

So, being that I am so homesick for my old job, I am lately visiting it every night in my dreams. I have lost count at this point of how many times I have been "back there" in the last few weeks. As in most dreams, there is something not quite right. One time, I had to teach in the hallway with me in the corner and desks lined up at a 90 degree angle. Another time, I only had 30 minutes to make the 45 minute commute. I was trying to figure out if I could speed fast enough to make up the time. The last thing I wanted to do was disappoint Jim (my principal) by being late.

In every single dream so far, the issue of the front office comes up. I always fail to sign in. At some point, I realize that I have been working for days on end without ever signing in. In the most recent dream, Jim finally seeks me out to tell me that I have to sign in.

A friend of mine tells me that these recurring dreams have a deep meaning -- that my psyche is trying to tell me something. I think it's trying to tell me that I need to teach. In spite of all these lovely offers I've been getting thanks to Monster (Aflac, Omaha Insurance, & Weichert Realtors to name a few) I am a teacher. I might be able to make $80,000 a year selling caskets (yes, I was looking into a casket sales position) but "IyamwhatIyam" and that's a teacher. So I'll keep plugging away until I find my way back where I belong.


And I'm going to take my friend's advice and sign a piece of paper before I go to bed tonight -- thereby "signing in" again and officially admitting that I am a career teacher who belongs -- officially belongs -- in a public school. Maybe tonight I will just enjoy teaching without worrying about that front office.

Hopefully, I'll start getting a paycheck from the astral world for all this work.


Update: As ridiculous as I felt doing it, I "signed in" (I have a counter in my kitchen which is high and very similar to the office counter where we used to sign in) and it worked at least for last night. I slept! No teaching.
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Patterns... or... Here we go again.

3/7/2015

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It's happening again. I'm seeing these patterns reveal themselves in my life. I enjoy them so much because (whether you think it's a delusion or not) they make me believe that there is a reason and a purpose for the people, challenges, and events in my life. I like thinking that there is a reason and intelligence behind my struggles and my successes.

The pattern I'm seeing lately has to do with struggle and the issue of poverty. Now, I can't claim to know poverty. I know debt. I certainly understand being stuck. I have made about a dozen poor choices regarding my financial health in the past (though I defend at least one of them as being a proper choice of the heart). Here is the pattern so far:

1. Steinbeck is my favorite author. I was doing a general Internet search of Steinbeck (I can't remember what prompted it) and I found a quote about "poor people."  Here it is: "If you're in trouble, or hurt or need - go to the poor people. They're the only ones that'll help - the only ones."

2. On Facebook, I saw the film of the experiment in which a supposedly homeless child was out on the street, and the only one who helped him was a legitimately homeless man. In the comments, I supplied the quote.

3. Yesterday, in a job interview, I was asked to explain why people are poor. Well, this is a near impossible question because there are so many reason why this could happen to a person. I thought about myself at the age of seventeen when I lost my parents. I was so, so fortunate that my parents were able to care for me financially beyond their deaths. If they hadn't, I can't imagine what I would have done. I thought about myself, in shock and grieving, barely able to complete high school. How could I have tackled high school, college, and a job??? I can't even imagine what would have happened to me.

So, why am I being challenged to think about poverty and injustice? I don't think it's a coincidence. I just don't.  There must be a reason, and I'm going to keep my antennae extended and tuned in. I'll let you know what happens...

Here's another one:
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The current knows where it's going...

3/1/2015

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UPDATE March 3: The following post may not be based in science, but... I was right! Something amazing happened yesterday -- something that tells me that though I am (sadly) not a psychic, my intuition is not bad. More later.

UPDATE March 6: Just had a job interview!  That in and of itself is a joyous thing; the energy is moving in the right direction. Even if they find a person with more experience and/or less hourly salary requirements, I'm just so happy to have had a shot at something!!!  I would LOVE that job -- working with parents who are out of work -- doing my best to help them get their lives and their children's lives in a better place. Realistically, not easy, but rewarding!



Lately, I have felt like I have needed to push hard and force life to give me what I need. The result of that approach (for me) is anxiety. Today, the world feels different. Though nothing has changed -- I have not landed that elusive "dream job" -- I feel very different. I simply have that peaceful feeling one gets when the struggle is over. I feel that a change is coming that will be a happy one for me. I will not push, force, or squeeze this creation into existence.

I am kicking back today, hanging out with a furry guest in my home named Boca. I am studying science in the comfort of my bedroom and welcoming the snow. I have an illogical (yet I believe authentic) sense that something remarkable is going to happen soon. I'm not psychic in the way that I'd like to be, but I can be intuitive. Something great is in the works.

"But one creature said at last, 'I am tired of clinging. Though I cannot see it with my eyes, I trust that the current knows where it is going. I shall let go, and let it take me where it will. Clinging, I shall die of boredom.'" -- Richard Bach
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"What Immortal Hand or Eye..."

2/18/2015

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It's all about spiritual questions, lately. That's what's on my mind. Wondering about all in life that is mysterious. NPR and the general world news has been getting to me again. Being informed -- I'm not sure that's the healthiest thing. Ignorance has its advantages. I really love fiction (TV, film, books); the escape keeps me sane. Call the Midwife is my current favorite, and will always hold a special place in my heart because every main character (and most minor ones) is uniquely lovable. That's rare.
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I have an incredible soft spot for Chummy. She is one of those characters whose kindheartedness and vulnerability radiates right through the television screen.  I want to know why some people are born to look like Jessica Raines and some are born to look like Miranda Hart. God? Nature? I would like a reasonable answer here. Believe me, I'm not feeling sorry for either actress. They both have the kind of success most of us can only dream about, yet -- if we are to believe there is any order to the world there must be a reason why some of us are so pretty and some of us are so... well, you know.
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Are we really floating around in some astral plane, looking down, planning our next life saying, "I want to look like Cochran from Survivor."??? When I see Ozzy from Survivor (who in addition to his beauty reaches heights of athleticism that are mind-boggling) side by side with Cochran I just can't help thinking of The Tyger by William Blake: "Did he who made the lamb make thee?" Again, I'm not feeling sorry for Cochran; he has had great success and many gifts, yet while watching Survivor (don't judge now -- we all need our happy, relaxing, TV time) one can't help but notice the great contrast between the two types of men. I can't help but wonder if it is luck of the draw or part of some intelligent plan (that is most certainly beyond my common, earthly understanding).
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It's 4:20 AM

10/11/2014

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About an hour ago I woke up, unable to sleep. Ate an apple, heated some milk, and now my eyes are droopy. I spent the last half an hour reading the sequel to Dark Corner as it is so far. And so far, I'm pleased. Writing is so strange for me because I don't remember what I write. It might was well be someone else writing this stuff, because I don't recognize it. I just revise and edit it. I recognize my voice in the writing, of course, and I recognize my goofy love of paranormal stuff. Sometimes it embarrasses me how much I love ghosty, psychic stuff.  I guess it touches on the same reason that Harry Potter is so popular. Doesn't everyone wish that the occult (why would I used such a loaded word as "occult" when I could say "magic" and make it more wholesome and Disney, somehow?) were more palpable and malleable? That we could take the elements of our life that are not to our satisfaction and use it to alter and repair the problems?  So, I'm not such a freak for being attracted to the occult. I always was interested, and it made my mother really nervous when I was a kid. Truthfully, I'm no practicing pagan or Wiccan, or whatever the appropriate label is, but I still find it all fascinating.

But I digress...

Again...

The point to this blog (gag) is something I heard on public radio (gag). You know, I just love public radio, even as the world news tortures me. This was the show Radiolab, and what really got my attention was the opening of the show, rather than the intended theme.  The question author Eugene Thacker (In the Dust of this Planet) was answering for himself was whether he should still write the books he felt compelled to write if he knew no one would read them. And I've already given away the answer with the word, "compelled." Of course he would write them. I feel the same way. Writers are a dime a dozen. We were born with this internal drive to put fun house mirror reflections of ourselves out to the world. It might be fun if these creations made money or if people actually read them, but ultimately that is not the reason they exist. If the end goal of money and readers was the only motivator, there wouldn't be much (if any) high quality texts out there.

I like to write. When I come back to read and revise, I'm usually pleased with what I have done. Now that Dark Corner is out there in book form, I feel embarrassed about it for some reason. I'm sure that if I read it again I'd be pleased with it. It became just the sort of fun that I wanted it to be. I loved reading books in that same style when I was a child, so I do admit to liking my own story. I think it is the innocence of it in this cynical world that embarrasses me, but I write for myself. I really do.

That doesn't mean I would turn down financial success if it came my way. Being firmly part of "the other 98 percent" money would be a miracle. But if it means I have to stop writing and put a bunch of time, effort and money into marketing, I would just prefer to write my books and let them float out there in the unknown. Now if I had a prayer or spell, I would just create time to write, because 4:00AM is not ideal.


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Ruby's Spoon by Anna Lawrence Pietroni

7/19/2014

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Somehow, I ran into Ruby's Spoon at the dollar store. How on earth this novel got to a PA dollar store, I will never know, but I consider myself quite fortunate. I don't feel quite up to the task of reviewing this novel; I can only write of my experience of it.

I wasn't sure I'd make it through this book, because the people in this narrative felt so strange and foreign to me. I had trouble imagining this odd world in which a motherless little girl cannot cross a bridge to touch her father. Most reviewers mention the dialect as an obstacle to fluency, but it wasn't quite as difficult for me to navigate as was the odd behavior of the people. Yet, somehow, I found myself slowly moving under its spell. It took me months to get through the first fourth of the book; I kept losing it. Finally, I found my way and then "I couldn't put it down." Trite, but true.

If I were to go back in time and pick up this novel for the first time again, I would treat it more like an academic exercise. I would print out a copy of the map, and write down a character description of each one along with his or her relationship to the others in the town. Having said that, I don't think it is valid criticism when reviewers mention that it is a difficult read or "hard to get into." It simply doesn't belong in the light read category and challenges the reader to pay attention and be aware. I was approaching this as a lazy, summer read, (probably because I bought it for a dollar), yet it is anything but.

Maybe this post will scare people off of reading Ruby's Spoon, but I hope not, because the companion to the challenge of this read was the fact that I was bewitched by it. At first I didn't understand thirteen-year-old Ruby's desperation for attention from the mysterious newcomer, Isa Fly. Perhaps I had lost touch of how much I sought the approval and company of older women when I was a child.  (I'm sure that somewhere in my writing I have mentioned a certain dark-skinned woman with a high IQ and a white bikini. From age eight to eighteen I worshiped her, nearly believing that her companionship could turn me into a dark-skinned, bikini clad genius.) So I think the reader can start there, perhaps, by remembering the pure idolatry that a child is capable of. That there might be reasons beyond Ruby's loneliness for her deep desire to connect with Isa makes it all the more fascinating.

Another element here is the aloof behavior of so many people in the town toward Ruby; they fail terribly at the
"it takes a village" idea. I kept wondering why everybody seemed so intolerant and often hostile toward her. Some of the women were deeply cruel to her, but it was the removed behavior of those who could have shown her that they cared that had me shaking my head. Then again, this rings with some authenticity from my own experience as a teenager. When I lost my parents at the age of seventeen, there were many words of sympathy, but actions that might disrupt someone's life (or even inconvenience them) were rare.

Perhaps this place and its people are not so foreign to me after all?

For me, one of the only elements of Ruby's life that I cannot understand is why she had no friends her own age. It is mentioned once or twice, I think, that she used to play with her school chums, but there is no other central character under the age of thirty. I imagine in the life of a small town teenager, a girlfriend would be a vital connection to a girl like Ruby,

There is so much to read out there, and so little time. I am ultimately glad that I picked up Ruby's Spoon and I'd be the first one to buy a ticket if it were made into a film. Hopefully
Anna Lawrence Pietroni will make a bunch of money off of it, thereby relieving my guilt of getting it from the dollar store. And while I'm imagining wonderful events -- let's hope that Vera Farmiga produces the film and takes the part of Isa Fly.

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Patterns and Vera Farmiga

4/16/2014

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So, now that I have a new TV girlfriend, it is my mission to watch everything she has ever done. (If you're wondering what a TV girlfriend is, see my last post). I watched Higher Ground the other day which is pretty much her baby (production, direction, and acting credits).

I don't know about religion or a big god in the sky, but I do know that there are too many weird, weird coincidences in my life to attribute to chance. Sometimes it feels like someone else is running the show, guiding me this way and that. The frustrating thing is that I hardly ever really understand the message.  I see the pattern, but I don't see why it is being shown to me.

A couple days after I started to "love" Vera, a friend of mine asked me if I had ever heard of her. She is acquainted with her. I'm not the type to think -- oh, that means I'm destined to meet her -- because I usually prefer not to meet celebrities that I admire. (The dynamic is usually weird. How can I be myself?) I do think that the coincidence is strange, and it is another example of a pattern being laid out for me.  My friend mentioned Higher Ground, which I watched, and it seemed to be speaking directly to me. It's not that I'm immersed in a fundamentalist religious community, but there are elements of my life that are so deeply, deeply stuck in the same way that her character was. My sense of identification with her character, Corrine, (based upon a very real woman) put me into a psychological hole that I can't even begin to explain. I really can't. Not here. Better left for a therapist. Time to get into therapy?

This is not the first time a film has come my way that has been a direct reflection of something that is moving within my psyche. What I want to know about this sort of thing is -- why do these patterns exist, and what are they trying to tell me? Are they telling me to act on them, because my sense is that if I took action based upon these patterns, I would be rocking the boat so much so that I might sink. I can tell you right now that I'm not reading the book that it is based upon by Carolyn S. Briggs -- not yet anyway.

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The Killing (the TV show )

3/21/2014

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WARNING: Spoilers for Broadchurch and The Killing are contained in this article. Unlike many in the world of writers, I don't spend more time reading than watching TV.  I do read and become deeply involved with the lives of literary characters, but when I'm tired in the evening, TV IS FOR ME! I'm not looking for elements to criticize, either. (I can't stand watching TV with a critic; as much as possible, my goal is to overlook inconsistencies and lose myself in a story). I'm always hoping for a narrative to take me safely to another world, and for me to love it, it has to have a dark element. So many critics have said that The Killing is pretentious, but I think they are just striving to be the best. It's slow paced and I like that too. If I care about the characters, I want it to stretch out and provide me with quiet, slow moments. Okay, I do admit to sleeping through some of it, but sometimes it's nice to sleep through something and know I haven't missed too much. (I'm digging myself, deeper and deeper here, aren't I)?

My husband asked me why I'm so attracted to dark themes (with the subtext, I think, "What's wrong with you?). I did give it some thought, and I don't think I'm as disturbed as my Netflix cue might indicate. I would refer the reader back to my essay about Breaking Bad and Dexter and why I like Dexter so much more. Within the dark themes of my favorite shows there must always be a hero or heroes who are fighting for good (even if they are deeply flawed).  My heart is with Jesse in Breaking Bad.  My heart is with Holder and Linden in The Killing. My heart is with with Dexter (especially when he struggles so much with his identity and perception of himself as a "monster").  That can't be all bad, can it?  It's not like I'm reading Harry Potter and voting for Voldemort.

Because
I am always contradicting myself (in my defense, who doesn't?) this paragraph is going to include a criticism of Season 3 of The Killing. Many perceived flaws in the writing have been pointed out by other writers, but there is only one problem that really irks me: I feel like we barely knew this guy, Skinner. He was there, of course, and established as Linden's former lover. The relationship, I think, makes sense even though she is adorable and he was rather old and bald. Women who are missing a father figure in their lives often seek the "dad" type. The problem boils down to the same element that often makes or breaks a story. We don't care about him. Linden did, but the audience didn't know him well enough to be really shocked and appalled when he was revealed as the killer. The depth of betrayal would have been felt by the audience if we believed that we knew and cared about him.

For those of you who viewed Broadchurch, the same criticism could be made, but it didn't matter as much because the effect of the killer's identity was all about the people who revolved around him. We saw deep agony and unthinkable position of the killer's wife. The Killing ended abruptly, and the depth of the relationship between Skinner and Linden was not well established.

Whatever its weaknesses, I am so pleased that the show was picked up for another season, and I can't wait to see Holder and Linden move on from this point
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Why I Believe that Social Anxiety Disorder is a Sign of Intelligence

1/27/2014

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I have always been slightly anxious about socializing with others. I do not have social anxiety disorder, yet I rarely look forward to those events that force me to mix, mingle, and make conversation.  Maybe it would be easier if I were a drinker. I know some very nice people who use beer as an aid to socializing, but I don't like beer, wine or any alcoholic drink enough to make use of it. (I never quite grew up -- I still prefer sweet treats).

I should probably preface this entry by saying that I realize that I really am rather negative. I think of myself as optimistic, but nearly every time I feel the desire to write something here it is because of something less than joyful.  Actually, I think I am optimistic and more happy-go-lucky than the average person.  Perhaps it is the nature of writing. I use it to work out my shadow stuff. (I do like the word "stuff" -- sorry fellow English teachers).

Today, I heard about a "village council" in India that ordered the gang rape of a woman because she planned to marry a man from outside of her village.  Here is a link to the article: NY Times
. Sadly, it is not a surprising or unusual news story in our time. When I was a child, I believed that barbarism was firmly set in the middle ages. I didn't realize that racism, sexism, and other isms were happening in my time. Somehow, I had the idea that we as a human race had gotten past all of that. I thought every other human being reflected my own natural, liberal beliefs.

In my community, my children live a relatively sheltered life of abundance, a liberal exchange of thoughts and ideas, some exposure to the various religious beliefs, and adults with generally higher levels of education.
None of us have witnessed misogyny or racism in any overt way. (I won't mention the covert ones today). There are no "honor killings" in our neighborhood (that I know of).

When I listen to public radio (I know, I know) and hear the news from around the world, then it gets me thinking.  Human beings... hmmm. Well, there are a range of nasty human beings.  There are people who murder and rape and believe they are justified. There are wars in which people fight over power, land, "God," treasure, and anything else they can think of to excuse their thirst for blood. We are so used to war, that people don't even really think about what it actually is. Just think, for a moment, about what war actually is! It is people destroying and doing damage to other people - throughout history and today -- inflicting the same torture over and over again. Learning nothing. Pure insanity is what it is, and yet it is such a way of life for us that we don't consider it so.

After Adam Lanza murdered twenty-six innocent people, one of our local priests said that these events will always happen because of "original sin." Really?  If that is true, and we as human beings are forever destined to be perpetrators and victims, then... then what? God is eventually going to come back down and fix everything? God is going to come down and wipe us all out?

Then (being the weirdo that I am), I start thinking about the witch hunts. I'm just positive that I would have come to no good end if I was
hanging about then. I would have known enough to avoid mixing up herbal concoctions, but try as I might I'm sure I would have been accused by somebody in the town.

Then I start thinking about Nazis. When I learned about the Nazis in junior high school, I learned that human beings could be brainwashed. Brainwashed into thinking that certain types of people were not actually human, and that the world would be a better one if those types of people were extinguished. Had the Nazis themselves been quickly extinguished, then it seems world would have been better, now wouldn't it? But it is that whole Nazi propaganda thing that gets to me when I start looking at other people. I am disturbed by the idea that I -- as a human being -- might  be brainwashed into hating someone -- some group of some sort. I like to believe that I would not have been a Nazi because it is not in my nature to join groups of any kind. Sometimes I like the idea of a group -- I actually joined the "MOMS Club" after I had children -- but I just couldn't stick with it. I felt socially awkward. It was just too -- groupie.  So, that supports my belief that I would have avoided the whole Nazi thing, or the Wave, or Amway.

I wonder, sometimes, if I were living in Germany in the forties with my friends, relatives, and neighbors which ones would have been on the wrong side? And of course, I wonder about my own attitudes. I wonder if I would be brave like Miep Geis. I do have guesses about who I know that would be more likely to be vulnerable to propaganda and brain washing. And when I think about the amount of people who would be likely to lose their moral compass with the rest of the Nazis, then I think that being phobic about our fellow human beings makes a lot of sense.

I don't mean to be glib about social anxiety disorder. I do believe it is rooted in a very real and logical instinct for survival. Do you ever feel waves of hostility coming at you from strangers and wonder why? At the grocery store? At the gym? (There are other types of waves too -- attraction, friendliness -- those, I understand. It's the hostility that seems baseless and primitive). On my first day of Kindergarten, I was sitting on the floor as instructed and the girl sitting next to me kicked me. I was appalled. I cried every day of Kindergarten for nearly six months. It wasn't just the kicking experience that caused my fears; it was the terrifying unpredictability of each moment. If someone could kick me for no reason, then what other horror might come my way? The other children terrified me. Of course, they weren't so terrible. That same girl became my best friend for a time in fifth grade. Other people can be our best friends and our worst enemies.  We cannot control them or predict what they will do. Kindness towards others is not a guarantee that others will be kind to us. All of that is frightening. So social anxiety disorder makes sense to me. And the treatment of social anxiety disorder should not deny the plain fact that there are good and logical reasons to be nervous about other people.



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