It’s been a sluggish start to Spring, but I’m determined to get on track. From the season's first day, back in March:
On NPR this morning a reporter from Iran talks about Nowruz,
the Persian/Iranian new year, with its ritual of making small bonfires and
jumping over them, praying that the fire will give health and wealth and burn
up all that is painful and bad in your life.
I am listening to the radio on my way to Shoprite hours
before the next Nor’easter, the third of the month, which has become a ritual
of its own.
There are women with carts piled full of provisions more
fitting a survivalist commune than the affluent suburbanites bracing for another
six inches of soon to melt snow. Behind me an older man who appears to be doing
a weekly shop on his social security check waits behind the hoarders with just
a can of coffee, a large container of Cremora, some cheap frozen meat steaks
and a bag of rolls. It could be worse -- at least he will have coffee and
sandwiches, but it makes my own modest array of fruits, vegetables, yogurt and
crackers look positively luxurious.
Abundance is all relative, as is isolation.
Spring is reluctant to show its colors. Snow days, dental surgery, trying to keep up with bills (even with dental insurance, three implants and two bone grafts cost as much as a year's college tuition!) and restore some lost services for V while spending many hours job hunting: if only I could put a full
description of my job as CEO of VH
Industries at the top of my CV, with all its enormous responsibilities and
achievements, I’d be able to apply for more than entry level program associate
positions that don’t even touch on my skills. I’d be running an organization, a
movement or campaign. At the very least I’d have a TED talk rather than the
self-motivating meditation I use to push me out of bed each day.
The snow thaws and the ground warms, my gums heal, I grow slightly less grumpy so I
can get back to faking it till I make it, feigning optimism as best I can.
Yes, that was from a few weeks ago. The fact is I have gotten a lot done, although it doesn’t show up on the
page. Inspired by Khaneh-Tekani
(literally, shaking the house) the
thorough spring cleaning that precedes Nowruz, I ignore the computer for the debilitating
clutter that surrounds my little upstairs office space in an attempt to clear the path for new things. Four large garbage bags
later and several bins remaining, I’ve at least made a dent.
Plus there’s dozens
of resumes sent out (they don't yield any results, but at least I’m putting
in an effort) along with several drafts of proposals for what I’d really like to be doing, still on hold because
the fact is, ‘up by our bootstraps’ cliches to the contrary, we all need social
capital in order to accomplish much of note, and I’m in a relative drought in terms of networks, the collaboration with others that had enabled me to be more productie in the past.
It’s the 50th anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr’s death this week. He’s
long been a role model and inspiration for me, so fiercely and fluently melding
the spiritual and political to fight racism, classism, the forces that keep us from recognizing how "we are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality." as he so eloquently put it. Five decades later, we still have isms up the wazoo that wear us down. Facing ableism, ageism, and sexism on a regular basis, I have a better grasp of the hostility he faced, although I
recognize our privilege: we may be treated with contempt, but we're never in imminent danger.
It is hard to explain to others what holds each of us back,
but I would say that along with the individual and collective stories Americans love to celebrate, we all have our unique math: a distinct roster of needs and demands, funds flowing in and cash withdrawn, energy expended,
and strength restored. Advantages beget opportunities, and what seems like
depression is often more depletion, an equation unsolved.
With every season along with the tasks, the change of
clothes, the revived dreams, in these modern times there are shows that arrive like crocuses, restorative as all the turmeric lattes, SAD lamps, and breathing exercises
combined. For the start of Spring, I've devoured the revamped Queer Eye [formerly Queer Eye
for the Straight Guy] and the new season of Call the Midwife, the English show about nurses and nuns in
post-war working class London.
I know lots of people who go for home renovation, baking
shows, travel documentaries, but for me there’s nothing like a good dose of
Socialist Porn. A pregnant teenage
prostitute? A sailor of filthy mouth and body? An immigrant who knows not a
word of English? There’s enough tea and provisions for all of you! This
season, even a leper is treated with kindness and respect, receiving the care he needs far more swiftly than V ever has. I hunker down and inhale its charms, as every hardship is lovingly addressed.
Queer Eye is all that kindness in a slick, fun bubble: a
group of telegenic and charming men, emotionally sensitive, but oblivious to systemic inequity. Someone working two jobs and getting three hours of sleep
a night just needs, like the rest of his cohorts: a decent
haircut, some patterned button-down shirts, a few avocados, and a fresh coat of
paint. While male and Southern, I relate to every one of the subjects, all in
some state of stuck-ness. I even buy a few new shirts on sale, crisp cotton patterns like the ones the guys put on to complete their transformation.
The Southern charms are as captivating, in their way, as those of London: I can't think of anything more heartwarming than some hardy rural firemen learning how to ballroom dance with a group of urbane gay men. And it may sound sacrilegious to make the connection, but King did dream "that one day in Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners would be able to sit together at the table of brotherhood" so it's nice to watch a whole season of his dream coming true! Still, there's no mention
of a living wage, or the fact that the rest of us can’t afford that home
makeover team.
It reminds me of the time Barbara Ehrenreich (author of Nickel and Dimed and many other books
addressing inequality in her inimitably accessible way) was a guest on Oprah, and
talked about all these hardworking housekeepers struggling to make ends meet, and
Oprah nodded enthusiastically. Yes, we have our Angel network
and I gave all these fabulous prizes
to a former maid! And Barbara, bless her heart, kept her usual droll humor in
check and nodded, Yes, that’s nice, but, um, maybe we can help all the rest of them earn a decent wage
so that they can afford healthy food and medical care and a decent home for
their kids instead of microwaving dinner in dreary motel rooms? Americans don’t like to think that way, with a context - it takes all the
fun out of our fantasies.
No wonder King was so depressed at the end of his life. Like
Ehrenreich exposing the challenges faced by housekeepers, he spoke of the struggles of sanitation workers. And fittingly for Passover, his last speech in Memphis
referenced that period of slavery in Egypt, when Pharaoh wanted to keep his slaves fighting among themselves but they instead worked together. ‘When the slaves get together, that’s
the beginning of getting out of slavery. Now let us maintain unity.’ And with
all his despondency and setbacks he experienced those last few years, in the
last words he ever publicly spoke in this life, he said that he was happy, because he that
he knew he was doing God’s will. He had faith in our ability to change.
I know I’m not alone in struggling to keep that faith, in grappling with weather and challenging math and relentless bad news The fact is most people in the world have it far worse, while a few have it much better; they're just more visible, so it seems like there are more of them. We all…"are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. " I'm going to take that to heart as I try to make my way back into the world: to button my shirt, smile at what's ahead, and remember that none of us are alone in this life.
