CAN A SAFETY PIN HOLD THE WORLD TOGETHER ? DOUBTFUL, BUT IT’S DESIGNED TO TRY
Reply
Category Archives: To Think About
When your house falls down around your ears, what do you do? If you’re me, you panic!
Our distinctive 123 year old house is crumbling slowly to the ground. Rather into the pit that’s our cellar. We’ve been enamored of old houses and neighborhoods forever. Not for us the cookie cutter multiplicity of suburbs, the monotonous colors and finishes that pinpoint the economic class and lifestyles of their residents. Historic homes are distinctive and wrap us in the story of their times and people.
Why? I know that in our rush to be individuals, my family firmly placed ourselves in a marketing niche. According to market segmentation, we’re odd ones out, choosing to raise our kids in the central city, focused on learning and community rather than status. At the time I learned about marketing classifications, I would have died before accepting any label, but in truth, we were in a group that comprises about 2 to 3 percent of the population.
We loved our quirky old house, built the same year women got the vote in Colorado. Loved its strange angles, its tacked-on back porch, its crumbly cellar. However, the older I’ve gotten, the more tired I’ve become. Or perhaps the enthusiasm for certain challenges has waned. I began longing to move into a new residence, preferably one with no outdoor chores such as shoveling snow and as few indoor chores like scrubbing tile grout as possible.
At this time, the third instance of foundation problems, the current situation with my house simply aggravates my desire. It also has induced a desperation bordering on paranoia. My bed’s directly over the front door, which no longer shuts properly because it’s started leaning about 20 degrees. As I try to fall asleep, I’m dogged by fears the bedroom will plummet an entire story or two when the brick wall fails and we fall down. Uncomfortable conditions in which to relax.
Terror accomplishes nothing. I could pack a bag and rush to a hotel, but repairs will be long-term, and I can’t afford a hotel for the duration. Call my insurance company and beg them to cover costs despite clear exceptions for this type of work. Drone on and on to my friends with my complaints (which I do). As my heartbeat speeds up and my temperature rises, I try to breathe deeply and organize a plan. When this plan approaches six months and sixty-thousand dollars, I panic more.
Hold on. Since nothing seems to alleviate the reaction, I’ve decided certain events, such as hurricanes, war, and the deterioration of foundations are inevitable. Like childbirth labor, no matter how much I may twist and scream, I have to get through them. I can accomplish this foaming at the mouth OR with as much grace as I can muster. This line of thought provides me with a focus and a goal, so I trust I’m at least on a positive path now, not at the mercy of the Fates.
Me and My Stiff-necked Cronies: Is being stubborn an asset or a failing?
I come from a stiff-necked family. That means each of us usually feels we’re right, and we’re obstinate about expressing and sticking to our opinions. One woman has friends discarded over the years who have done her wrong in some way, and she refuses to see, talk, or Facebook them. A man marches into work to confront a disliked boss, even if he knows he may be fired. All of us take positions on political candidates and won’t budge come hell or high water or verifiable proof of wrong-doing, such as fishy business practices or shaky sponsorships.
I’m no different. I currently have a collection of groups with which I’m feuding. They don’t know it, but I am. Several nonprofits whose operations I question will have neither support nor cooperative ventures nor future referrals from me. I even have a relative I’ve written off my Christmas card list and regular phone calls because of his don’t-give-a-damn attitude. I don’t have to be personally acquainted with individuals to make a value judgement and stiffen my neck. If I hear about friends of friends opting to spend their money on expensive trinkets or trips, my teeth start grinding on their own because they’re not sacrificing for a social cause.
This topic came up when several of my siblings and I did a group call, and I afterwards proudly noted that we hadn’t fought. The way I remember childhood, the entire family had been at loggerheads (whatever those are) constantly. One sibling was truly puzzled, having no recollection of rabid quarrels, shouting matches, or verbal tussles. I started wondering about the possible value of stubbornness. Maybe I’d simply been too cowardly in my youth. Loud voices don’t necessarily equal belligerence, and, as the sibling said later, “It’s not necessarily an argument to give a differing view.”
Being stiff-necked, aka stubborn, obstinate, pig-headed, determined, tenacious, mulish, can be an asset. It helps us set goals and meet them, triumph over adversity, dig out new opportunities. But, it also can harm us. We can lose not only an argument but also a friend when we can’t be swayed by facts, emotion, or the truth.
Before analyzing reasons for or against being stiff-necked, consider the impact of the trait on people. What I call stubbornness, you might label strength of convictions. This certainly affects relationships among individuals. You might fail to repair a relationship of benefit to both of you because of your mulishness.
At what point should you surrender your position? Take out the rod running up your backbone and bend? Isn’t peace worth giving in? Isn’t interpersonal harmony of greater value than being right?
Maybe not. In a rush to make peace, nuances may be so subtle, you can’t predict what you might lose until you’ve welcomed an unknown enemy inside the city walls. Countries have found to their eternal regret they’ve achieved accord only to lose their sovereignty. Certainly this danger exists between individuals, too. I placate you, and you bully me.
Then comes the perverseness of a certain type of personality. What you label as obstinacy, another may think is simply intellectual fun. My husband can rabidly argue on one side of a question, then switch positions and equally fervently support the opposite. Is this being stiff-necked? Or as that all-knowing genius, Anonymous, says, “I’m not arguing, I’m simply explaining why I’m right.”
Big girls don’t cry? Yes, they do if they want to get what they require, need, or must have. Go ahead–cry a river.
Years ago when bicycles and buses were my family’s sole transportation, a car collided with me as I rode home. An ambulance was called and I and my bent bike transported to the emergency room. I didn’t have serious injuries, and my vehicle could be repaired; but what lingered in my mind was the reaction of the medical staff to my adversary.
You see, she worked at the hospital in the rape crisis center; and everyone knew her. She was crying at the shock and horror of the accident, and all their sympathy was directed at her, not me, the victim. As I struggled to stiffen my upper lip in stoic fashion, she wept, moaned, and was comforted.
This incident convinced me of what has become a guiding principle in my life. We gain no brownie points, compassion or support by showing self control in an emergency. Instead, we’re better off weeping openly. Frees up other people’s emotions to focus on us, loosens restrictions so they’ll help us, makes us the center of attention.
I try to convey this rule to friends and relations, but they seem to think I’m cracking a joke. No, indeed. It works. I told my sister to cry if she ran into problems transporting our swiftly declining father from back East to his home in the West. After tolerating neglect by airline staff across half the country, including periods of his incontinence and obvious inability to cope on their own, she broke down in tears. From this point on, cabin attendants scurried to help.
A friend told me the same response occurred when her niece misplaced her i.d. just before her flight. Toddler in tow, she cried buckets as she was barred from boarding. Perhaps the thought of dealing with a distraught three-year-old terrified the attendants, but they let the mom in.
Just last week a young relative of mine off to college in a strange city was supposed to make last minute financial arrangements. She waited until the day before the deadline, then tried to function electronically. The bank refused. She’d made too many transfers during the prior month, violating the rules. I told her my principle–Always cry—and asked if she’d tried that. Nope. But she got on the phone, connected with a human rather than a recorded message, and repeated her request, tears quivering in her voice. Sure enough, the bank representative took pity on her and transferred the funds.
I don’t know if the tactic works for men. I have a sneaking suspicion it does IF they make a manly effort to choke tears back. Work a jaw, allow eyes to water, permit a drop or two to escape. Think of Matt Damon in The Martian. This society doesn’t favor men who let buckets fall.
Why does crying work? Humans are wired to feel sympathy for others, given the right circumstances, particularly those who are smaller or weaker. Certainly this isn’t universal. Think of the hundreds, thousands of children beaten or killed each year, or the hordes of mobs in war zones who turn on others. But under certain conditions, crying arouses a protective response. It functions as a signal, especially to those close to us in actual distance or in relationship.
Crying provides other immediate benefits to the crier: releasing tension, flushing certain chemicals from the body, protecting vision, lowering blood pressure. .Certainly it’s a catharsis, an emotional relief. You might say, “He who cries first, laugh last.” So don’t ‘cha feel like crying? Who’s crying now? Next time you need to get your own way, remember crying just may help you achieve your goal. Go ahead, cry me a river.
The incredible traveling tarp no one would take responsibility for and what it says about me, my neighborhood, and all of us
Several weeks ago a large, dusty, well worn tarp flew off a lawn service truck on my street. It lay smack in the middle of the intersection, a not insubstantial puddle of material which drivers swerved around or bumped over.
With my compulsive sense of collective social responsibility, I wanted to run out immediately and haul it away. My altruistic persona, much maligned as “interfering” by my nasty threatening neighbor to the north, warned me against such an action. Really, I hadn’t put it there, it didn’t belong to me, wasn’t on my property. It was pas ma problem, babycakes. I left it, even became adept at blocking it out of my vision and awareness by keeping my head turned at a 45 degree angle.
Next thing I knew, it had crept to my very corner, still some 60 feet from my yard. Butt out, I sternly warned myself in the ringing, commanding tones of Nasty Neighbor. I decided to make my relationship with the tarp a psychological exercise, desirable training in will power. After all, millions ignore litter and trash daily, don’t twinge at emissions from their autos, even relish the unhealthy ungodly junk they force down their gullets, not to mention the weapons with which they attack one another. Surely one innocuous tarp would do no harm in the total scheme of life on the planet.
With pride I can relate I was able to ignore the tarp for two weeks as it grew dirtier and more repellent. Footprints appeared on it. Dogs did their business at the edge. Bits of trash like cigarette butts and scraps of newspaper worked their way under and between the folds. Still no one picked the tarp up.
A side bar about littering and dumping. Many municipalities and states have laws against these activities. Unfortunately, without eye witnesses to the scofflaws, they are virtually unenforceable. I knew there was nowhere to lodge a complaint, no office that would take responsibility.
After about 20 days, I noticed the tarp had disappeared. Hooray! Nope, surveying the corner across the street, sure enough the tarp had migrated again. Now it rested on the curb ramp next to the sidewalk where it interfered with water flowing into the sewer as well as any wheelchair needing access. The situation was getting dangerous! Should I take the incentive and remove the tarp?
Fortunately before I was forced to make a decision, the tarp disappeared. It hasn’t resurfaced for some time, so I guess someone disposed of it or opted to confiscate it. But what does our apathetic attitude say about my neighborhood’ s residents?
There’s lots of talk nowadays about the accountability of government and business to citizens, almost nothing about the reverse—holding citizens or residents accountable for the condition of their institutions. .And yet for centuries it’s been understood that people enter into a social contract in society. We exchange some freedom to do whatever we want in exchange for protection and rights to think and act in accordance with our laws. I’d say the fate of the traveling tarp was my responsibility, as well as other residents, including Nasty Neighbor.
I wonder what impact we’d feel if we bore the responsibility for all our actions, including voting? Say we vote an incompetent idiot into political office and things go badly, could those who didn’t support him or her sue for damages? Or could folks who use inflammatory or abusive language on social media be charged with libel when the actors or singers they malign complain? Or people who incite violence between races or groups be held accountable for the hideous results?
Bonnie McCune, author 