I like my job

One of my clients shared two "a-ha" moments with me today. One of these said moments has made me have my own sort of moment of deep reflection. This is what she said (condensed): She has always felt herself to be a teacher of sorts. With that, at times she can come off a little strong or opinionated (in her opinion). She was reading a book on Buddhist teachings (she herself a Christian) and found a passage about a NY Buddhist monastery and how they integrate new people. What they do is after a new person comes into the monastery, she or he sits in meditation for some period of time and decides whether or not she or he truly wants to be there. Once the person decides that yes, they want to do this, nothing happens. The monks do not come in to start teaching them at any specific point in time. The teachers do not do anything until the students (the newbies) come to ask a question. She was very struck by this concept, that the students get the teaching they need when they ask and in the order they ask. She is struck, and so am I. What it says to her, and also to me, is profound. For her, it means that she can exercise discernment and discretion in sharing information. For her, it means she may do more listening and less talking. She sees that perhaps people are not always ready for whatever information they may seem to be asking for. She also went further, in the way for example the Zen koan works, and saw the benefit in asking questions for more effective teaching. She can ask instead of tell. She, as teacher, can help illicit someone else's a-ha by asking the right questions. For me, I see it much the way she does. It raises the question of what teaching really means and how it is done most effectively. I think immediately of the Socratic method as a prime example. I also see that the line of teacher and student is always flipping itself on itself. I am grateful for opportunities (like this blogspace, for example) to keep reflecting and hopefully learning.

Holidays after 30 AKA just another day off work

With sundown tonight concluding the eight night of Hanukkah, we are dangerously close in putting the 2008 holiday season in the books. In all honesty, I'm not really sure why the expiration of a year is considered a holiday. But, the Western calendar has been established, so there is really no reason to argue that fact.

Tandem the calendar holidays (both Christian and Jewish) with the juxtaposition of the birthdays (both my wife and mine), and you've got one crazy celebration. That's one big cherry on top. Thanks to work (hereafter on my post known as "The Job"), it kept the partying in line, BECAUSE I HAD TO WORK FRIDAY AFTER CHRISTMAS. C'mon, people, really?!?! Ninety percent of the U.S. workforce mailed it in, but I had to be one of a dozen yahoos to stay put in the cube farm?!?! Really?

Deep breath...and I'm over it.

But, even with the days swirling around like the biting north wind, I can't help but notice that something...has...changed.

My liver also enjoyed the holidays, but never got a day off.

I will give the audience one guess as to what has changed. I have to keep with the theme. I have gotten older. And getting older, the holidays aren't what they are cracked up to be. "Let me explain...no, there is no time; let me sum up."

If we are going strictly by the calendar, I have the 23rd and the 25th as the gift-receiving days. The older I get, the more inconsistent the delivery has been. It's like the post office if it was run like...a post office. Not that I am complaining. I'm grateful for any gift I receive, but the scheduling gets more and more out-of-whack the older I get. For example, my birthday gift was delivered and opened the 13th of December. My Christmas gift was opened on the 21st. And my poor gifting delivery habits have precipitated to my lovely wife. Her birthday gift was presented to her on September 13th (how do I remember this; it was during the UT/UTEP game). That's three months before my wife's birthday. I have a feeling that isn't good husband-wife gifting behavior. However, she was all for it...at least, that's what she said...

Argh, I feel like my point is not poignant with that goofy anecdote. My point is, the regimented dates and expectancy of the holidays has been thrown off it's usual schedule. All of the usual discipline and construct of rules have been thrown out the window. Is it because I can do whatever I want because I'm a grown-up? Sure, maybe. But there is something to be said for consistency. For twenty-some-odd-years, I was solid on the two important dates and what was supposed to happen - which was cake and presents. But this year, I am lacking such consistency.

Let's go back to the "because I can" argument: isn't birthdays and Christmases and Hanukkahs and Kwanzaa for the kids anyway?

• We put the old, dusty mythology of Christmas with Santa and Frosty and Rudolph (not an original member of Flight of the Reindeer, anyway) for the sake of the children.
  
• We spin the driedel top and spoil the hell out of the youngsters every time a candle is lit on the menorah.
  
• Sorry, the only Kwanzaa reference I have is from "Futurama" with the Kwanzaa-bot, voiced by none other than Coolio.
  
• Parents bend over backwards for pony rides and moon walks and clowns and minimum-wage-paid actors in superhero suits.
  

You get my point. Maybe this is for the kids? The rules and regulations were for the kids? I could buy that argument.

Not to go all anti-establishment (since I am part of the establishment now), but as someone that doesn't need as much positive reinforcement as "have you been a good boy for Santa this year", maybe is it not so bad to buck the standard convention of "holiday shopping". U.S. capitalism depends so much on consumers buying goofy shit all at the same time of year. And as luck or arrangement would have it, the marketplace pushes this high-pressure consumerism the last month of the year. But wait, doesn't more of the market have to prepare for their annual losses and gains the following month with taxes due? I am not sure of the fiscal year cycle for most of your department and general stores, but that timing sure is awesome.

Okay, I am meandering like Jerry Jones in a Philly luxury box. Point being, getting older made me appreciate how the holidays, as far as the gifts and toys and electronics and big-wheels and plastic swords are concerned, is mostly for the kids. For the older kids, it's just a reminder of the values the season brings should be practiced on a regular, multi-annual (if not daily) basis: peace on Earth, good will to all, baked goods and sweets at every corner of the office, love to and for one another, an appreciation of family and recognition that we are all a part of something greater, whether metaphysical or global.

From here on out, if I send gifts late or early, that's me gaining my new seasonal convention. If I receive gifts late or early, no worries. Just don't surprise me...I hate surprises.

I would like to close out each post with a method I learned from a former colleague of mine. A project is not complete without Lessons Learned. Here are my three things:
1) I am really becoming a fan of Bryan Singer. Damn fine work, sir. Keep it up.
2) If the Cowboys are the "Yankees of the NFL", then who are the Red Sox of the No Fun League?
3) I love freaking out people that I haven't seen since my wedding with the facial fuzz and the hair length. All they ask is "Why?". Why? Because I'm bored, I'm lazy and I want to see if my beard is blond, brown, white or red. Oh, the suspense!

Okay, sleep becomes me. Next post will be sometime early next year.

Talk later.

I guess I can no longer be trusted

Well, happy friggin' birthday to me.

Yeah, that's me. Glad that cone-shaped head leveled out.

I think it was Patton Oswalt that once said that only the milestone years should be celebrated. So, every year to ten years, then 16, 18, 21, 25 (because your insurance drops), then you should just celebrate the years ending in zero.

Jackpot!

Nothing says first year birthday than bunny cake. Hell yes, bunny cake.

Throughout the years, I have figured that people are lumped into two camps: people that don’t care about age because it’s just a number or, people like me, that stay up until the minute I was born – oh, no, we are counting every single second of this.

Yes, I just dated myself with a Polaroid picture on a birthday picture.

And why am I such a bastard with time and age? I blame the media. News cycles last about a day unless it is a really, really, really painfully scandalous story. Thank you, Illinois state politics. Accentuate that with the first year of my marriage, and every day is being counted (but not in a bad way!). This is coming from the guy that has been counting weeks of marriage within the first year. Multiply that with a very short attention span, and every day is counted by minutes.

Why tick away all the dirty minutes on a blog? Honestly, I should have been doing these posts years ago. If I wrote down every cataclysmic event to prevent anyone else from committing my same mistake, life could be a bit easier for the audience involved. For instance, until we see some viable representation from a third party candidate in an election, there is really absolutely no need to vote for Ralph Nader. See, I just helped someone in 2012. Consider this the Lessons Learned for all that read and all that will read.

However, the only way I think there would be any gravitas to my meanderings would be if I had some experience under my belt. And since I am not a Dungeons and Dragons character, the only way I can do this is in years. So, I might as well pile on to the a little more trash to the “garbage dumps outside of Bombay.” Thank you, the late Dr. Weizenbaum.

I will give this a shot for the next decade. My contributors and I will do our best to entertain, educate and irritate what used to be a respectable age benchmark. We will be all over the board on the subject matter, so bear with us. One week, we may be talking about children, the following week we may be sounding like children. But this can be our cathartic connection for us getting through another week with the guise as responsible individuals. It may not be cogent or coherent. But at least we have one standard: everyone is over thirty…years old.

My only mental image of thirty was established by my parents – two kids as opposed to two dogs. That is definitely not the current reality I am experiencing as a freshly-minted old dude. Maybe this will change the minds of old and young alike that thirty (might be) just a number. The fundamental difference is that the experience is vastly different and the journey has had varying paths.

The social project begins with hopefully more conversation and conjecture than some moody twenty-something at a cocktail party. Greetings, and thanks for wasting time with us.

To pull a horrible quote from an instant classic, “And here…we…go.”