Love…thy will be done

There’s a beautiful fullish moon in the sky, just in time for the winter solstice. The snow we were promised a while back never came, but there’s still a chance we’ll get a white Christmas; maybe just an inch, a few centimeters of snow, but a crisp and clean backdrop all the same.

How do you intend to spend the next two weeks, dearest denizens? On the road? In a onesie? Omicron is threatening to gatecrash every home, workplace, and community, and governments, city fathers, mothers, and second cousins will have no choice but to reinstate restrictions and lockdowns in the hopes of buying time and saving lives. It’s the ghost of Christmas past in a new robe.

How much more? How much longer? How are we supposed to cope? I wish I knew, sweetie darlings. All I know is we can’t give in to the anger and frustration so many of us are feeling, and for valid, perfectly understandable and human reasons. One of the side effects of Covid seems to be the erosion of manners. And I know it’s always something, always has been. O tempora! O mores! Rock ‘n’ roll corrupted the boomers, television ruined my generation, and social media is messing with the next, all who dare participate, really. That’s the narrative. But it’s not without a kernel of truth.

A certain amount of entitlement seems to go hand in hand with the equality social media and comparable platforms provide, and where there’s entitlement there’s always the drive to have the last word, and where there’s a drive to have the last word there’s the temptation to view others as not so equal anymore but as inferior should they not listen and agree, and that temptation breeds another, the need to ridicule, hurt and humiliate. Is that the loop so many seem to be caught in at the moment, screaming at strangers, quarreling with acquaintances, severing ties and burning bridges?

I know I have felt anger and frustration, oh so many times, over the past twenty-two months. It’s a valid, perfectly understandable and human reaction. You’d have to be Jesus himself to put up with what life keeps throwing at you and never for a fleeting second think that fuck this shit, I’m done. Done with people; what a bunch of unthinking and unfeeling morons.

Never met Jesus, not sure I ever will, but I hear he hated on no one, at most reprimanded hypocrites and greedy bastards. We have no problem hating on people we don’t know and will never meet. Since it’s Christmas (even if you don’t observe it) why not do as Jesus did and try to love (or at the very least listen to and try to understand) people you don’t know and will never meet. It’s a tad harder than dismissing and despising them when you don’t see eye to eye, but we have so many issues to deal with, so many problems to solve, and it would make everything go faster and that much smoother if we did it together. I know it’s a lot to ask, I know I fail at it all the time, but I’m trying. Give it a try with me? It’s almost Christmas, and on Christmas you get to make a wish, and this is mine.

Nolite te bastardes carborundorum

Temperature: -2/28.5 degrees with snow on the way.

Drinking: some belated wedding anniversary Pommery later on.

Eating: a test version of this year’s bûche de Noël, my son’s Christmas bravura. It’s a yes from me.

Watching: the posturing and grandstanding of budding and actual autocrats.

Listening: to their BS.

Reading: suggestions! Catherine Belton, Ruth Ben-Ghiat, Luke Harding, Anne Applebaum, Masha Gessen, and anyone else who dares speak truth to power, such as this year’s Nobel Peace Prize laureates. Maria Ressa and Dmitry Andreyevich Muratov were awarded “for their efforts to safeguard freedom of expression, which is a precondition for democracy and lasting peace.” There are some 35 working democracies in this world, and north of 140 countries we can label deficient democracies, hybrid regimes or moderate to hard autocracies. Democracy and social peace may be the ideal but they are not the norm; they are under attack and in decline due to populists, demagogues, despots and oligarchs eager to divide and conquer. Each and every one of us plays a part in enabling their rise or expediting their fall. How we vote, how we speak and write, how we shop and handle our finances, how we treat and regard our fellow humans. Our actions and words matter. Our silence and indifference have an even bigger impact.

Writing: season’s greetings.

Thinking: all the posturing and grandstanding, all the BS, makes the lot of you look like dicks, only smaller.

Feeling: Up and at ‘em, sweetie darlings, tyranny isn’t going to fight itself.

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams

Nature arms each person with some faculty which enables them to do easily some feat impossible to any other. 

~Ralph Waldo Emerson 

Joyful International Day of Happiness, dearest denizens. I hope you find your bliss. 💙

Ikigai

Good trouble

Dita can’t come to the blog right now, Fridays For Future has called for a global day of climate action and I’m helping my sons with something. Yes, they’re being very responsible and mature about things, much more responsible and mature than some adults who should know and behave better have been this week (happy 75th, UN!).

Somewhere over the rainbow

How goes it, sweetie darlings? Are you all right? Seems as if crisis upon crisis is being heaped upon us, doesn’t it, and you don’t know which way is up because everything is going down the drain through a gigantic garburator, and what comes out the other end is anyone’s guess.

WTF is going on, right? Well, first came the autotrophs…stuff happens…more stuff happens…humans come along…steady string of shit happens…and here we are, two billion years later, living in the Anthropocene, a youngish manifestation of life on earth, debating intrinsic values and negotiating inalienable rights like the savannah (or aquatic?) apes we are, fresh off the evolutionary boat.

But enough with the mangled metaphors. WTF, right? Yet…it’s not as if anything new is going on; maybe it’s just new to some of us. It’s not as if we haven’t been warned; the existence and consequences of crises such as climate collapse or inequality have been studied, established and documented, repeatedly. It’s not as if we have the right to be indignant or surprised; there’s just never a good time for a crisis. Do you have empty slots in your calendar? You might have, but you won’t be filling them with crises, are you? Of course not. There are a thousand and one things you would rather be doing. And I’m not berating you, being cheeky, snarky, or *gasp* a cynic. Of course not! We are, after all, an optimistic race. Positive and forward-looking. Shit happens, life goes on. People die, but life goes on. Of course it does; but we seem to be, as humans always believe they are, in a unique crossroads, a time of great change and big decisions, living in life-threatening and upending conditions. Of course we are. This is, after all, the only time and place we know, we haven’t lived in another. And we have to live and learn all on our own. Past mistakes are past, we have to make our own. Past teachings are past, we have to learn those lessons on our own.

But…there’s just no time for that, or a tug-of-war. Every day wasted bickering is a day wasted. We have the facts, the numbers, the data. But when those facts have no bearing on you, it’s easy to skate over them. When that data means upheaval, loss of revenue, loss of privilege, there will be denial and dismissal from those who profit from the status quo. Can there really be as much poverty and inequality as advertised? You’ve never been poor/discriminated against and don’t know anyone who has been. Is the climate in crisis? The weather seems fine! But just like the weather is what you see out the window and the climate covers the entire planet, my experience of the world is mine, and your experience is yours. We’ll never know what it’s like to be someone else. We’ll never live in someone else’s skin, walk in their shoes. But we can imagine. I’m not at all surprised so many women are taking part in the BLM protests. Many or most of us know what it’s like to be dismissed or discriminated against, so damn straight we empathize.

I think that’s what the world desperately needs and has always needed: empathy, imagination. Without them, you don’t and won’t see the world through anyone else’s eyes but yours. Without them, you don’t and won’t see the consequences of your actions. Facts and numbers and data are absolutely essential when you’re trying to win an argument, but to win a heart you need stories. Books, plays, movies, music, fine art are all fine vehicles, but real people, real lives, real experiences are better; you can’t dismiss them as figments of someone’s imagination.

Let’s listen to one another and speak our truths and tell the world what it feels like to be human in this time and place we occupy together. It’s not a competition but there is a prize: more compassion and cooperation, more empathy and unity; a positive change; a more inclusive world. The suffrage and abolitionist movements succeeded. The LGBTQ+ community is fighting for and winning recognition and rights. The “natural order” of things isn’t natural at all, it’s man-made. So is the climate crisis, gender, racial, regional and economic inequality; they are connected and they intersect. Let’s wise up. Let’s take responsibility and let’s take action. Let’s challenge leaders, companies and governments who won’t. Let’s not vote for or put up with Teflon suits, the Bolsonaros, Johnsons, Morrisons and Trumps of this world. (If it talks like a misogynistic bigot and bully, looks tailored to corporate needs, and seems to both shirk responsibility and avoid accountability, trust your gut instinct and first impression, it is, it does, and will keep doing.)

And let’s challenge ourselves. You are the leading expert on being you. Listen to other experts on life on earth. Read, discuss, think, think again. Admit that you have cognitive biases and distortions. We all do. We are encouraged to brand ourselves, and with all the talk around identity, you can’t help but think that maybe you should get one. Before you know it, your thinking becomes entrenched and every person, idea or circumstance that doesn’t fit doesn’t count. Don’t let that happen to you, dearest denizen. Fight it. With all your might. You are the one and only you just the way you are. Respect and celebrate that by respecting and celebrating the uniqueness and full humanity of others. And be prepared to change. Change course, change your thinking, change your ways, change your mind. We are, after all, a hopeful race. Cooperative and creative.

If you’re tired of being a consumer, a commodity, a resource, become an agent. If you’re tired of witnessing the degradation of your fellow humans and our habitat, become an agent. An agent for change; an agent for good; an agent for a more equal, livable world. If you feel as if there is no reason to get out of bed in the morning, dearest denizen, sweetie darling, my friend from afar…you have found your purpose.

Cool heads, warm hearts

The year is drawing to an end and we’re all exhausted and perhaps a bit fed up and even disgusted with how the world is shaping up. What is a girl/boy/your (pro)noun to do? Laugh? Cry? Drink? Sink? All tried and true coping mechanisms. That don’t change a thing or make you feel better in the long run. So what do we do, dearest denizens? We pledge ourselves to truth, justice and equality. We say no to despair and roads to nowhere and yes to solutions and ways forward. But where do you find such things? How do you get your hands on a roadmap like that; whatever it is you search and yearn for in this life?

Is it a case of not knowing enough about X that makes you jittery and uncomfortable? Do you find making decisions difficult if not impossible? Do you feel helpless, maybe even vulnerable, and not in a sensitive open to the world kind of way but in a sensitive open to exploitation sort of way?

My solution, or a solution: Read, dearest denizens. Voraciously. A snippet here, a chapter there. Broaden your mind, your horizons, without ever having to leave the comfort of your…wherever you prefer to read. Read about what fascinates you. Read about what baffles you. Read about what scares you. Read to discern fact-based information from biased BS. Read to know what others think on important matters and matters important to you. Read to understand how you are being steered. Ignorance is not a badge of honor, a clean slate, proof of innocence. It’s you being susceptible to disinformation, misleading and abuse. It’s you flailing in the wind, grabbing whatever extended arm seems sturdiest. It’s a choice you don’t make but one made for you and sold to you as your deepest wishes come true/greatest fears dissolved. Don’t fall for that, any of it. A little skepticism, a little self-preservation, goes a long way. Using your knowledge, putting knowledge into action, can change your life and the world.

For better or worse, now that’s another matter. Because knowledge is power. So arm yourself. There are, of course, numerous booby traps along the way. Everything from apophenia thru negativity bias to whataboutism. An alphabet soup to cloud your vision and judgment; we’re all susceptible to some degree because we’re human. But there’s an antidote for that, and I don’t mean a cure for being human. I mean the dangers of biases and propaganda techniques. And yes, it’s reading on them. Get to know the world and how it works. Get to know yourself and how your mind works. If you don’t know about the past/the world/yourself, how are you supposed to understand and navigate the future?

But…but…no one knows what’s going to happen in the next five minutes, let alone five years! Bingo, baby. That’s why it pays to be prepared. As prepared as one can be. [And there are leaders and governments out there not all that concerned with educating citizens properly, specially girls. Literacy is the key to agency. An illiterate person busy surviving is not likely to stir up trouble, not by oneself, or demand that their rights be recognized and respected.]

Of course, you can choose to go with the flow, to react when need be. But that usually means resorting to old tricks and solutions, treading water, hoping for the best…posting before thinking, screaming over others, general aggression and confusion that serves those who benefit from general aggression and confusion. (Hint: and I hope you already practice this, consistently: as the saying goes, every thought spoken out loud should clear three gates: is this true, is this kind, is this necessary? I'm still learning.) Your mind can be the worst sort of minefield, one you may end up navigating with a false self-image and deeply ingrained misconceptions as your compass. The world and everyone you encounter affects you; how they treat you, how they speak to you, whether they ignore you or acknowledge you. We spin a tale about who we are, and just like so much of information these days, it’s not always based on facts.
 
A snippet here and a chapter there amounts to tens of thousands of pages each year, and don’t tell me you don’t have time. Put the phone down, maybe? (Unless it’s your reading medium of choice, of course.) Books are sacred. They’re magic carpets. Time machines. Empathy builders. I’ve watched in horror as people mariekondo their libraries into extinction. And, sure, not all books merit another read and certain types of info need to be updated from time to time, but once a coronal mass ejection shuts down cyberspace, libraries and bookstores will become our temples. And those with know-how will show how.

For all the sound and fury, I still believe that most of us only want what’s good for all of us. So when you feel exasperated with the world, consider this: Most people are kind, decent and altruistic. Not saints but fellow humans trying to do more good than harm. They don’t shout about it, they don’t make a big production of it, they don’t do it for attention or accolades. And they sure as hell don’t do it for money. They just want to get on with their lives, this one round we’re given, and since they don’t know how long their round will be, they try to make the most of it, hoping to leave a meaningful mark instead of a stinking stain. This benevolent streak of ours, that’s what we should focus on. Isn’t that the meaning of life? According to Monty Python it is.

Try to be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every now and then, get some walking in, and try and live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations.

That’s my Christmas wish, sweetie darlings. For you and me and all of humanity.

P.S. Remember that eye-watering pain in my hip I once mentioned? I have a diagnosis and of course it’s bad news. Nothing I did, something I inherited. Can’t be cured, only controlled. All I can do is keep taking good care of myself. I will be in pain from time to time. I can live with that. So long as my feet carry me, my brain functions, and I wake up not dead, I’ll be fine. I’ll take my cues from a great-aunt in her late nineties. If you ask, she’ll tell you how she’s doing. But you won’t hear her complaining. C’est la vie, baby. And c'est de la merde. And this is the first, worst and last on this subject.

Human league

We celebrated Europe Day on Thursday. What do you mean you didn’t? What do you mean there’s nothing to celebrate?! I thought we agreed we’re neither cynics nor quitters, dearest denizens, hmm? Desperate times call for decisive measures. Desperate times are the perfect time to commit to core values. What do you mean you have trouble remembering what those are? Ah, I think I know what you’re thinking…

Money, numbers, trade cycles, corporate jargon…they permeate everything. The only value acknowledged seems to be market value. More and more you feel not like a citizen but a consumer, a customer. Well, sweetie darlings, if that’s the lingua franca of the world, let’s be really, terrifyingly demanding customers, locally, nationally, internationally. Our money, our choice. Demand to know where the money goes, when, why, what is done with it and who benefits from it. Cui bono? Who stands to gain? (And that is the question. And I don’t mean in a what’s-in-it-for-me kind of way; the treasury is not your piggy bank, it’s ours. I mean it in a do-decisions-benefit-the-99%-or-the-1% kind of way? Are we talking common good or private profit?) Demand transparency and accountability. Your money, your right.

Where people go politicians and policies ought to follow. Don’t sit out elections; local, national, EU level. Ever. Vote. Don’t lament the state of policy or politics or politicians, vote. Vote. Engage. Participate. Challenge. We put our representatives in place and we have the power to put them out of their jobs if they’re not doing theirs. Simple as that. Unless you live in Turkey, for instance, where the ruling party did not get the result they wanted in Istanbul so let’s have another round and see if we can’t get a result more to our liking. Now there’s a country sliding so fast under authoritarian rule they’ve stopped being subtle or sneaky about it. If they ever were, in hindsight. And speaking of hindsight, here’s a common reasoning error:

If the present state of things seems bad, things must have been so much better in the past. So the logical move is to turn back the clock at all costs, disregarding the fact that things weren’t that grand in the past and that the present is a vast improvement. Pining for a uniform culture is the greatest lie of all. But that’s what the rising tide of nationalism and nativism panders: a return to an imaginary past of imaginary glory inhabited by supposedly happy citizens living in a peaceful and prosperous homeland. Where everything and everyone is in agreement. Or else. Which sounds kind of like North Korea. And no one wants to live in North Korea. Not even North Koreans.

It’s an incremental process, stripping us of our rights and liberties, a chance to have our say, to dissent. It’s a local decision here and a legal precedent there. One move might not be alarming but string them and you start to see a pattern. Reason fights against reading too much into things, venturing into conspiracy territory, people tend to see patterns where none exist, and I mean they wouldn’t, would they? But they have. All over the world, time and time again. They most certainly would and could even in our neck of the woods, given a chance. How many rights and liberties can you surrender before you live in a totalitarian state? Better not let things go that far because the day you get your answer it will be too late.

And what is this grudge with government people seem to have? Is it a case of not understanding what the government or the EU is and what it does and what purpose it serves? A government works for the people and the common good. Your government works for you. The EU works for EU citizens. We, the people, make up that union. Its home is not in Brussels or Strasbourg but in every household in the Union. We are all part of it. We all have a part to play and we all have a say in how things are managed. And if you feel they’re being mismanaged then speak up, and vote. United we stand, divided we fall. It’s up to Europeans to make the stars on the European flag align, for our sake. And what is this beef with socialism the Trumps of this world have? That’s like saying this government will never work for all its citizens but…yeah, who does it work for then? 

[And dearest Americans, please try to distill the signals from the noise. You have an administration taking data and services designed to serve you all, paid for with your tax dollars, being suppressed and monetized by freeloading companies selling that same data and the very same services back to you for a profit. Oh, you don’t have to take my word for it. Ask the Department of Energy or Commerce what’s going on.]

The problems our home planet faces observe no borders. They climb walls, they swim channels, they cross oceans, they are airborne. They are our problems. Not something for someone else to take care of but ours. Nothing will get fixed if we start hiding behind walls, across channels and oceans thinking nothing can touch us now. Start thinking that and you’ll have another think coming. We need multilateral treaties and agreements, fact-based decision making, and cultural sensitivity. We need reminders of what we can achieve working together and what we stand to lose if we choose isolation and imperialism. 

What we really don’t need is a nostalgia trip into our not so distant and very violent past when our raison d’être was to go against one another. Just look at our track record. Those were some pretty shitty times. Because our worst instincts always lead us astray. They lead to bullying, blaming the victim, playing the victim, hatred, cruelty, and war. It never ends well. It always ends in death, devastation and centuries-long grudges. Humans at their worst. There’s no pride, glory or victory in being a human devoid of humanity, homo idioticus instead of sapiens. But it’s easy, isn’t it? It’s easier reacting, being angry, petty and vindictive than prudent, benevolent and respectful. The latter require an effort, a commitment, focus. But without that effort, commitment and focus, without a warm heart and a cool head, we are just homo idioticus about to get ours.

We are one another’s safety net, sweetie darlings. We are family, and like all families we have our disagreements and our screaming matches, our conflicting views and values, our frustrations and limitations. But when the chips are down, we ought to pull together to help one another. Because that’s what families do. That’s what friends do. That’s what humans do best.

Oh, you socialist…idealist…dingbat. Aww, thank you! There’s more where this came from. It was so good talking to you, human to human. Now let’s get back to work. Yours. Mine. Ours.

Hindsight 2020

Temperature: a windy but sunny 5/41 degrees

Eating: in a minute

Drinking: Can't. Working. Maybe later? A Guinness to ring in the weekend? Hadn’t had one in ages, then had one on St. Patrick’s, and goodness is was gooood.

Watching: my TBR lists grow at an alarming pace. (The problem? A) I read in more than one language, B) I only have one brain, and C) 24 hours a day to spare.) This isn’t working. I need a year off. A year to go off and read.

Listening: to new music from Dido

Reading: As fast as I can. But it’s an epidemic! A cornucopia of fantastic fiction and non-fiction sprouting all over the planet. Could you please give me some time to catch up? Sit on it for a bit? Postpone publication, maybe? I might not get to you if you don’t, you know, and I know you want to be read. This isn’t working. Not for me, and not in your favor.

Thinking: Why don’t we all take 2020 off to read and reflect, and start 2021 in a new and improved state of mind. No? Why not? Because the world doesn’t stop for anyone? Who said anything about stopping?! Your brain doesn’t stop until it shuts down for good. And we have months to plan this, so what’s the problem?

Feeling: I may have gone overboard with the exclamation marks. Totally exceeded my quota for 2019, actually. Like three posts ago. Sorry about that. Can’t promise it won’t happen again.

Let’s get physi(ologi)cal

Just when you thought that now that Dry January is over, you’re safe…tum tum tum tum tum tum tum tum…that’s supposed to be Jaws, btw…Fit February is here! I know. And no, I’m not here to go all fitness fascist on your ass, whatever shape and size yours happens to be. I would, however, like to mention some seldom advertised truths.

Humans have an on average amount of fat cells. On average. Meaning some people have two or three times the amount of fat cells his/her average-amount friend has and are apt to gain two or three times the amount of weight her/his average-amount friend ever could or would. You can choose what and how much you eat, but you can’t choose those cells any more than you can choose your genes. Hundreds of genes affect weight and among that multitude lurk some that predispose you to gain extra. (And yup, those tend to run in the family.)

So, some people can eat seemingly anything they want and not gain weight, and some feel they can’t eat a thing without automatically putting it on. That’s a simplified picture but more or less how the process works. Weight is not just a matter of dietary habits or self-discipline, as some unhealthy health messaging would have you believe. It’s physiology at its finest, and most infuriating. So much in the human body we can’t control or change. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t react if you start putting on excess kilos/pounds bordering on obesity, it just means that losing those kilos/pounds may turn out to be a lot harder than you thought. Bodies equipped with certain genes, triggers and extra storage facilities will do their best to keep those extra fat cells fed. That’s the job.

Another tidbit: Your gut doesn’t count calories. All an adult stomach requires to feel sated is 400 grams/14 ounces of food. How many calories you pack into those grams/ounces is up to you. And if you’ve heard someone call the gut our second brain, well, consider, for instance, that there are bacteria in your gut that specialize in sugar. That’s what they crave above all else. They create that craving you feel. That’s your second brain in action, insta messaging you, screaming for sugar, and the more you feed that need the greedier the bacteria get. That’s their job.

And where am I going with all this? Gently nudging you on a path to self-knowledge. If knowledge is power, self-knowledge is a superpower. I don’t view ignorance as bliss, I feel helpless and restless in the face of things I don’t understand. I feel calmer when I grasp cause and effect, even if it’s something I can’t change or control. And this need to understand applies to pretty much everything including weight and health. Or willpower, or self-control. Innate trait or skill, willpower? Not sure it matters so long as we decide to view it and treat it as something we can cultivate. And if you want to be better at handling your body’s messages you should take an interest because we are bombarded with those messages all day, every day.

The trick, or a trick (they teach you this in combat training, probably Weight Watchers too) is not to listen. Disregard. Discomfort? Live with it. Pain? Breathe through it. Exhaustion? More to come, so enjoy every plateau. Easier said than done? Easier for those with higher levels of neuropeptide Y. Easier/harder because of the complexity of our makeup. Nature, nurture, genes, triggers, chance, circumstance… As those fat cells demonstrate, we were not created equal, not in the physical sense. But: we are all capable of learning self-command. If you haven’t been that good at it, it will be taxing at first. You will feel fricking exhausted going head-to-head with yourself. But mastery, even a fleeting glimpse of it, comes with a prize, and that, sweetie darlings, makes it all worthwhile.

[Oh great, another bunghole selling the you-can’t-control-everything-but-you-can-always-control-you trope? Nope. Just trying to demonstrate the difference between being at the mercy of inexplicable inner whims and cravings/the will of others and understanding inner workings/how the world operates. Nah, still kind of sure I’m selling the you-can’t-control-everything-but-you-can-always-control-you trope? Good god, what are you still doing here? Move along, my friend! And if it’s diet tips you’re after, I only have one: Does this nourish me? Does this whatever I’m about to put in my mouth nourish my body? We tend to know the answer, whatever the product or produce.]

How do you start on this road to better self-command? I suggest small and simple. A part of the whole disregard business is not thinking too much. Don’t feel like cleaning house? Don’t debate it. Don’t cajole, don’t bargain or bribe. Don’t ask yourself if you’re up to it. You know you don’t wanna. So best not think too much or too long about it. Put on the autopilot (and some music, if it helps) and get on with it. Or when you constantly crave sweets, or a drink after work, or whatever your taken-too-far-an-unhealthy-guilty-pleasure is. That’s your body sending a message you can either listen to or disregard. Take it from someone whose favorite pastime is thinking, someone cursed with a vivid mind. I’m very good at coming up with reasons (read: excuses) for not doing things like cleaning house because I have better things to do with my time, all the time, every time. So, I’m not allowed to argue or debate or reason. I don’t wanna too fricking bad I’ve gotta. End of inner discussion.

You get better with practice, I promise. How to keep going? You can always roleplay. You can hire your very own imaginary taskmaster. Some BDSM may be in order, a Dom/Mistress, your loving authority, who never judges and only wants what is best for you, and will remind you what that is when you start slipping. I summon a drill sergeant, a mean and bossy bastard. I also have another personal trainer for times and situations when that mean, bossy DSgt of mine feels a bit too…heavy-handed. Stupid tricks, you say? Smart tools, I say. Also, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, okay? Whatever helps. Whatever gets the job done, be it a physical or mental task.

And it is a stressful world we live in. Same as it ever was. You will feel overwhelmed and tired. You will fear failure. You’ll be certain you’re underperforming in everything you do. You will make stupid, senseless comparisons when you should be concentrating on yourself. Take care. Take care of yourself. Learn to know yourself, the good and the bad and the ugly. The saint and the sinner. Your triggers and buttons. The true you. You will live in that skin for the rest of your days. You will have to live with yourself, your choices, decisions and possibly even regrets, for just as long. There is no escape and there are no clean slates, only doodles upon doodles upon doodles, layered and interconnected. That’s you. The one and only. So have patience, have mercy, and when you absofuckinglutely need it, have that glass of wine or whatever. I will be there with bells on, disregard the taskmaster leaning on the doorbell, and we will drink to your health and happiness.

Dear fellow human

Haste makes waste

There's a professional classical musician in the family. Someone who has devoted his whole life to studying music and made a career of performing it to us poor folk who enjoy his art but never learned an instrument beyond dabbling. He learned and he plays it and oh how he plays it. Preludes, symphonies and everything in between. No score is too hard, no conductor too demanding.

What sounds so lovely and looks so effortless is the result of decades of hard work and single-minded dedication, endless hours of practice and repetition. And passion, the love of music, the hunger to learn more.

Education takes time. Devoting yourself to a craft means devoting time to learning that craft. The young hopefuls of today don't seem to have time, our house musician said. Ideas and eagerness, sure, maybe even passion, but time, no. They watch talent shows and follow popular YouTubers and what not and think anybody can do it, overnight, just like that.

You don't achieve richness of sound, excellence of execution and maturity of expression overnight, just like that. Those take years of hard work. Sometimes that hard work comes to nothing. You don't get into the best orchestras, you don't become a professional at all. But if you don't dedicate time and yourself to it, you never will.

When I'm 84

Mercifully free of the pressures of youth, I'm gonna grow up, settle down and leave childish pursuits behind. On second thought, no.

I'm gonna start smoking cigars. Not like every day but every once in a while, those big fat juicy ones that last all afternoon. I'm gonna sit outside in a comfy chair, a book in one hand, that cigar in the other, puffing the day away.

I'm gonna eat candy. Like every day. Not many I really like but the ones I like I really really like so that's what I'm having.

I'm gonna have some port every night before bed. Or every morning before I get out of bed. I'm gonna have a glass of whatever the hell I want whenever the hell I want it.

I'm gonna try out a hallucinogen. Gotta know before I go what all the fuss is about.

I'm gonna have a this-is-what-it's-all-about heart-to-heart with my grandkids, if I have any. I assume that by the age of 84, I'll have some wisdom to dispense. And the wisdom to discern if I don't.

I'm gonna make sure I live where I've been happiest. I think I already know where that is. You're welcome to visit 'cause I ain't budging, I'mma soaking in bliss till the end.

I'm giving away but the bare essentials so there's no fuss and no fighting over what's to be done about them. Can't take 'em with me, can't put a price on what's priceless, and the most precious things sure as heck don't fit in a box.

I'm gonna take a daily walk around the neighborhood, or block, or garden, holding Hubby's hand. Or maybe we'll just sit outside, side by side, talking or just watching the bugs, birds and bees, the wind in the trees, and maybe we won't see them or hear them as well as we used to but at least we'll be together.

I'm gonna die on my birthday, but I'd rather not do it when I'm 84. Let's make that 104. Nice, round, coming full circle ring to it, don't you think, dying on the day you were born, in the middle of a great book/good meal/interesting conversation, nothing left unsaid, nothing left undone. Well, except that book/meal/convo. Being dead, I doubt I'll mind all that much.

Eleison

Happy New Year, dearest denizens! Everyone accounted for? Are you glad or sad to see the holiday season go? How was yours anyway?

Mine tasted of dates, gingerbread and smoked salmon, of figs, butter fudge and port, of glögg, ham and wine. It smelled of pine needles and hyacinths, of burning wood and endless rain, meaning it looked quite bleak outside but chummy and yummy indoors. The soundtrack was a cacophonic symphony of languages and laughter, of playful slash bickering kids, of carols and classics and rock and pop. And it felt like a change of pace with a pinch of bittersweetness for all the loved ones I couldn't talk to or touch, only think about this holiday season.

Many look back, take stock and plan ahead around New Year's, make promises, make demands. This year I'll do more, be more. Reach higher, go faster, be stronger. Nothing wrong with that, I guess, if it really keeps you going where you're headed, if it actually helps. I see no shame in taking the long and winding road, though, as long as you don't stop. Be as kaizen as you dare, just please don't be too hard on yourself.

Maybe this year you'll speak a little softer, be a little kinder, more forgiving and merciful. Yes, especially to yourself. In this world that so greatly values independence, moxie and self-reliance, I wish everyone would find the strength to admit to themselves and say it to others that "I need you." Those seem to be the hardest words. Not I'm sorry or Thank you or even I love you but I need you.

OK. Up and at it, sweetie darlings. We have all year to get this right. Let's not waste a single day.

Now, voyager

Warning: Verbal incontinence ahead. 

(Come on, I've been so thrifty with words these past six months surely I'm allowed some now. And I've tried to write a post, several times, these past few weeks but what came out was a heap of all important nothings, and as important a part of convivial civilized interaction as they are, if the world were as civilized as it makes itself out to be, you and me and that guy over there should be able to speak freely without feeling fear, trepidation or threatened. So I thought, why not?)

Where on earth have I been, doing what exactly, leaving all (seven and that drive-by Serbian) of you wondering WTF? What the hell am I thinking?

Let's see.

I'm thinking anything worth doing is worth doing well and that I'm not as masterful a multitasker as I thought I was (imagine my surprise) so now that there's something else I need to do and somewhere else I need to be, I thought that's what I need to do and that's where I need to be then.

I'm also thinking about moving, or Hubby and I are, contemplating relocating quite far from where we are perched on top of the world. Only a thought at this point. Small but with immense potential for growth. Not even close to making a decision but we're considering options, thinking ahead. We told the kids we're playing with the thought and none said no outright, they just started asking questions. Where would we live and what's it like out there? What about school? The language?

They've traveled. They know this isn't all there is to the world. I've lived the life from a younger age than they are now. I know the pros and cons, believe me, and my kids know my history, where I've been and what it meant to me, what it gave me and what it took away. Mind you, it gave more than it took, by a wide margin, but I'll admit there was a time I resented the hell out of my parents for leaving Brazil. (The choice wasn't entirely theirs but I was a navel-gazing preteen who knew, who just knew they were doing it to run and ruin my life.) I got over it. Most of it. I think. Any day now.

But we're talking an absence of 5 to 10 years here. And in five to say nothing of ten years from now the place you now call home will have changed. Sometimes there's no going back. It happens. I grant you it's much easier to keep up with what's going on in any given country than it was in my youth. But there'll be moments when you realize you speak the language and still have no idea what people are talking about.

It's often some trivial mundane thing that betrays you but those prosaic touches reveal you for what you sometimes feel you are: a stranger in a strange land. Am I just faking it? Can they tell the difference? Like a spy hoping not to be made. I've found it's best not to hide those feelings or insecurities. Admit you don't know, don't apologize for all that you do know, alternative ways of thinking and handling matters and viewing the world.

This whole thing...not my idea or initiative. Hubby's. Related to his line of work and oh God don't be one of those stand-by-your-man women hauling ass and playing house so he can have a career and a family. Way ahead of you and the game, sweetie darlings. What I do I can do pretty much anywhere. The tropic, the arctic, sand, snow, home or away, I've got it covered.

Speaking of which, work is going well. Feeling genuinely accomplished and useful and I've found I need that. I need to be of service. Moving would mean another culture to study, another language to learn. Always a plus in my line of work. What is it that I do, again? What I love best, work with words and languages. On most days it's...I wouldn't use the word fun but certainly challenging and rewarding. On some it's a fight against cynicism, I kid you not. What's-the-matter-with-you-For-the-love-of-all-that-is holy-open-your-eyes-Enough-with-the-pettiness-and-provincialism-Let's-get-things-done-already-All-I'm-hearing-is-me-me-me. Days when you think that maybe you'd be better off on some desert island surviving on fish, mangos, avocados and coconut water, away from it all with books and pen and paper because the world is bat-shit crazy and beyond redemption or repair.

But then you remember that your family has other plans and that you'd miss your friends, partnered sex, boozy leisure, audiovisual entertainment and a regular change of scenery and that you really tire yourself out sometimes with your navel-gazing me-me-me so...no...and while you sometimes fantasize about a world of enlightened despotism with yours truly madly deeply in charge so we'd get things done already, it's not in the cards, is it, so now what? Go back to the task at hand and soldier on.

Isn't that precious, you say. It is. Invaluable, I say. Don't lose your head and don't waste your talents. There are people out there willing to pay good money for what you can do. And the writing? I haven't seen the forest from the trees. I don't have to strive to write for a living, I already do. Wonderful stuff, interesting stuff, meaningful stuff, just these past few months. Hiding in plain sight, really. If you knew where to look you'd find me, a woman who looks a lot like the lady in that pic ("What do you mean by a lot? That's not what you look like?" God, no. I don't usually bother with a straightener.), maybe even recognize my voice. If that happens, sweetie darlings, if you think you do, it's our secret and I trust you to keep it.

Every storytelling technique, every trick of the trade has only helped. Nothing's going to waste. And every new thing I've had to study only makes me a better storyteller. Win-win. What about the Romantica I had in the works? I'm still working on them.  S l o w l y . I can't leave my characters hanging. I promised them a happy ending and right now they're really pissed. And I know what you're thinking. What's the point? With the pace I write and publish romance, what's the point?

That is the question. That is a very good question. A question every author, every professional, every human being should ask themselves every now and then. What am I doing? Why am I doing this? For me, counterpoint is the point. Counterbalance is the point. I need to write fiction more than this scene needs another book by the Parker girl. Not that I don't care about my readers, never think that, dearest denizens. What I'm trying to say is that writing fiction fulfills a need and grants a pleasure that supersedes other motives. I will always write fiction even if I never publish another book. But the fiction, just the fiction, ain't enough. I've tried so hard and for so long to strike a balance. And then I just...I didn't give up, I gave in. For country and for crowd or bust. That thought somehow takes off all the pressure. Anxiety and frustration lift. I will never be top banana. Doesn't make me a bad writer. Doesn't mean I don't have drive. Doesn't mean I don't have a voice or stories to tell. Will anyone be interested in that voice or those stories... That's another story, one I don't get to dictate on my own.

The rumors of Dita's social death, suicide really, have been right on the money. Sometimes there's no coming back. It happens. I've tried to keep up with what's going on but there'll be moments when I realize I thought I knew where it's at but have no idea what people are talking about. I'd be quite content just writing away, working behind the scenes. I'm painfully aware and constantly reminded of the fact I don't brand and market as aggressively as I should, but the brand and name recognition stuff...it's so messed up. Once upon a time you became a brand when you did something particularly well, when you were a cut above in your field or art or whatever. Nowadays, you have to have a brand, the whole package, laid and thought out before you've made a single move or created a thing and you gotta love the me-me-me.

Yeah, I know, nowadays be nowadays, not ye olden ways, and this is business and you don't sell a product without a USP so you better have one or make way for those who do, but what if you don't feel like a neat package, more like a multiple personality without the disorder? Is that a brand? "This is me then." Is that ever enough? The level of frustration and confusion, a general feeling of where shall we go, what shall we do, has reached new heights among...well, I guess Dita can't speak for anyone except a small segment of erotic romance authors. Established, popular authors seem to be doing okay. The rest... Maybe it's too early to call but some have put their numbers out there asking is it just me or have sales truly declined so drastically? Some are responding no it's not just you, others with thanks, not what I wanted to hear, I'll get my coat, what's the point.

That is the question. What's the point? No promises, no guarantees, a lot of work, sweat, even tears, for what exactly? But who promised or owes us, any author, any professional, anything, ever? Who guaranteed sales or success? Perpetual Pleasure hasn't sold well at all and of course it makes me sad and it makes me wonder and makes me quote Dickinson on occasion. I'm Nobody! Who are you? Are you – Nobody – too? (Not particularly proud of those moments but there you have it.) Is it the price? Sub-genre? An author people don't know? The fact I'm not an aggressive marketer? Did they hate Alex and won't risk another disappointment? No reviews, not enough buzz or word of mouth? So I'm biased but it's not a bad book.

And I know how you feel. You put endless hours into something, do your loving best...but I'm thinking so does everybody else. What are you gonna do? Where shall we go? What shall we do? "Frankly, Dita, the Internet doesn't give a damn." True, that. I honestly don't know. I guess all we can do is ask what's the point, take it from there, and see how far it takes us.

"What do you mean you don't know? You honestly don't know, make room for those who do." Be my guests, please. But half, more than half, like a good two-thirds don't know, even if they say they do. You can wish. You can hope. But you can never know for certain. Not until you get there. That's when you can say, "I always knew I'd [insert your goal]." That's the only time you can make that claim, really.

"No, seriously. You don't have a contingency plan?" You need an expected outcome to devise one, two, as many as you think you need. Since the business of writing comes with no guarantees: Of course we didn't! That would be like saying, yeah let's give it a try, let's commit but let's not get carried away, excited even, as if this means something, as if we're all serious and shit. Serious as fucking cancer! Anything worth doing and all that. It breaks my heart that my wonderful, talented, ambitious author-friends are hurting. It makes me wanna squeeze them and soothe them and tell them it's gonna be all right but I can't promise that, not to them, myself, anyone. But I will say this. In the undying dying words of Seamus Heaney: Noli timere. Don't be afraid.

Am I scared? No. Genocide is scary. And gendercide. Fascism. Homophobia. Hate in general. This? Since you are my sweet escape from all of the above, pour le fun, no. You know what else I'm thinking? You don't have to follow paths. Forge your own. Make like Gertrude Bell or Ranulph Fiennes. Tap into the explorer. There's one in everyone. And I know what you're thinking. Things are moving too fast for anyone to keep up with or analyze so how do you know where you should be headed and if you do know how do you get there? E-commerce, corporate cultures, the economy, it's all moving and evolving at the speed of sound, light even. New business models emerge and dated ones die and who knows where to head and how to get there. It's all one big expedition.

And I know you think fear is healthy, proof your self-preservation instinct still works, but too much is nothing but paralyzing. Who knows what's going to happen next year or next month or in the next two minutes. You can wish. You can hope. But you can never know for certain. Not until you get there. That's when you can say, "I always knew I'd end up [insert your destination]." That's the only time you can make that claim, really. So why worry. You may have no power over how the game is played but you can always improve your own performance. That's all you can do. That much you can always influence, whatever it is that you're trying to achieve.

That's what I think anyway. And you're thinking I'm not helping. This ain't helping. You want to write and you want to be published and you want to succeed and you know, you just know published authors know something you don't but they won't tell you what it is because it's a secret, The Secret. The Secret Ingredient. The Recipe. Now listen close. Like really listen. All ears? Here it comes. There is no recipe. And you're secret ingredient. And that's why this whole business can feel like one huge clusterfuck of frustrating counterproductive and counterintuitive forces at work, not the energizing life-affirming expedition you thought you'd embark on. No promises, no guarantees, a lot of work, sweat, even tears, for what exactly? You tell me. What's the point? Your point? Goal? Destination? Answer those questions and you'll know where you should go and what you should do, maybe even how to get there. Methinks.

As Takei would say, oh my. Shall we lighten up things some? What else have I been up to? Tackling my TBR and TBW pile and revisiting old favorites. Having a good time with Hubby. Raising my kids to be dissident decent compassionate human beings. Having fun with friends. Planning and saving up for future travels. Studying life, the universe and everything, trying to improve and advance one thing and day at a time. The Harvest Moon was magnificent and the fall equinox came and went and took the sun with it. The leaves are turning but the days were so warm for so long it was as if the summer had never ended. It was nice but it's coming to an end and as much as I'd like to think I'm ready, I'm all settled, I'm cool with this, I have my Dylan Thomas moments. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage on against the dying light. Then again, what's the point?

Told you I'd get logorrheic on you. Thanks for listening. TLDR? Hey, it's my blog. And it's your prerogative. Are you saying you haven't missed the soapbox and the sermons? Say it ain't so. And all I'm hearing once again is me-me-me. What have you been up to, sweetie darlings? I see you but I never hear from you. So now I'm listening. Like really listening. All ears. Still not hearing anything.

I'll get my coat.

Bohemian rhapsody

Happy 2013, dearest denizens! I racked my brain trying to come up with a super inspirational new-age-can-eat-poo-this-is-the-shit post to ring in the new year, but I drew a blank, a total carte blanche you should actually fill because I have no idea what sort of end-of-year reviews you did or what hopes you have for the next twelve months. Do share, if you dare! If there's anything I can do for you this year, on the blog/elsewhere/otherwise, let me know. Always glad to be of service.

"How about you stop blabbering and go write a book, a bit faster than you have done, if it's all the same to you." I hear you, sweetie darlings, or maybe it's just that voice in my head, echoes from the writer's wishing well. I do have a plan for this year and a plan to implement said plan but let's save you from disappointment and moi from embarrassment and celebrate completion of aforementioned plan if and when it's a done deal, shall we, because I have nothing to show for it yet besides two incomplete manuscripts I'm not ready to show to anyone at this stage. Gang aft agley, don't they, best-laid plans.

In English, please! Yeah yeah yeah. I count myself fortunate, being able to switch languages when one culture or continent starts bugging me. That is my forte, absolutely, and it's my weakness, no doubt about it, because that's what I often do when FTS is how I feel. (In case you've ever wondered where I've gone for varying amounts of time. In case you're wondering what would ever make me feel FTS, well, that's a post for another time, a post about a disturbance in the force if you will, in the esprit de corps of the writing community. Don't tell me you haven't noticed. There's an elephant in the room, neon orange and playing the trombone. No? OK.)

It's strange but rather convenient how little these lives and roles intersect, but I think I'd be wackier than I already am if they did. Then again, writers are masters at keeping count of and marshaling copious amounts of personas, usually fictional, of course, but sometimes very real, as well, those writing under multiple pen names, for instance. But how do they do it? All that comes with the territory these days, social media and such, how do they juggle it? I don't have to worry about getting lost in transition, only in translation, because language barriers are mighty borders indeed, globalization or no globalization. Still, what you see is what you get. So what can I get you in 2013?

"Another book would be nice." I'm on it. I am! At it, as soon as I press Publish, promise!! Sorry I'm not faster. So much to do in one lifetime. So much to do in the next two weeks and then we're off for a vacation we've been planning and saving for for a long time. Not a bad way to start the year, going on an adventure. Rest assured it's not all R&R. A writer's brain never vacations. It's always hunting and gathering; sights, scents and sounds, tastes and textures. I hope to come home with a treasure trunk oozing with inspiration.

And I'm feeling much better, thanks for...not asking, and I think I asked you not to, didn't I? It's just that when you suffer from a mild case of Superwoman syndrome, you start thinking that nothing short of a deadly disease is at work. But what did I do just yesterday afternoon? Got dinner started by dropping a glass lid, which naturally shattered at my bare feet. I got two minor cuts and one that's really nasty but nothing a Steri-strip won't fix. No exercising with these feet for a while, though, and just when I had a really nice indoor rowing routine going. Oh well. Another scar for the Parker Collection. What this poor skin of mine has had to endure.

My apologies for such a rambling post. The start of the year always means list-making and organizing and sorting aplenty and right now the creative side of my brain is screaming to be let loose. But I think it was E-P Salonen who said that you achieve nothing without self-discipline, even if you are a Bohemian. So. I second Jack Rebney, Winnebago Man: "I don't want any more bullshit anytime during the day, from anyone. That includes me!"

Let's get cracking with this new year of ours, shall we? Have a most prosperous, productive and proactive one, sweetie darlings. Even if you are bred-in-the-bone Bohemians.

March on

March! Welcome!! Don't just stand there, come in, settle in, please!!! What's your poison? As lovely as a real winter, a white one, has been (minus the snow removal, the toil of Sisyphus, Sisyphus!, oh March, deliver me) my mind has been reaching for spring for a while now. My feet and hips, too. They've come to the consensus it's time. It's all carnival's fault, listening to the rhythms, looking at pictures my baby sis posts, doing the samba no pé amid daily chores. There's a drastic discrepancy between inner and outer scenery.

Incidentally, or not, I've been writing very disparate things, fluctuating between genres and languages and moods, and it hasn't even been that hard a task. Actually, it's been exhilarating; as it usually is when you find balance and things come together as you wish they would. Or maybe I just had some pent-up writing oomph to release after last week's winter break, the kids at home, lots of wintry outdoorsy activities going on (e.g. aforementioned Sisyphean snow removal) and not enough time to write all I wanted and needed to put down in words.

Well, as the Beatles used to sing, words are now flowing out like endless rain, and as any writer knows and will tell you, that's a happy place to be. I bet I just jinxed it by saying it out loud, but the Universe will have to get really creative to wipe out the wonder that was yesterday, a particularly productive day. Today wasn't half bad, either. I'm sorry to say not all that got written will end up in Dita's books but happy to report a considerable proportion of it will, so I hope D is happy and forgives me for last week's snub. She sure got vocal about it. The drama queen.

Publish or perish, they say in academia. What do they know? What I do know is that I've had a terrific writing week, I felt violently happy while at it, and whether or not those words get published, I'll keep at it. Dita got one thing right. I do need her. The world probably doesn't need another Romantica writer, but the world is welcome to try to stop me from writing erotic romance. It may drive home the message and never let another Parker book see the light of day. Then again, spring light and I may surprise said wicked world. I hope to be happily surprised real soon. I hope to happily surprise you soon after that. And if aforesaid world decides to give me lemons instead, I'll take it as Scandinavians take their tequila, their trials and their tribulations: stomp on the lemon, throw the salt over my shoulder and drink the glass to the bottom and shout, "Thank you, sir, may I have another." Because really, what the hell else can you do?