Lately I've been wondering about religion.
Over Christmas I spent some time with my Aunt, Uncle and a cousin I haven't seen in almost 20 years. We got into a sort of 'pseudo-scientific-anti-religious debate that saw the 4 of us doing lots of hollering, lots of arm waving and ultimately became one of the highlights of my week.
My aunt is a staunch Roman Catholic. Has been for as long as I can remember. In fact she and my grandmother are the sole reason that I am a confirmed (if lapsed) Catholic. She trusts the church to be the guide for her conscience. But to be honest, I think it goes deeper than trust. She has faith that the men who run her religion are based deeply in their lore. She has an incredible amount of energy and spirit to give to the search for meaning. Those sacrifices, and make no mistake – she sacrifices for her religion, work for her and the world she has built for herself.
My uncle is the complete polar opposite. His belief is firmly rooted in the here and now of everyday life. He spent 3 years in Vietnam. He has seen and faced death before so it’s not really a surprise that his belief in God or any one religious schema is more dogmatic than faith based. He has studied Buddhism and other religions and I think his feeling is that they really all build on each other. Take the strength of one, multiply it by the strength of another. Toss in a little of your own personal belief, honed over years of trial and error, and walla, there you have your own personal religion that fits who you are.
I’m probably oversimplifying, but I think my point is made. My aunt is rigid in the extreme about what she believes. For her, the bible is a living breathing testament of God’s will. For my uncle, flexibility is the key and to him the bible is a great historical novel with all the trimmings. Sex, politics, scandals, contradictions and pretty much everything that makes up the human experience.
So, who is right?
Personally, I think they both are.
First a little background to explain my answer. I am a child of the late 60’s and early 70’s. I came of age in the 80’s. My mother was a Baptist, who only rarely went to church (that was then; she goes a lot more now). Since my parents were divorced I would sometimes shuttle between Long Island, New York and Utica. During the times I was downstate, my Grandmother and Aunt took it upon themselves to see to the training of my soul. I attended Sunday school at a local Catholic church. I received my confirmation when I turned 12. And I have to be honest; there are parts of what happens in the Catholic Church during mass that I miss. There is something cleansing about dipping your fingers in holy water, crossing yourself and kneeling in prayer. I’ve never once knocked religious beliefs as an individual practice. My problem comes from how I feel about religion as a system of control, but that’s outside the scope of this particular entry. I’ll write about it another time.
I learned a lot about the basics of how the church worked during that time. I didn’t know anything about the politics of it. I mean heck, I was only 12 years old. But one thing always stuck with me. There seemed to be a division in the church. Catholics didn’t like Protestants. Episcopalians didn’t like Lutherans. And everyone seems to hate the Baptists… It confused the hell out of me because I thought we were all supposed to be one big happy family under God.
Anyway, I completed my training (or indoctrination – your choice) and decided that I liked enough of what was happening in the church to stick around for a while and learn more. I do credit the church with opening my eyes to the fruits of education over and above what I was learning in school. Up until that point I never realized that learning could come from other sources.
That was when something strange happened. Having my eyes opened to reality caused me to begin to question what I was being taught. I’m not sure exactly what it was, but I think that the more I learned about the life of Jesus, the more I questioned the purpose of it all. If he was the son of God and was placed here to remove our sins, then what went wrong? Because as far as I can see from a historical standpoint, we have had more than 2000 years to muck things up again. If we were absolved of all blame while he was here, what about the intervening years since?
As a race we have done some pretty disgusting things to each other. From multiple millions dead in countless wars, to the Spanish Inquisition, to the Crusades to the Holocaust. And the funny thing was, when you question why God would allow these things what you get is a roundabout answer about mans fallibility and the devils culpability.
Um, okay. Not an answer, but then, since the subject matter is so murky to begin with, a non answer is probably the best I could hope for. This is what started my slide into the wonderful world of the lapsed. The more I studied, the more holes I saw in the fabric of reality. There were so many contradictions just in the bible alone that I didn’t see how it could all be true.
Now, I’m sure that since I said that, someone will call me on it to produce evidence of contradiction. That’s fine, here’s what I came up with –
God for everyone or just a few?
PSA 145:9 The LORD is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works.
JER 13:14 And I will dash them one against another, even the fathers and the sons together, saith the LORD: I will not pity, nor spare, nor have mercy, but destroy them.
Is wisdom good or not?
PRO 4:7 Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding.
ECC 1:18 For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.
1CO 1:19: "For it is written, I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and will bring to nothing the understanding of the prudent."
Judging
1 Cor 2:15 "The spiritual man makes judgments about all things, but he himself is not subject to any man's judgment:" (NIV)
1 Cor 4:5 "Therefore judge nothing before the appointed time; wait till the Lord comes. He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness and will expose the motives of men's hearts. At that time each will receive his praise from God."
Who bears guilt?
GAL 6:2 Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.
GAL 6:5 For every man shall bear his own burden.
Source - http://www.infidels.org/library/modern/jim_meritt/bible-contradictions.html
This is just a sample of what I found, I'm sure there's more but I don’t want to be a smartass and I don’t want to belabor the point. I think that you can see for anyone studying this material, there would be questions. Especially if the person studying has a scientific mindset, which I do. I believe that this is another reason that so many people reject religion outright. If mechanical devices had the same number of contradictions built into them, no machine or device would work. We’d all still be riding horses to work and banging on drums to send messages.
Which brings me (sort of roundabout, sorry) back to my earlier question. Of my aunt and uncle, who is right? As far as I am concerned they both are. In the confines of the world that they have made for themselves their answers work. Just like you. Just like me.
I really think my aunt would have been happier as a nun. And I think that my uncle would be happier flitting about the world gathering experiences. So her faith and his skepticism are exactly right for them. It fits and that’s all that matters. (It’s also the only way that I know them, so if they changed it would affect my worldview.)
Personally, my church is a stretch of sandy beach with the waves pounding the shore. Any beach will do. My connection with God, or higher self, or whatever you want to call it, is the deep feeling of peace that I get when I walk along that beach. Beyond me is the ocean, vast and powerful beyond my capability to comprehend. Right in front of me, but unseen at the same time. Incredibly mighty, and incredibly fragile. (Sounds a bit like how God is portrayed, eh?)
That’s the only church I need. And my connection to God is just as strong as someone who spends 15 hours a day doing devotionals in a tax free building. So is it a religion? Nah, I don’t think so.
But it is spiritual.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Finally - Focus and Truth
Anyone who knows me is aware that I am not a person who can make and keep resolutions. I tend to make up my mind about things slowly. It's a reaction to a childhood full of rash, often painful decisions.
It's been suggested that my taking time to think things through is a form of procrastination and even self doubt. While there is evidence to bear out both of those conclusions, they are far from the whole story.
I've recently accepted the fact about me that I am not really all that disposed to large changes in my life happening too quickly. I know people who seem to flit from situation to situation like a self destructive moth, but I can't imagine anything more polar opposite to me. I am a nester. I don't mind change in small bites, and I like my nest to be fairly orderly with 0 drama. There is only one place that I consider home (and no, Georgia is NOT it). Everywhere else is just a vacation spot.
So until I can get to that one place and finally put down the roots I so sorely desire, I've made some promises to myself. Not resolutions mind you, real concrete - time driven promises.
The first one is that I intend to honestly question everything I do for clues as to why I felt that action was necessary. If the action doesn't fit in with my values and goals it will not be repeated. In other words, I am working on no longer lying to myself. It's pretty amazing how many people I know lie to themselves about their lives on a daily basis. They tell themselves that they are happy and everything is fine, meanwhile the roof is on fire and the motherfucker is burning...
I'm no exception. I know for a fact that I lie to myself more than I lie to other people. I tell myself that a minor weight gain is natural and part of getting older. Part of that is true (which is why its so poisonous) but the reality is, my weight gain has more to do with me abusing my body with alcohol and not exercising more than anything else. Where is the lie in this? Knowing what I feel like right now, today, is a direct reflection of what I did to my body yesterday, but doing nothing to make it better. The lie is in telling myself that the headaches, weird body aches and other issues are not a problem. If something hurts and you act like it doesn't you are lying to yourself, and over time you can do some serious harm.
The second thing I promised myself is that I will write every day. Even if the stuff I write (fiction wise) really sucks ass. I have 5 novels in various stages of completion. One of which is more than 20 years old. I started the fucking thing when I was in High School. Another of those lies that I tell to myself - There will always be time to finish. And - The novel has to be perfect before I write it. And - This is the greatest piece of unmitigated bullshit that no one has ever read. And - well, you get the idea.
Once upon a time I set a daily word count for myself of 500. 500 words per day would give me a fairly good size novel in about 6 months. I set the bar that low because I didn't know if I could convince myself to write even that much. I kind of laugh at that now because I am frequently writing 2000 words or more in some of these posts. But, ah! Yet another lie! Although I am writing much longer posts here and elsewhere on the web, I haven't worked on a single word of fiction in over a month...
One of my novels, Hunter, has two first readers who are ready to beat me over the head with sticks because I left them hanging at chapter 11. Gotta do something about that.
Anyway, this was supposed to be a short post. Go over the two things that I promised myself. Make them known so that I HAVE to stay focused on the things I spend so much time telling people that I want. And I was supposed to put a list of the new blog here with a minor explanation.
So much for short. Of course I've always had diarrhea of the mouth. Just ask my Kindergarten teacher. (Really, she wrote it on my first report card - Talks too much)
Here are the other blogs -
The Oceanpedia www.oceanpedia.blogspot.com - This is an experiment aimed at an old project of mine about a website that contains all kinds of info about the ocean.
Hanley Communicator www.hanleycommunicator.blogspot.com - This is a new one designed to help me stay focused when it comes to building Hanley Communications, Not Your Average Geek and eventually Giggle & Twist (Umm, more on that later). I have a passion for developing businesses and ideas into money generating engines. Something tells me that I am not alone.
Sam Cooke is singing A Change is Gonna Come and I couldn't agree more.
Later
It's been suggested that my taking time to think things through is a form of procrastination and even self doubt. While there is evidence to bear out both of those conclusions, they are far from the whole story.
I've recently accepted the fact about me that I am not really all that disposed to large changes in my life happening too quickly. I know people who seem to flit from situation to situation like a self destructive moth, but I can't imagine anything more polar opposite to me. I am a nester. I don't mind change in small bites, and I like my nest to be fairly orderly with 0 drama. There is only one place that I consider home (and no, Georgia is NOT it). Everywhere else is just a vacation spot.
So until I can get to that one place and finally put down the roots I so sorely desire, I've made some promises to myself. Not resolutions mind you, real concrete - time driven promises.
The first one is that I intend to honestly question everything I do for clues as to why I felt that action was necessary. If the action doesn't fit in with my values and goals it will not be repeated. In other words, I am working on no longer lying to myself. It's pretty amazing how many people I know lie to themselves about their lives on a daily basis. They tell themselves that they are happy and everything is fine, meanwhile the roof is on fire and the motherfucker is burning...
I'm no exception. I know for a fact that I lie to myself more than I lie to other people. I tell myself that a minor weight gain is natural and part of getting older. Part of that is true (which is why its so poisonous) but the reality is, my weight gain has more to do with me abusing my body with alcohol and not exercising more than anything else. Where is the lie in this? Knowing what I feel like right now, today, is a direct reflection of what I did to my body yesterday, but doing nothing to make it better. The lie is in telling myself that the headaches, weird body aches and other issues are not a problem. If something hurts and you act like it doesn't you are lying to yourself, and over time you can do some serious harm.
The second thing I promised myself is that I will write every day. Even if the stuff I write (fiction wise) really sucks ass. I have 5 novels in various stages of completion. One of which is more than 20 years old. I started the fucking thing when I was in High School. Another of those lies that I tell to myself - There will always be time to finish. And - The novel has to be perfect before I write it. And - This is the greatest piece of unmitigated bullshit that no one has ever read. And - well, you get the idea.
Once upon a time I set a daily word count for myself of 500. 500 words per day would give me a fairly good size novel in about 6 months. I set the bar that low because I didn't know if I could convince myself to write even that much. I kind of laugh at that now because I am frequently writing 2000 words or more in some of these posts. But, ah! Yet another lie! Although I am writing much longer posts here and elsewhere on the web, I haven't worked on a single word of fiction in over a month...
One of my novels, Hunter, has two first readers who are ready to beat me over the head with sticks because I left them hanging at chapter 11. Gotta do something about that.
Anyway, this was supposed to be a short post. Go over the two things that I promised myself. Make them known so that I HAVE to stay focused on the things I spend so much time telling people that I want. And I was supposed to put a list of the new blog here with a minor explanation.
So much for short. Of course I've always had diarrhea of the mouth. Just ask my Kindergarten teacher. (Really, she wrote it on my first report card - Talks too much)
Here are the other blogs -
The Oceanpedia www.oceanpedia.blogspot.com - This is an experiment aimed at an old project of mine about a website that contains all kinds of info about the ocean.
Hanley Communicator www.hanleycommunicator.blogspot.com - This is a new one designed to help me stay focused when it comes to building Hanley Communications, Not Your Average Geek and eventually Giggle & Twist (Umm, more on that later). I have a passion for developing businesses and ideas into money generating engines. Something tells me that I am not alone.
Sam Cooke is singing A Change is Gonna Come and I couldn't agree more.
Later
Friday, January 2, 2009
Roles of the Black Man
There seems to be several identities available for black men to fit into. If you are in one type or another you are fine, but if you are a free thinker or someone who seems to be a bit ‘off’ by society standards, that relegates you to being pigeonholed as not a ‘true black man’.
These are the roles I’ve noticed over 43 years of living. Please understand I am not making this up. This is information freely available to anyone who looks. Is it an end-all be-all? Heck no. But it is what people get to see each night on TV. And regardless of what kind of world you would like to live in - never for one moment - think that you as a black man or woman aren’t being judged by the images portrayed on movies, TV and other forms of media.
The academic nerd – think Steve Urkel. An extremely intelligent individual usually with bad people skills and no sense of style. This person can figure out your taxes before you can say H&R Block, but he would never be invited to a party. I have looked this one up and there isn’t currently anyone alive (famous or noteworthy). It seems as though all of our best inventors and scientists shot their wad before 1972.
Ref: http://www.infoplease.com/spot/bhmscientists1.html
The intellectual (know it all) – think Dr. Michael Dyson or Tavis Smiley. These men are extremely intelligent and well spoken. They move in social circles that usually do not include large numbers of other black men or women. Even if they were educated in traditional black colleges, they are somewhat shunned for the level of knowledge they possess and only seem to be able to connect with others of their same level ‘breeding’. People in this category are Dr Cornell West, Dr Bill Cosby, General Colin Powell and the others mentioned above.
Mandingo the Thug – the current crop of sports or music stars. Pants sagging down past their ass. Large, expensive designer clothes. Lots of diamonds and gold and ‘bling’. Weed or some other type of drug is usually part of their moniker. Or their counterparts/protégé’s the guys on the corner slinging dope or claiming to be pimps. Entire neighborhoods here in ATL are run by men like this. This also accounts for probably 80% of the black men in prison. People in this category are Suge Knight, DMX, Yin Yang Twins, Ice Cube, 50 Cent, The Game, Snoop Dogg.
The urban mogul – usually young and well monied. In business for the dollar and no other reason. Big houses, big cars. Owners of businesses like record companies, event planning agencies, night clubs, and even restaurants. People in this category are P. Diddy, Jay Z, and Russell Simmons.
The list isn’t all inclusive. I’m sure that another writer or social historian would probably be able to come up with something much more cynical and on point. My intent is to get people talking. Maybe even yelling. Whatever it takes.
I have a friend/mentor who is convinced that black men have been marginalized in film since the beginning of time. For a while I argued the point with him because I am a big fan of films. But the more I watched, the more what he said sank in. And I also noticed that the marginaliztion wasn’t just confined to movies. It happens everywhere. Steve Urkel was far and away one of the funniest characters on TV. But he was also completely not a threat to anyone. While the strong male characters on the show, Eddie and Carl, took a back seat. Even Eddies best friend, the completely clueless Waldo, was non-threatening. It wasn’t until Theo Huxtable came along that there was a hint of a black man who could be entertaining and strong at the same time. That led to Will Smiths character (played more for laughs than actual myth busting) and the character of Uncle Phil. A black judge no less who owned a huge house and had a butler. (Husband, father, provider, layer down of the law – almost too perfect)
So anyway, before I start rambling on and get truly pissed, I’ll bring this to a close.
Am I less of a black man because I love to read and write and watch old 50’s SciFi movies? (apparently yet another blight against black America in film – did you EVER see anyone black the Saturday morning monster movies?)
Am I less of a black man because I listen to all forms of music, including rock, classical, ambient, hymns and even a tiny bit of country?
I don’t think so, but sadly there are those who do.
These are the roles I’ve noticed over 43 years of living. Please understand I am not making this up. This is information freely available to anyone who looks. Is it an end-all be-all? Heck no. But it is what people get to see each night on TV. And regardless of what kind of world you would like to live in - never for one moment - think that you as a black man or woman aren’t being judged by the images portrayed on movies, TV and other forms of media.
The academic nerd – think Steve Urkel. An extremely intelligent individual usually with bad people skills and no sense of style. This person can figure out your taxes before you can say H&R Block, but he would never be invited to a party. I have looked this one up and there isn’t currently anyone alive (famous or noteworthy). It seems as though all of our best inventors and scientists shot their wad before 1972.
Ref: http://www.infoplease.com/spot/bhmscientists1.html
The intellectual (know it all) – think Dr. Michael Dyson or Tavis Smiley. These men are extremely intelligent and well spoken. They move in social circles that usually do not include large numbers of other black men or women. Even if they were educated in traditional black colleges, they are somewhat shunned for the level of knowledge they possess and only seem to be able to connect with others of their same level ‘breeding’. People in this category are Dr Cornell West, Dr Bill Cosby, General Colin Powell and the others mentioned above.
Mandingo the Thug – the current crop of sports or music stars. Pants sagging down past their ass. Large, expensive designer clothes. Lots of diamonds and gold and ‘bling’. Weed or some other type of drug is usually part of their moniker. Or their counterparts/protégé’s the guys on the corner slinging dope or claiming to be pimps. Entire neighborhoods here in ATL are run by men like this. This also accounts for probably 80% of the black men in prison. People in this category are Suge Knight, DMX, Yin Yang Twins, Ice Cube, 50 Cent, The Game, Snoop Dogg.
The urban mogul – usually young and well monied. In business for the dollar and no other reason. Big houses, big cars. Owners of businesses like record companies, event planning agencies, night clubs, and even restaurants. People in this category are P. Diddy, Jay Z, and Russell Simmons.
The list isn’t all inclusive. I’m sure that another writer or social historian would probably be able to come up with something much more cynical and on point. My intent is to get people talking. Maybe even yelling. Whatever it takes.
I have a friend/mentor who is convinced that black men have been marginalized in film since the beginning of time. For a while I argued the point with him because I am a big fan of films. But the more I watched, the more what he said sank in. And I also noticed that the marginaliztion wasn’t just confined to movies. It happens everywhere. Steve Urkel was far and away one of the funniest characters on TV. But he was also completely not a threat to anyone. While the strong male characters on the show, Eddie and Carl, took a back seat. Even Eddies best friend, the completely clueless Waldo, was non-threatening. It wasn’t until Theo Huxtable came along that there was a hint of a black man who could be entertaining and strong at the same time. That led to Will Smiths character (played more for laughs than actual myth busting) and the character of Uncle Phil. A black judge no less who owned a huge house and had a butler. (Husband, father, provider, layer down of the law – almost too perfect)
So anyway, before I start rambling on and get truly pissed, I’ll bring this to a close.
Am I less of a black man because I love to read and write and watch old 50’s SciFi movies? (apparently yet another blight against black America in film – did you EVER see anyone black the Saturday morning monster movies?)
Am I less of a black man because I listen to all forms of music, including rock, classical, ambient, hymns and even a tiny bit of country?
I don’t think so, but sadly there are those who do.
Monday, December 29, 2008
More proof that I was smarter 5 years ago
I wrote this a few years back...
When I finally made up my mind to work from home I did it for several reasons. Maybe some of these are what you are thinking and maybe some seem a bit selfish, but remember one thing. You only get to go around once. Why spend it doing some one else’s work for most of your life and then complaining about it?
I am 38 years old. I have been on all sides of the employment coin. I’ve been in federal and local government service, the private sector and Big Business. I’ve also spent time in the non-profit world. And though each of these jobs had its benefits, excellent people and some satisfaction, nothing has ever been more rewarding than starting my own freelance commercial writing business.
Once I got beyond the fear that every independent business owner must face, I mean everything from failure to ‘how to write a winning resume’; the transition was quite a bit smoother than I anticipated. Not that there haven’t been some bumps. It’s impossible to plan for everything, so several items caught me slightly off guard. Things like how much it costs for a single business to register with the local Chamber of Commerce, and how much office supplies really cost. But the reality is I am happier now than at any point during one of my ‘jobs’.
This is not to say that all ‘jobs’ are bad, not even close. I know people who will most likely spend the rest of their lives earning a wage and are damned happy to have that. What I am saying is that working for someone else is not built naturally into us. It is an outside societal thing that is built in over the course of a life in school and friends. The concepts of self-employment are big with children. Witness any child looking for a way to purchase his next pack of Yu-Gi-Oh! Cards. He will sell the Popsicles out of his own freezer to earn cash. Or try to sell toys, lemonade, or his little sister if he thinks he can get away with it.
Over the course of the years he will hear his friends and family talk about getting good grades so that he can get a job that pays his bills and allows him to live a good life. Entrepreneurship is, in best cases ignored and in worst cases, shunned. But this is a new thing. Well, relatively new since last century.
It wasn’t that long ago that 90% of the population was self employed or used barter in some way to obtain the things they wanted. The industrial revolution and the creation of the ‘factory’ changed all that. People no longer needed to be skilled craftsmen to earn a way though life. All they needed was to be able to get up in the morning and punch the clock.
The skilled craftsmen of that time worked. Sometimes from sun-up to sundown. The work was arduous, tedious and often downright dangerous. But they produced products that they were proud of. Things made ‘with love’. The opposite of that is what we have now. I’m not pointing fingers, I am as guilty of this as the next person. I have had ‘jobs’ where I clocked in and did as little as possible. What did it matter to me? I was still getting paid. But now, as a single business owner, I am working harder than ever. But I am also enjoying it more. The work that I do benefits my customers, my family and hopefully the community at large. I love what I do, and I hope that it shows in the product that I produce. But in the working world, and I have heard this from dozens of friends and co-workers over my 22 year work history, as incentives get cut and jobs are on the line, there is no desire to ‘love’ what you do. In fact, most people work only because they must support themselves and do not feel the urge to own their own business.
Children feel the pinch of this as well. Their self-employment spirit is slowly dashed until only a handful will ever really try to be more than a cog on a wheel. Most will migrate from job to job and a lucky few will find a job they can care about. Current statistics show that the average American entering the workforce will change jobs every 5 years. And almost half will change entire career directions at least twice.
It’s a bit of a vicious cycle. Larger American companies are cutting staff at an alarming rate and according to most economists this has more to do with making the company competitive than any desire to add benefits to the lucky ones who survive the axe. I remember reading an article about a company here in Atlanta that cut over 8,000 jobs. To me that is tantamount to firing an entire town. And at the same time workers are less inclined towards company loyalty because they see jobs being shipped offshore. Benefits are being scaled back or completely cut. What’s the incentive? It’s like watching two people smack each other and not being able to stop because they don’t know how.
Now, when I started this piece I said that the reasons that I chose to go into business would seem selfish to some and may be just what others are thinking. My primary motivation was to have complete control of my time. I am a night owl. I do my best writing at night. And as a result I tend to sleep a little later in the morning. Setting your own hours is not something that a large majority of workers get to do. It really doesn’t matter to your employer when you do your best work. They pay you for certain hours and that is when you are to be there.
More importantly, I wanted to be available for my children. It took me 10 years to realize that day care was raising my kids instead of me. People don’t realize that children grow at an exponential rate now a days. The smiling, peach cobbler smeared toddler of today will be a grown woman in what feels like 15 minutes, and unless you are watching you will miss the whole thing.
To those of you beginning your own business, congratulations and DON”T give up. For those of you considering making the leap, keep this in mind; Do what you love and then find someone to pay you for it. (Best single piece of advice I have ever got.) And to those of you headed out to work, remember to do what you do for yourself, your family and your community at large.
When I finally made up my mind to work from home I did it for several reasons. Maybe some of these are what you are thinking and maybe some seem a bit selfish, but remember one thing. You only get to go around once. Why spend it doing some one else’s work for most of your life and then complaining about it?
I am 38 years old. I have been on all sides of the employment coin. I’ve been in federal and local government service, the private sector and Big Business. I’ve also spent time in the non-profit world. And though each of these jobs had its benefits, excellent people and some satisfaction, nothing has ever been more rewarding than starting my own freelance commercial writing business.
Once I got beyond the fear that every independent business owner must face, I mean everything from failure to ‘how to write a winning resume’; the transition was quite a bit smoother than I anticipated. Not that there haven’t been some bumps. It’s impossible to plan for everything, so several items caught me slightly off guard. Things like how much it costs for a single business to register with the local Chamber of Commerce, and how much office supplies really cost. But the reality is I am happier now than at any point during one of my ‘jobs’.
This is not to say that all ‘jobs’ are bad, not even close. I know people who will most likely spend the rest of their lives earning a wage and are damned happy to have that. What I am saying is that working for someone else is not built naturally into us. It is an outside societal thing that is built in over the course of a life in school and friends. The concepts of self-employment are big with children. Witness any child looking for a way to purchase his next pack of Yu-Gi-Oh! Cards. He will sell the Popsicles out of his own freezer to earn cash. Or try to sell toys, lemonade, or his little sister if he thinks he can get away with it.
Over the course of the years he will hear his friends and family talk about getting good grades so that he can get a job that pays his bills and allows him to live a good life. Entrepreneurship is, in best cases ignored and in worst cases, shunned. But this is a new thing. Well, relatively new since last century.
It wasn’t that long ago that 90% of the population was self employed or used barter in some way to obtain the things they wanted. The industrial revolution and the creation of the ‘factory’ changed all that. People no longer needed to be skilled craftsmen to earn a way though life. All they needed was to be able to get up in the morning and punch the clock.
The skilled craftsmen of that time worked. Sometimes from sun-up to sundown. The work was arduous, tedious and often downright dangerous. But they produced products that they were proud of. Things made ‘with love’. The opposite of that is what we have now. I’m not pointing fingers, I am as guilty of this as the next person. I have had ‘jobs’ where I clocked in and did as little as possible. What did it matter to me? I was still getting paid. But now, as a single business owner, I am working harder than ever. But I am also enjoying it more. The work that I do benefits my customers, my family and hopefully the community at large. I love what I do, and I hope that it shows in the product that I produce. But in the working world, and I have heard this from dozens of friends and co-workers over my 22 year work history, as incentives get cut and jobs are on the line, there is no desire to ‘love’ what you do. In fact, most people work only because they must support themselves and do not feel the urge to own their own business.
Children feel the pinch of this as well. Their self-employment spirit is slowly dashed until only a handful will ever really try to be more than a cog on a wheel. Most will migrate from job to job and a lucky few will find a job they can care about. Current statistics show that the average American entering the workforce will change jobs every 5 years. And almost half will change entire career directions at least twice.
It’s a bit of a vicious cycle. Larger American companies are cutting staff at an alarming rate and according to most economists this has more to do with making the company competitive than any desire to add benefits to the lucky ones who survive the axe. I remember reading an article about a company here in Atlanta that cut over 8,000 jobs. To me that is tantamount to firing an entire town. And at the same time workers are less inclined towards company loyalty because they see jobs being shipped offshore. Benefits are being scaled back or completely cut. What’s the incentive? It’s like watching two people smack each other and not being able to stop because they don’t know how.
Now, when I started this piece I said that the reasons that I chose to go into business would seem selfish to some and may be just what others are thinking. My primary motivation was to have complete control of my time. I am a night owl. I do my best writing at night. And as a result I tend to sleep a little later in the morning. Setting your own hours is not something that a large majority of workers get to do. It really doesn’t matter to your employer when you do your best work. They pay you for certain hours and that is when you are to be there.
More importantly, I wanted to be available for my children. It took me 10 years to realize that day care was raising my kids instead of me. People don’t realize that children grow at an exponential rate now a days. The smiling, peach cobbler smeared toddler of today will be a grown woman in what feels like 15 minutes, and unless you are watching you will miss the whole thing.
To those of you beginning your own business, congratulations and DON”T give up. For those of you considering making the leap, keep this in mind; Do what you love and then find someone to pay you for it. (Best single piece of advice I have ever got.) And to those of you headed out to work, remember to do what you do for yourself, your family and your community at large.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
My Creed
By : Howard Arnold Walter (1883 - 1918)
I would be true, for there are those who trust me
I would be pure, for there are those who care
I would be strong, for there is much to suffer
I would be brave, for there is much to dare
I would be friend of all- the foe, the friendless
I would be giving, and forget the gift
I would be humble, for I know my weakness
I would look up- and laugh- and love- and lift.
I don't think theres anything else to add that...
I would be true, for there are those who trust me
I would be pure, for there are those who care
I would be strong, for there is much to suffer
I would be brave, for there is much to dare
I would be friend of all- the foe, the friendless
I would be giving, and forget the gift
I would be humble, for I know my weakness
I would look up- and laugh- and love- and lift.
I don't think theres anything else to add that...
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Running for my supper… Or How I Joined the UPS Nation
Huff.
Puff.
Pant.
Wheeze…
Um, excuse me for a minute while I bend over and throw up. Oh, wait, I already did that. Heck, I guess I’ll just get back in the truck and wait for the next house.
What? Already. Okay, damn. Out we go again. Up the hill, around the corner and a quick jump over the sleeping pit bull. Drop the package at the front door, turn around and realize that my quick jump woke up the 70 pound ball of razor blades and acid for blood dog. Hmmm. All this for a quick buck?
Let me back up a bit, in order to bring in money I took a job with UPS as a driver assistant. Sounds innocuous, right?
Umm, no.
First, let me point this out - there is a reason you NEVER see a fat UPS or FEDEX driver. The job runs the fat off of you in very short order. For a driver alone in a truck, there can be as many as 140 deliveries to make during a normal 8 to 10 hour day. There are times that they are so busy that the only breaks during the day involved taking a quick piss and grabbing a coke. Lunches frequent are ignored so that the job can get done in a decent amount of time. And as time progresses nearer to the holidays, that can get worse.
UPS took to hiring helpers to ride with the drivers to keep the process flowing. It makes the job easier for the primary driver and it helps employ some poor schmuck who needs a little help. Most people who do it are looking for extra Christmas cash. Some have been unemployed for a while and just need any kind of money.
And that’s where I enter the picture. No job, no money and the holidays rushing up like a fucking freight train on crack. Gotta do something to get some money coming in. So when the opportunity presents itself to work for one of the largest employers in America, I jump at the chance. Albeit somewhat reluctantly, but I jump nonetheless.
I am prepared for the whole ‘new guy’ effect. I am prepared for the possibility of getting bit by dogs, harassed by those few white people who still think blacks are the spawn of Satan. Heck I was even prepared for the small pay that they offer.
What I wasn’t prepared for were the hills. And the running. And the 3/10ths of a mile long driveways carrying Johnny or Janie’s 40 pound toy. Please remember, I am 43 years old. I stand 5’6” and weigh 210 pounds. So I am not exactly in prime fighting shape for my weight class. A polite person would call me pudgy, but I’m not polite so I call myself fat. Call a spade a spade and all that. I’ve been working on losing weight, but that’s a whole nuther blog entry.
The majority of houses that are on the route I share are in ‘upper’ class neighborhoods, which is to say that they are $250K and up. And I noticed one thing right away. They all love long, winding, sloping driveways. And dogs. They ALL love dogs…
In an effort to make the deliveries go faster the driver will park the truck on the street in front of the residence and run the package to the front door or garage of the home. During the orientation we were told that they expected a ‘brisk walk’ from the truck to the residence and back to the truck. I was quickly disabused of this notion by the driver I was assigned to. He doesn’t brisk walk. He runs. From the truck to the house and back, running. Fast.
Since I didn’t want to appear to be some sort of punk, I took my cue from him. But then reality, and gravity, set in. The first hill I ran up reminded me of the facts of life. From not running to running isn't a good idea for a 43 year old sedentary man. The driver is 24. Granted, he’s a bit taller than me, and might even outweigh me. But he's been doing this for 5 years.
And he’s 24…
I felt like a great beached whale the first time I tried to run back down a 25% grade driveway and all the flubber on my body was moving this way and that under my skin. It would have been embarrassing if I hadn’t been wrapped in a hoody. As it was, I’ve never noticed the areas of my body that were jiggling before. Stuff on my sides and in my back. Who ever notices the sides of their body?
Anyway, I worked the first two days for 2 hours each. 2 hours of hitting the ground running and trying to maintain that pace without bursting my heart. Oddly enough, I realized that I am in better shape than I thought. I only panted and wheezed for a few seconds after each delivery.
My body, though complaining loudly, seemed to be enjoying itself. With the exception of the 2 mile walks I take daily through our neighborhood, this is the most exercise that I’ve had in 3 years. When I was driving the tow truck I stayed in pretty good shape because of the physicality of the job. But two years working for AT&T, sitting in a cube and yakking on the phone had pretty much undone that.
It was weird and exhilarating to be moving again in the fresh air. It rained the first day, but the second day was nice and sunny, if a bit cold. The whole thing woke up a part of me that working in a strictly environment controlled building put to sleep a long time ago. I felt alive. I felt free. I also felt a LOT of pain.
The strange thing was, my body seemed to recover quickly. The morning of the second day I was stiff for a few moments, but after I got moving I was fine. The morning of the third day was a bit more intense. Even my ass muscles hurt. I’m telling you, if you’ve never had your ass muscles hurt; it’s a very unique experience. Try it sometime, seriously, I dare you.
The job is scheduled to last until the 31st of December. I will stick with it because we need the money. I will also stick with it because I am too stupid to quit. So unless I get hurt or mauled by somebody’s damned pit bull, I expect to be sore and happy for the next 25 or so days.
Pant.
Pant.
Puff.
Pant.
Wheeze…
Um, excuse me for a minute while I bend over and throw up. Oh, wait, I already did that. Heck, I guess I’ll just get back in the truck and wait for the next house.
What? Already. Okay, damn. Out we go again. Up the hill, around the corner and a quick jump over the sleeping pit bull. Drop the package at the front door, turn around and realize that my quick jump woke up the 70 pound ball of razor blades and acid for blood dog. Hmmm. All this for a quick buck?
Let me back up a bit, in order to bring in money I took a job with UPS as a driver assistant. Sounds innocuous, right?
Umm, no.
First, let me point this out - there is a reason you NEVER see a fat UPS or FEDEX driver. The job runs the fat off of you in very short order. For a driver alone in a truck, there can be as many as 140 deliveries to make during a normal 8 to 10 hour day. There are times that they are so busy that the only breaks during the day involved taking a quick piss and grabbing a coke. Lunches frequent are ignored so that the job can get done in a decent amount of time. And as time progresses nearer to the holidays, that can get worse.
UPS took to hiring helpers to ride with the drivers to keep the process flowing. It makes the job easier for the primary driver and it helps employ some poor schmuck who needs a little help. Most people who do it are looking for extra Christmas cash. Some have been unemployed for a while and just need any kind of money.
And that’s where I enter the picture. No job, no money and the holidays rushing up like a fucking freight train on crack. Gotta do something to get some money coming in. So when the opportunity presents itself to work for one of the largest employers in America, I jump at the chance. Albeit somewhat reluctantly, but I jump nonetheless.
I am prepared for the whole ‘new guy’ effect. I am prepared for the possibility of getting bit by dogs, harassed by those few white people who still think blacks are the spawn of Satan. Heck I was even prepared for the small pay that they offer.
What I wasn’t prepared for were the hills. And the running. And the 3/10ths of a mile long driveways carrying Johnny or Janie’s 40 pound toy. Please remember, I am 43 years old. I stand 5’6” and weigh 210 pounds. So I am not exactly in prime fighting shape for my weight class. A polite person would call me pudgy, but I’m not polite so I call myself fat. Call a spade a spade and all that. I’ve been working on losing weight, but that’s a whole nuther blog entry.
The majority of houses that are on the route I share are in ‘upper’ class neighborhoods, which is to say that they are $250K and up. And I noticed one thing right away. They all love long, winding, sloping driveways. And dogs. They ALL love dogs…
In an effort to make the deliveries go faster the driver will park the truck on the street in front of the residence and run the package to the front door or garage of the home. During the orientation we were told that they expected a ‘brisk walk’ from the truck to the residence and back to the truck. I was quickly disabused of this notion by the driver I was assigned to. He doesn’t brisk walk. He runs. From the truck to the house and back, running. Fast.
Since I didn’t want to appear to be some sort of punk, I took my cue from him. But then reality, and gravity, set in. The first hill I ran up reminded me of the facts of life. From not running to running isn't a good idea for a 43 year old sedentary man. The driver is 24. Granted, he’s a bit taller than me, and might even outweigh me. But he's been doing this for 5 years.
And he’s 24…
I felt like a great beached whale the first time I tried to run back down a 25% grade driveway and all the flubber on my body was moving this way and that under my skin. It would have been embarrassing if I hadn’t been wrapped in a hoody. As it was, I’ve never noticed the areas of my body that were jiggling before. Stuff on my sides and in my back. Who ever notices the sides of their body?
Anyway, I worked the first two days for 2 hours each. 2 hours of hitting the ground running and trying to maintain that pace without bursting my heart. Oddly enough, I realized that I am in better shape than I thought. I only panted and wheezed for a few seconds after each delivery.
My body, though complaining loudly, seemed to be enjoying itself. With the exception of the 2 mile walks I take daily through our neighborhood, this is the most exercise that I’ve had in 3 years. When I was driving the tow truck I stayed in pretty good shape because of the physicality of the job. But two years working for AT&T, sitting in a cube and yakking on the phone had pretty much undone that.
It was weird and exhilarating to be moving again in the fresh air. It rained the first day, but the second day was nice and sunny, if a bit cold. The whole thing woke up a part of me that working in a strictly environment controlled building put to sleep a long time ago. I felt alive. I felt free. I also felt a LOT of pain.
The strange thing was, my body seemed to recover quickly. The morning of the second day I was stiff for a few moments, but after I got moving I was fine. The morning of the third day was a bit more intense. Even my ass muscles hurt. I’m telling you, if you’ve never had your ass muscles hurt; it’s a very unique experience. Try it sometime, seriously, I dare you.
The job is scheduled to last until the 31st of December. I will stick with it because we need the money. I will also stick with it because I am too stupid to quit. So unless I get hurt or mauled by somebody’s damned pit bull, I expect to be sore and happy for the next 25 or so days.
Pant.
Pant.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
On becoming a hustler...
One of the weakest areas in my life has always been the fact that I don't have the gene that makes me a hustler.
What I mean is, I would probably starve to death if I had to rely on my ability to get out in the street and make money off of native talent or bullshitting skill. I could never run a confidence game or sell drugs. Whatever makes people able to do that, I never learned.
I bring this up because of the state that I currently find myself. In between jobs, with no money coming in. A sad state of affairs to be sure, but hardly unusual for present times. I am one of probably a million unemployed people across the country.
But the part that sucks and makes this harder for me to accept comes from the fact that I grew up in the projects. For 15 years I was surrounded by people who lived off of thier wits alone. Most were welfare mothers, hookers, drug dealers, pimps, drug addicts, and the occasional family who had just fallen on hard times and was trying to make things work the best way that they could.
These were people who could make a dollar last for what seemed like three months. Food stamps were traded for goods other than food. Bartering was a way of life, as was theft and the occasional beat down.
You might ask what I took away from all that? Honestly, nothing. Those were golden years for me. I remember my childhood as fairly happy. My mother made sure that we knew what to stay away from and who to be wary of. She kept us sheltered in some incredible way that only allowed a peripheral glimpse of what the world truly was.
It wasn't until I was 12 that I began to see the projects in its true light. And I think that the only reason I noticed was because I'd gone to Long Island to live with my father for two years. Long Island, Amityville to be exact (yes, that Amityville...) was a completely different world. People lived in houses. Actual houses that weren't directly attached to the neighbors house next door. They had yards and fences and garages and basements.
That I could see, no one was dealing drugs directly in front of our door or beating down his ho in the apartment above. In the projects at least once every few months the garbage house would mysteriously catch fire, merrily burning everyones rotting refuse along with half the building that it sat in. This was a problem becuase our apartment was pretty close by. In Amityville, no one ever set the garbage cans on fire just to see what the fire department would do.
So I spent two years hanging out with a group of kids that I could trust and who only once in a while got into fights, but nothing that ever involved knives or hot grits. I played handball on the back of the strip mall down from my fathers house and discovered a flowering sexuality with my 'girlfriend' Lisa.
Yeah, from 12 to 14 was a banner period. But as all things must, the time drew to a close and I decided that I didn't want to live so far away from my mother and my sisters. I wanted to be back home. The problem was, I had forgotten what home meant.
It meant going back to the projects. Granted, it also meant being around the people that I had grown up with and felt the closest to. Tyrone, Nelson, the Pachecos, and my 'brother' David. People I loved and had missed in the two years I'd been absent.
So my education in street continued for another year and a half before my mother got fed up with it and we moved out of New York and started what ultimately became my 'current' life.
But again, what did I take away with me? Nothing. Nothing of any substance. Lots of memories, but memories won't pay the bills.
I don't have the specialized bullshit knowledge to get out in the streets and hustle up dinner. I am stuffed into the thinking of a man who's best answer is to get a job for someone, despite the fact that I have at least 3 talents that I could get paid for.
I look at some of these 'celebrities' and I find myself wondering what separates me from them. It can't be the simple fact that they have a dream. I have a dream too, so that's no different.
I can't be that they have loads of money to begin with. Lots of them started by selling music out the back of thier cars. Some waited tables or slept on park benches. A few were homeless or worked for sorry ass American corporations before making it. So that isn't the answer. I've been through all of that, including being homeless with my wife and children.
So what's different? The urge to get out there and hustle every day until they get thier dream? The absolute unwillingness to follow a path that millions of Americans follow every day? The inability to quit no matter what life throws at them?
Or is it something more subtle. A desire to succeed that even they don't know they possess. Some innate will that drives them to greatness despite a billion obstacles.
Whatever it is I need to discover it in myself. I need to build those muscles so that the response to getting my dream becomes automatic. There is a reason that some people make $100 million a year. They aren't any different than me. They still eat, sleep, and breathe. They still get sick and will one day die. It doesn't matter how much money a person has, one day the guy dressed in all black WILL knock on the door.
So I am left with a perplexing puzzle to solve. And I have to do it quickly. Life doesn't wait for anyone. Make up your mind or don't, it doesn't matter. But the quality of life is what matters most I think. You can be rich or you can be poor. It's all up to you.
Hmmm....
What I mean is, I would probably starve to death if I had to rely on my ability to get out in the street and make money off of native talent or bullshitting skill. I could never run a confidence game or sell drugs. Whatever makes people able to do that, I never learned.
I bring this up because of the state that I currently find myself. In between jobs, with no money coming in. A sad state of affairs to be sure, but hardly unusual for present times. I am one of probably a million unemployed people across the country.
But the part that sucks and makes this harder for me to accept comes from the fact that I grew up in the projects. For 15 years I was surrounded by people who lived off of thier wits alone. Most were welfare mothers, hookers, drug dealers, pimps, drug addicts, and the occasional family who had just fallen on hard times and was trying to make things work the best way that they could.
These were people who could make a dollar last for what seemed like three months. Food stamps were traded for goods other than food. Bartering was a way of life, as was theft and the occasional beat down.
You might ask what I took away from all that? Honestly, nothing. Those were golden years for me. I remember my childhood as fairly happy. My mother made sure that we knew what to stay away from and who to be wary of. She kept us sheltered in some incredible way that only allowed a peripheral glimpse of what the world truly was.
It wasn't until I was 12 that I began to see the projects in its true light. And I think that the only reason I noticed was because I'd gone to Long Island to live with my father for two years. Long Island, Amityville to be exact (yes, that Amityville...) was a completely different world. People lived in houses. Actual houses that weren't directly attached to the neighbors house next door. They had yards and fences and garages and basements.
That I could see, no one was dealing drugs directly in front of our door or beating down his ho in the apartment above. In the projects at least once every few months the garbage house would mysteriously catch fire, merrily burning everyones rotting refuse along with half the building that it sat in. This was a problem becuase our apartment was pretty close by. In Amityville, no one ever set the garbage cans on fire just to see what the fire department would do.
So I spent two years hanging out with a group of kids that I could trust and who only once in a while got into fights, but nothing that ever involved knives or hot grits. I played handball on the back of the strip mall down from my fathers house and discovered a flowering sexuality with my 'girlfriend' Lisa.
Yeah, from 12 to 14 was a banner period. But as all things must, the time drew to a close and I decided that I didn't want to live so far away from my mother and my sisters. I wanted to be back home. The problem was, I had forgotten what home meant.
It meant going back to the projects. Granted, it also meant being around the people that I had grown up with and felt the closest to. Tyrone, Nelson, the Pachecos, and my 'brother' David. People I loved and had missed in the two years I'd been absent.
So my education in street continued for another year and a half before my mother got fed up with it and we moved out of New York and started what ultimately became my 'current' life.
But again, what did I take away with me? Nothing. Nothing of any substance. Lots of memories, but memories won't pay the bills.
I don't have the specialized bullshit knowledge to get out in the streets and hustle up dinner. I am stuffed into the thinking of a man who's best answer is to get a job for someone, despite the fact that I have at least 3 talents that I could get paid for.
I look at some of these 'celebrities' and I find myself wondering what separates me from them. It can't be the simple fact that they have a dream. I have a dream too, so that's no different.
I can't be that they have loads of money to begin with. Lots of them started by selling music out the back of thier cars. Some waited tables or slept on park benches. A few were homeless or worked for sorry ass American corporations before making it. So that isn't the answer. I've been through all of that, including being homeless with my wife and children.
So what's different? The urge to get out there and hustle every day until they get thier dream? The absolute unwillingness to follow a path that millions of Americans follow every day? The inability to quit no matter what life throws at them?
Or is it something more subtle. A desire to succeed that even they don't know they possess. Some innate will that drives them to greatness despite a billion obstacles.
Whatever it is I need to discover it in myself. I need to build those muscles so that the response to getting my dream becomes automatic. There is a reason that some people make $100 million a year. They aren't any different than me. They still eat, sleep, and breathe. They still get sick and will one day die. It doesn't matter how much money a person has, one day the guy dressed in all black WILL knock on the door.
So I am left with a perplexing puzzle to solve. And I have to do it quickly. Life doesn't wait for anyone. Make up your mind or don't, it doesn't matter. But the quality of life is what matters most I think. You can be rich or you can be poor. It's all up to you.
Hmmm....
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