Hard to write

It's the middle of September, and this will be my twenty-eighth post in 2026.

Twenty-eight is an important number. In the years since I started this blog (not counting 2007, as I started in December), my worst year for posting has been 2016. In 2016, I posted twenty-eight times. So reaching that number means, At least this year won't be worse than 2016. At least I won't have reached a new low!

Nice to know.

But it's also September. The year is almost 3/4 over. How have I written so little?

I don't know. For a while, towards the beginning of the year, it just seemed like nothing was happening to me—like there was nothing to write about. Then I committed to finishing my book this year. Then I went to the Ecosophian convention. Then other stuff started to happen, and I realized that Lack-of-Material isn't really my problem. (Besides, there's always more to say. Remember the time that Robert Pirsig assigned a rhetoric student to write about the front of the Bozeman Opera House, starting with the upper left-hand brick!)

Are my habits getting in the way? Probably. I get up in the morning, fiddle around for a while, finally get a shower and have breakfast, check my email for a while, ... and then go take a nap! After that, it's mid-afternoon and I'm ready to spend a couple hours on the day's work before it's dinner time. I usually don't accomplish anything after dinner.

It's not like I'm "too busy" in a conventional sense. I scarcely go out. I talk to very few people. That may be part of the problem, in fact: that I use food and drink and Twitter to replace the human company that I miss. But then, why not spend the time writing? That's a kind of conversation, after all?

I don't know the answer. It just seems too hard, somehow. Even for the regular writing that I have to do to support the two columns I post online every week, I've been writing quick-'n'-easy pieces because I can't bend my mind around how much work it would take to write something more substantive.

Maybe I need to fall in love. Maybe the NRE would drive me to get my ass in gear. Too bad I'm way too old for any of the equipment to work any more.

Maybe if I got out more, the rest might follow. Meanwhile, does it ever seem to you that I'm repeating myself a lot?

           

An unsatisfactory visit, part 2

[Continued from Part 1.]

The next morning, after breakfast, I asked her what she was worried about. She settled into a comfortable chair and started to explain.

Where did her money go?

In the first place, it's not that all of Mother's money is gone. Or at least that's not what she ended up saying. It took her a while to explain this, because she wandered elliptically around the subject. But the way I understand it, this is what happened.

1. Ever since Father died, she has kept most of her liquid assets in two big bank accounts: one savings, and one checking.
2. Mother still works part time. She doesn't make a lot, but she said she always hoped that her earnings would more or less cover her day-to-day expenses.
3. But she doesn't know if they do. She doesn't really know what her day-to-day expenses add up to. All she ever did was to look at the overall balance of her two big accounts: as long as they didn't move much, she figured she was OK.
4. Some time back in the past, she (or maybe "they," if Father was still alive) took out a home equity line of credit (HELOC), because of some reason. It was no longer needed, but for too long she had just placidly paid the interest on it.
5. Finally at the beginning of this year she decided it was stupid to keep paying interest on a loan she didn't need. (Yes, that's true.) So she paid it back in a lump. That meant something like $30-35,000.
6. Then Brother and SIL came to her, asking for a loan. They have done this before, for smaller sums. This time they wanted to borrow $66,000 in cash.
7. Their explanation was that their credit cards had gotten away from them, and they needed to clear them out. Mother said they did not tell her how their credit cards had gotten away from them, and she said she did not ask. But she also said that she was very worried, because what's to stop the same thing from happening all over again? I agreed with her. 
8. She added that for the past few months they have been paying her back a thousand dollars a month. She did get them to sign a note for the full amount, but she did not ask for any interest. She is also aware that, at the rate of a thousand dollars a month, it will take five and a half years to pay back $66,000.
9. Anyway, what with paying off the HELOC and then lending so much money to Brother and SIL, her bank accounts are down something like $100,000. And yes, that arithmetic sounds about right.
10. So when she sees that her overall balance is so much lower than it used to be, she's afraid.   

Is this truly something to worry about? Who can tell? There's no way to know without more information.

"Why don't you ...?" "Yes, but ...!"

So I started to ask more questions, and to suggest things she could do to address her fears. Turns out this was not a good idea.

For every idea I had, she had a reason that it wasn't practical. It began to feel like we were playing "Why don't you ...?" "Yes, but ...!" In fact at one point I even referenced that game a little obliquely, reminding her that Father used to accuse Wife of playing it all the time (Mother remembered this part very well) and saying "But of course that's not what is going on here! You are just identifying parameters that any solution has to meet."

Translation: Yeah, that's exactly what we were playing.  

I admit that some of the things I suggested might be a lot of work. Mother has no idea how much she spends for her day-to-day expenses, so maybe she'd like to go through the last year's utility bills and credit card receipts? Then she could come up with a rough number, and she'd know whether her part-time salary covers it or not. Of course that's a lot of work, but is it worth it to buy the peace of mind that she would get from a definite answer? Maybe to some people. Maybe not to her.

There were other suggestions. None of them was trivial. And even if one of them were trivial, that doesn't mean she would do it. How hard can it be, after all, to fill out a Medical Power of Attorney form?

In earlier years, I was inclined to think my mother was something of a saint. (See for example here and here.) But in retrospect, that was largely because she was quieter than Father, so it was easy to assign all good qualities to her by default. I have already remarked elsewhere that the stories we (as a family) normally told about Father and Mother weren't really true.

Speaking of synchronicity

Mother has many fine qualities. But if she doesn't feel like doing something, she's not going to do it—even if "doing it" would solve some other problem that bothers her a lot!

In a sense that's self-defeating, just the same way all my failed conversations with her all weekend long were self-defeating.

And gosh, wasn't I recently writing something else about self-defeat? Indeed I was. That's why I started Part 1 of this story by talking about synchronicity ... because the topic of self-defeat seems to be haunting me these days.

Maybe I should pay attention. 

           

An unsatisfactory visit, part 1

Sometimes it seems like a topic shows up on my radar and then just won't let go. I think the technical term is synchronicity. The way I understand the theory of synchronicity, I should pay attention when it happens. I don't recall whether the theory says what to do in case I don't want to pay attention.

Not Mother's house or pool, but you get the idea.

A couple of weekends ago, I drove to Big City to visit Mother. The most immediate motivation was purely sybaritic: it has been very hot lately, and Mother has a swimming pool. And in the end I got to use it a couple of times, in the mornings before Mother got up. Not that she would have stopped me using it any other time, but we were talking.

So much talking

These days, when I visit with Mother we spend a lot of time talking. Back when Father was still alive, that was less true.

I'm sure I've discussed this in an earlier post, but I just spent over an hour looking for it and I can't find it. The indexing that I have set up for this blog isn't nearly good enough. Anyway, the point I wanted to reference is that as long as Father was alive, Mother never seemed to talk very much. Father always dominated the conversations, whether in public or among friends or just at home among family. Always. On the other hand, once he was dead I noticed a major change in Mother whenever I visited her ... at any rate, if it was just the two of us. Suddenly she talked a lot. Sure, some of it was practical. But a lot of it was just talk. I finally asked her about what was responsible for the difference. She said, more or less, that when Father was alive she let him dominate the conversations because she knew it mattered to him. No other reason. (At a certain topological level, her reasons maybe aren't that different from what Marie told me here.) Anyway, now that he was gone and there was no longer any reason to worry about his preferences, she was reverting to "normal." The result is that when I visit over a weekend, I often drive there on Saturday; then we spend all of Sunday morning talking, and much of the rest of Sunday too. Finally we wrap it up Monday so I can go home and she can go to work. Of course, this weekend Monday was Labor Day, which gave us an extra day.

Anyway, we spent a lot of time talking. But this time, honestly, the talking was very unsatis­factory. I kept feeling like I said something to piss her off. I kept feeling like she was mad at me. 

An example

At this point it has been a week and a half, and I didn't take notes at the time, so I can't remember all of the discussions. But for example, she asked me how it was possible for anybody (meaning the people she sees on the news) to distrust vaccines?

I tried to explain that the world has changed since she was a girl. I said nobody distrusts the polio vaccine or the smallpox vaccine. But now there are far more of them out there, and legally the manufacturers shielded from liability for vaccine injuries. This shielding creates an opportunity for moral hazard, the circumstance where the benefits of an action (profits from selling vaccines) flow in one direction (to the parmaceutical companies who make the vaccines) while the risks (in case of injury or death) flow in another direction (to the patients who cannot sue for compensation). And I suggested that some people think the pharmaceutical companies might be tempted to cut corners in their development or safety testing, since they can't be punished if something goes wrong. So it's natural for people who think that way to be distrustful. I tried to suggest that this was very different from simply being "anti-science."

She nodded along with my whole explanation, and then asked (almost belligerently) "What about the measles vaccine?"

I don't know. What about it? Was she asking me for a complete list of which vaccines are safe and which aren't? (I can't supply that.) Or was she accusing me of being "anti-science"? I don't know what she meant, and I didn't answer her very effectively.

And then she said ....

There was more. As I say, I've forgotten most of our topics. But mostly they were as unsatisfying as the discussion of vaccines.

And then in a side comment just by the way, Mother said she was worried about running out of money. This was unexpected. Between the time Father died and this conversation, Mother always gave the impression that she was in comfortable circumstances. In the moment she went on to talk about something else totally different. But the next morning after breakfast, I asked her about it.

[See Part 2.]        

           

On self-defeat, part 2

I just wrote about how Wife's whole life—so it seems—has been one long exercise in self-defeat. This is a line of thought I started after looking at the journals she left behind when she vacated Son1's apartment.

But my reflections didn't stop there. Oh no.

Father undercut himself the same way. I've talked here and here about how he undermined his own authority as a businessman. I don't know the details of his stint as a university professor, except that he failed his first tenure review (after three years) so his contract was not renewed. Decades later he found a letter he had written to the Dean after his contract was canceled, and read it to us over the dinner table. As a piece of rhetoric or invective—as a letter that burst into flame upon reading—it was a remarkable piece of work. But by that time I was already an adult, and in fact I was a manager with employees of my own. And what I thought privately (though I never said it aloud) was, "Gosh, if that's where your head was at the time, I'd have fired you too." The letter was all about him, and never mentioned the needs or strategies of the university. And even if he didn't care about the university, anyone who wanted to play the employment game should know enough to pretend to care. Not Father. 

After he retired from business, he tried to make a living as an actor. There he was dogged by a special kind of bad luck that repeated over and over. Time and again, he would get a part in something very small whose schedule neatly prevented him from auditioning for something large and rewarding. To hear him tell it, this happened so often that he could almost count on it. Now was this self-defeat? I have no idea. All I know is what I heard from him, and he made it sound like random bad luck each and every time.

On the other hand, we've all heard the saying: Once is chance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action. I just don't know which "enemy."

In other words, the topic of self-defeat is one I probably need to spend some time with, because I've lived around it much of my life. First Father, then Wife. That's definitely why I need to think about it. Right?

Ha. I should be so lucky.

Regular readers of this blog know that I have discussed my own self-defeating behaviors many times. Good luck seems to be wasted on me. And I never had the skill to advance up the corporate ladder. I hide myself, and I seem to court failure. You can multiply other references throughout the blog without breaking a sweat.

I think this is why Kimberly Steele told me (three years ago!) that publishing my book "is going to be an act of will that will act as one of your major tests in your life." I have spent too much of my life trying actively to fail. I have worked at defeating myself, and I have surrounded myself with masters at self-defeat. So the challenge is, Can I pull out of such a dramatic dive? Can I get my ass in gear and make it happen?

The questions about Wife matter to her therapist, but I'm not her therapist. The questions about Father are of biographical interest, but after all he's dead. The questions that have to matter to me are about me. 

I have achieved two long-term goals in my life. The first was my marriage (and children). The second was my separation. What comes next? Now that I'm a senior citizen, what long-term goals can I still accomplish? And can I do them without ruining myself in the process?

Those are the questions that matter now. I suppose I should be grateful to Wife's old journals for making me think of them.   

           

On self-defeat, part 1

I've been thinking more about those journals that Wife left behind, when she moved out of Son1's apartment.

She must have been writing them under the guidance of some psychotherapist, or at any rate under the guidance of some psychotherapeutic ideas—ideas that she might have read somewhere, or might have gotten from a therapist in the past. The journals specifically talked about her experience of compulsive thinking, and she set up tables to work out concrete examples.

• Column 1: Initial idea.
• Column 2: Compulsive idea that it triggers.
• Column 3: Rational idea towards which she should redirect herself.
• And so on ....

Examples included:

• Initial idea: "I hurt Hosea by my infidelities and by overspending the budget."
• Compulsive idea: "I am a terrible human and don't deserve to live."
• Rational idea: "I did cause pain but it will be manageable if we work together on it." [Actually I don't remember this entry, but I assume it would have to be something like that.]
• I don't have more examples, because you remember I left the journals there.

It all looks like a very logical therapeutic approach. But the single most important fact—overwhelming everything else—is that it didn't work! Self-understanding counts for bupkes unless it results in meaningful changes of behavior, and Wife's behavior never changed! So all these journal entries were just masturbation, nothing more.

During my most recent visit, Son1 mentioned as an aside (as if it were an obvious point, while explaining something else) that Wife still suffers from these compulsive ideas. Someone criticizes her and right away she falls into a spiral of ranting, "Oh I'm a terrible human and don't deserve to live!" Then whoever's talking to her backs off, because he (or she) didn't mean the criticism to be quite that extreme. And therefore nobody ever succeeds in talking to her about behavior that she actually has to fix.

As I typed those words, I found myself thinking, "Nice work, if you can get it."

And indeed, in the short run it seems like this uncontrolled and disproportionate response is an effective tactic to prevent Wife ever having to face any serious criticism. It insulates her. If narcissism means having to preserve her self-image at all costs, it's a very sturdy form of narcissistic defense, ... even if it is awfully remeniscent of Russian roulette. 

In the long run, of course, the tactic is self-defeating because it means she never confronts the habits that make her fail. So she never learns new habits instead, and she continues to fail. At this point, Wife has failed:

• As a musician. (Good enough to be a church organist, not good enough to be a professional.)
• As a scholar. (She dropped out of one graduate program for complicated reasons, and then failed her Qualifying Exams in her second program.)
• As a businesswoman. (She alienated several employers and they fired her; then her health collapsed while she was still working for the last one and she had to go out on permanent disability.)
• As a church-goer. (I don't know as much about this. But she transitioned over the years from Wiccan to Baptist to Mormon. She was pretty open—to me and the boys—about joining the Mormon church because they look after you. But I think I remember her saying a few years ago that her bishop had actually thrown her out of the church for some reason. Maybe freeloading.)
• As a friend. (Wife keeps making new friends and then keeps alienating them. She tried to contact her friend Leia to say goodbye before leaving town, but no such luck.)
• As a wife. (OK, maybe I'm prejudiced on this point. But read the first ten years of this blog to see my perspective on the question.)
• As a mother? (Whatever else is going on, Wife has clung to her identity as a mother of two wonderful boys. But the last long email I got from her makes me think she is reconsidering what that relationship really looks like.)

If you run into an asshole one day, well, tough luck, you ran into an asshole. If everyone you meet, all day long, is an asshole—it's because you are the asshole.

What this means, in turn, is that Wife's whole life is one long exercise in self-defeat. And it didn't have to be. It was all avoidable. I mean ... maybe her bad health was baked in from the beginning. But the dysfunctional personality, that squandered every opportunity she was handed? That seems to have been something she did on purpose. And it is sad.

           

Visiting Son1 and Dorcas

Yesterday morning, I visited Son1 in his apartment, now almost two weeks after Wife vacated it.

Partly I was motivated by morbid curiosity: what did the place look like? Partly I was motivated by an acquisitive itch: did she leave behind anything I wanted? And partly I just wanted to be sociable. Normally I don't see my kids very often.

The place looked more jumbled than usual, but a lot less crowded. Most of the furniture was gone out of the living room, and all the nice bookcases. The living room rug was still there, and I know that came from somebody in Wife's family because at one point (back when we all still lived together in a house) one of her nephews tried to extort it out of her. Lovely family. Son1 remarked that there is literally no place in Wife's new digs where it will fit. 

Of course we talked about Wife, and how she reacted to the move. (I notice in passing that half the time Son1 refers to her by her name, instead of saying "Mom." He still says "Mom" once in a while, but the change is striking.) Son1 said that he thinks part of the long-term therapy which she needs is to have all her useless, ancestral junk stripped from her, so that she has to reconstruct her life without it. I didn't say anything specific, but I was thinking that this was exactly what D and I thought way back during the Housecleaning From Hell in December 2008 and January 2009, that I've described as "Second date." (The account stretches from here to here, but you can pick this one as a good solid example of our thinking.)

We talked about Wife's drinking. He thinks she has accepted the designation of "alcoholic" because it gives her an excuse: if she's an alcoholic, then nobody can expect any better of her. I remember how bitterly she hated her own father's alcoholism, and how long she denied that her mother had the same problem because she didn't want it to be both of them. If she's now decided simply to accept the same diagnosis herself, that's a huge change. Of course it has been decades. (Her mother died in 1994. I think her father died in 1978.)

I don't remember all the other things we discussed. For a while we talked about trivia like our respective work, or unusual air travel.

In the end, I did go and look at the wreckage left in what had been Wife's room. One bookcase was still there, with a few books randomly strewn across it. There were a few (the minority) that looked interesting and weren't garbage; Son1 said I could take them. Apparently the criterion for which books to take was "What fits in the truck?" because Wife had done no packing or sorting before Son2 arrived to help load the truck.

Among the contents of the shelf, I found notebooks that Wife had kept. I didn't take them, though now I wonder if I should have. They seemed to be laid out according to one or another psychological theory for dealing with instrusive thoughts, and the entries were dated. This one dated back to 1993. That one dated to 2011. (The layouts were different from one to the other, I should add ... probably she was working with different therapists during those years.)

What I found most remarkable was the amount of guilt that I saw expressed in her notes. When writing in her own journals, she could freely admit that her infidelities caused me pain, and that her crazy overspending caused me distress. She could admit that they were wrong. But then those admissions triggered automatic thoughts of total worthlessness that made her mind spiral out of control. Apparently she was trying to learn ways to stop the automatic spiralling.

But I guess she never did. At any rate, she never got to a point where she could admit to me that she knew what she had done, and that she knew it had hurt me, and that she was sorry. If I were in the room, she'd fight me.

Those journals were a remarkable discovery. I still don't really know how to feel about them. And I wonder if I should have taken them, or if it is better to let them be swept away with the juink?

           

Looks like a big year

It looks like this is going to be a big year.

-----

I went to the Ecosophian Convention in June. That was big, right there.

-----

I mentioned a while ago that I'm back to work on my book. My goal is to self-publish successfully this year. I don't expect to make a lot of money at it, although it would be nice if Fate proved me wrong. But it explains an obscure, niche topic. The natural audience is probably not large, and I've never been very good at publicizing myself. The goals that I hope to achieve include:

• proving that I can set and achieve a long-term goal;
• learning about the self-publication process, so I can plan to publish some of the other stuff bubbling in my head;
• opening up the possibility for my sons that they can achieve things in life above and beyond holding a regular job, because it is always easier to do a thing if you see someone else do it first. (To be clear, my own father was rather weak on the "holding a regular job" part, so that was the first thing I wanted to model for them!)

But there is more. Turns out that the world doesn't revolve around me. 😀

-----

Wife moved from living with Son1 to living near Son2. Son1 and Son2 organized the whole move between themselves, and are handling the aftermath.

Son1 will be moving in with Dorcas soon. Son2 proposed to Beryl.

-----

Debbie has had multiple spells of atrial fibrillation. Already this year she has had a device inserted into her heart to help regularize its behavior, and she is on medication to help with that as well. We still talk regularly every Friday afternoon, but more and more those conversations tend to drift over to talking about death. She's still making plans for the future, but more and more she talks about wanting things to be in order by the time she is no longer there to order them.

-----

Because Debbie has been thinking about death, she has been pushing our Unitarian Sangha to establish a Care-Taking Council. I wrote about the very first steps ... setting up an exploratory committee to review the idea ... back in 2025. But most of the activity will take place this year.

Also related to that, this spring our Sangha held its first ever Day of Mindfulness. We are slowly stretching out of a fixed and unchanging shape that we've held for some 20 years.

-----

Marie's favorite nephew was arrested by TSA. Turns out he was on a cruise with his parents (Marie's sister Cuñada, and her current husband). TSA explored his tablet, and found pornography on it. Some of the pornography involved subjects below the legal age of consent. This translates to five years in prison—automatically—without the possibility of parole. Marie is beside herself—partly at the fate of her nephew, of course, but partly because of the nature of the offense. She has not said so, but my guess is that years ago (before we got back together and she started to re-evaluate her attitudes towards sex), she would have approved of such a law. Today she hates it because it endangers Nephew. There are probably other complexities as well ... Marie generates emotional complexity effortlessly.

-----

I'm in a fight with my professional organization. I don't know why I care, and some days I don't. It's not like I'm working any more. My membership expires this month. Maybe I'll just let it go. Still, if I do, that's another milestone for this year.

-----

At the end of June, Schmidt wrecked his car. He described it this way:

"Driving to town for groceries and prescriptions.  Just a mile or two out of town, got distracted trying to let a wasp out the window, drifted just enough to hit a mailbox that (due to prior vandalism I suppose) was anchored with steel and concrete like a damn skyscraper and totally wrecked the car.  Flipped, rolled, slid... good thing I'm in the habit of doing only 60 on that part of the road!  Seat belt & air bags did their job and I crawled out the (pulverized) passenger side window with just some cuts and bruises.  Somebody came along just as I got out and used his cell phone to call 911 -- I was still dazedly trying to collect myself and wondering how to use my phone without  my glasses (knocked off and god-knew-where).... Cue EMTs, Highway patrol, tow truck -- tow operator finally found my glasses for me (way in the back of what's left of the car) so I can see again."

-----

My former boss wrote me that he is afraid of being laid off, because the huge company that we both worked for is doing lots of business except not in his country.

-----

Numerologically, 2026 is a "1-year" because 2 + 0 + 2 + 6 = 10, and 1 + 0 = 1. According to John Michael Greer, 1-years are: 

"Ruled by the Sun, this is a number of new beginnings and opportunity. This is a time of practical action and constructive change.  It's a good time to take direct action and to start new things in motion, so long as they aren't complex or evasive. Move ahead forcefully during this year."

All-righty then!

-----

Have I forgotten anything? Maybe. Probably

Is there more that I don't know about? Gosh, I hope not!