![]() When someone’s telling you their problems, you should absolutely, positively, NEVER tell them about something similar that happened to you. When someone’s telling you their problems, you should absolutely, positively, ALWAYS tell them about something similar that happened to you. Ah, the paradox of emotional support. Connections are great, unless they aren’t, and nobody can know in advance if they’re coming off like an ally or a self-centered, egotistical jerk. I’ve always been a sharing guy. Someone has a problem and I cannot solve it, but at least I can let them know they aren’t alone and that I have some understanding of their challenges. I’ll say I had something similar, or essentially the same, and I’ll try to reassure them that they are normal. Then, we’re back to their travail du jour. Usually, it works. They might ask about what happened to me or how I handled it or whether things improved on their own. They might link it back to the specifics of their issue or the details that make our experiences more or less comparable. Sometimes, though, it backfires. I’m not telling them they aren’t alone; I’m telling them it’s no big deal. I’m not reassuring them that they’re normal; I’m dismissing them for complaining about a problem that everyone else deals with just fine. AITA? Why, yes, I am. Maybe it’s like modern sex and I need to ask for consent, or at least have them answer a brief list of questions so I can serve them better as a listener.
I could probably use a disclaimer, although starting a sentence with, “I’m not trying to make this about me,” guarantees that whatever I say next will sound like I’m 100% making it about me. Which is okay, because I have needs, too, and it’s not like they're paying for lunch. N.B.: If they are, in fact, paying for the lunch, I probably shouldn’t make it about me. Where was I? Oh, yeah, Door Number Two. So, my friend is unburdening himself and leaving himself vulnerable in a world without pity and I’m supposed to leave him hanging? Silence doesn’t have meaning, at least no meaning that anyone can interpret with certainty. Still, he is going to read something into the fact that I am just sitting there, staring at him, earning zero out of 10 on his rating of my eye contact. Maybe he thinks I am paying rapt attention. Maybe he thinks I am awestruck by the tragedy of his life. Maybe he thinks I’m wishing he’d shut up so I can talk about myself. Whatever he thinks, all we know is that he threw his challenges onto the table and they’re just sitting, waiting for…what? Sometimes, I’ll offer the insight that their feelings are normal, that they have resources available to them. Sometimes, I’ll ask questions that might lead them to find some answers they’ve never considered. Usually, I’ll offer that they aren’t alone and share a personal tidbit, which will either make them appreciative or irritated. I never know which it will be in advance. If they pay for the lunch, though, I know I’ve done it right. Subscribe? Why, yes, I'd love to, and all I need to do is click here?
1 Comment
![]() Maybe we all benefited from having no televisions in our rooms, and very few in the hotels, but I spent a week in Yellowstone National Park this fall without hearing a single word about the election. On the tour bus, at the restaurant counter, waiting for Old Faithful to erupt, the conversations were as notable for what they didn’t cover as the topics du jour. Somewhere around day four, I realized I had not heard anyone say Trump or Harris or Vance or Walz or rigged or debate or vote or polls. There was a guy with a Team Trump bumper sticker on his truck, but I think that was from 2020 or 2016 and he didn’t read the phrase out loud for us, so it doesn’t count. Instead, all the people I met were talking about wildlife and geysers, weather and climate, terrain and flora. None seemed interested in bringing politics into their journey. Maybe they don’t care as much as I’d think EVERYBODY CARES when I drop into the Twitter-verse or open the emails asking me for $3 to save the nation. Maybe they care deeply, but needed a bit of detox as they escaped the hellish battles of partisans for the gift of God’s creation. Maybe they just have better things to think about. Dunno and don’t care. It was exquisite. Even better, it was a slap in the face, a reminder that I don’t have to travel 1,500 miles to enter a different world. All I need to do is move from one room to another, either figuratively or literally or both. We all make the choice, every day of our lives, and some choices are more damaging than others. On Twitter, it’s all politics all the time and I can read 100 different explanations about why the same slice of video is the end of Trump or the proof of his apotheosis. Some of the politics has infected LinkedIn, but mostly it’s a million notes about trying harder, working harder, never giving up, and not being a worthless failure. During the Jewish High Holidays, I spent days in a room where all I focused on was my spiritual and moral worthiness. The thing we forget, or that I certainly ignore, is that we have a million rooms and a million choices. Nobody forces us to focus on just one thing in just one space. Nothing requires that we answer every question with a reference to politicians or a whatabout. None of us is trapped in the misery zone, although we stay much too long by choice. What room should I enter today? Which room will any of us choose to inhabit over the next 24 hours…of 24 years? I can choose the room that offers comfort and solace, or fear and pain. Stupidly, I choose the latter much too frequently, forgetting I have the power to move physically or spiritually to more pleasant surroundings. I hope everyone else is much smarter than I am about the whole thing. ![]() So why do I need to know about Nahor’s concubine anyway? Every year at this time, I channel my inner rabbi in a fruitless attempt to grasp the wisdom of the ages, and so… We’re in the middle of the Jewish High Holidays, the Ten Days of Awe that begin with the new year and culminate with us being written—or not—into the Book of Life for the coming year. I don’t take it all literally, since predestination isn’t really my jam, but I do respect the discipline of considering my (few, tiny, not even worth mentioning) flaws and vowing to do better at least once each year. The liturgy is the same every year, including the story about Abraham almost sacrificing Isaac until an angel announces at the last moment that God was only kidding about it and he doesn’t have to kill his son after all. (The rabbis used to say Abraham passed the test by being willing to accede to God’s command, but I’ve written before that he really flunked the test big-time and the rabbis got it all wrong.) Meanwhile, at the end of the story, after all the drama, we find out that Abraham’s brother, Nahor, has been having a swinging time, baby, and both his wife and his concubine have popped out a huge number of kids: an even dozen, if you’re keeping score. Clearly, Abraham and his brother haven’t been in touch over the years, since it takes a long time to produce 12 children, even with two women and no birth control. Still, you have to wonder why the scribes decided to finish off the big story with the names of Nahor’s children. Most of us would be wondering how Abraham and Isaac reconcile after the whole I-have-to-kill-you thing, or maybe we'd want to know how Sarah’s going to react when Isaac tells mom about his latest camping trip with dad. Instead, we find out that Abraham’s brother has a wife who gave him eight sons and a concubine who gave birth to three sons and a daughter and they are living happily ever after, or as happy as you can be with no air conditioning or indoor plumbing. There’s no explanation for including this little family newsletter after all the excitement of the prior tale, but I think I’ve finally figured it out. No matter what happens in our lives, no matter how important or dramatic or traumatic the situation might be for us, everyone else is going about their business because, well, it’s their business. Even in the most earthshaking times, people have to take care of their own lives, their own families, even their own concubines, before worrying about everything else. You can be conversing directly with God, getting ready to sacrifice the child your wife waited 90 years to have, finalizing the deal for the Chosen People franchise, but the rest of the world will keep spinning regardless. I can imagine Abraham calling Nahor to say, “Bro, you won’t believe what just happened! God told me to kill Isaac and I was going to do it and…” but then Nahor says, “Can I call you back? My wife and concubine are fighting again and I have to break it up.” And Abraham, who has some experience with wives and concubines not getting along, will have to wait for a return call. And that’s the lesson I’m taking from the strange ending to our story. Everyone has a life, everyone has their own problems, and it’s a gigantic gift when/if someone drops what they’re doing to help us out. It’s also a gigantic exception, because taking care of our own business is absolutely the norm. Mostly, we’re on our own, fighting our own battles, and oblivious to the challenges haunting the rest of the world. Meanwhile, the rest of the world is fighting their own battles and oblivious to our problems. We have no right to expect any help from anyone else, whatever someone does for us is 100% a blessing. It's not the most surprising lesson I’ve encountered, the idea that everyone else has their own lives and their own problems and they don’t owe us anything. Still, some of us do need a reminder every now and then. ![]() The guys in this picture are: A. Working for a living. B. Looking for handouts. The guys in this picture are: A. Entrepreneurs starting their own business B. Beggars The guys in this picture are: A. Prime examples of a real work ethic B. Disturbing the peace. I’d say, ‘take your pick,’ but you already did that, didn’t you? We have a complicated and frequently contradictory view of people who literally take their retail business to the street. Some of us pay them to entertain us, some give them a charitable contribution, and most of us pass by with anger or embarrassment or some other emotional response. Pretty much nobody will congratulate them for pursuing the American Dream, but maybe we’re missing something here. While I was enjoying a summer day on a bike ride, these guys were taking turns entertaining the motorists at Six Corners in Chicago. Okay, they were mostly using plastic pails as drums and not everyone was entertained, but that’s no different from any bit of street art. Some of us like it and pay for the show and some of us hate it and offer no reward, but the performers give it their all either way. That makes their job the same as a restaurant server or a porter or a valet, doing the work with no idea whether a tip is in the offing. Capitalism is a tough town. There’s a performing group at Walt Disney World that does essentially the same thing as my new friends on Cicero Avenue. The Disney World team has a longer performance with more people, more props and—sorry, guys—much more talent, but both groups seek to entertain us by attacking garbage cans with sticks. Maybe one of the guys in this photo will be in Orlando one day and get discovered, earning his way to a bright musical career and some great reminiscences about his humble beginnings. Probably not, but we never know. Every super hero has an origin story and my weekend entertainment was undoubtedly part of theirs. Sometimes, the people asking for money on the street aren’t offering anything tangible in return, although I do get the positive feeling that I’ve done something charitable, possibly heroic, when I give them a dollar. Here’s a mom with a baby, sitting on the sidewalk, looking for money to put food on the table, and I know all the reasons I shouldn’t part with my money. She might be a scammer, it might not be her kid, and giving her money only encourages her to keep begging and never get a job… Still, she’s having a worse day than I am by any measurement available and I’ll take the risk that she’s secretly a billionaire asking me to make her even richer. The choice is easier with a street performer or a migrant mom selling water or candy outside the grocery store. Now it’s a more physical transaction, an offer of a product or a service in return for payment. As a true capitalist, I can’t help but applaud the entrepreneurial spirit, even if I don’t happen to need any more Skittles. Every sale they make, or don’t, is part of their origin story and I’m helping them to craft it either way. Someday, maybe a couple of decades from now, my street-side drummers will be talking about our interaction on their podcast, recalling the guy who gave them ten bucks and the encouragement to continue striving for their art. Today, though, I spent $10 to get a blog idea, and that’s an investment I’ll make any day of the week. Next week, we're taking a look at what's really newsworthy and a way to avoid a whole ton of conversation, and people who subscribe here will love it the most. ![]() I've discovered some great jobs that demand much less time than I was led to believe, and a whole lotta monkeys are not missing the stigma at all. It all makes sense when you consider:
Next week, we'll figure out whether the guys I met on the street are entrepreneurs or panhandlers, because it's really a toss-up until a couple of decades from now. You'll want to become a subscriber to learn the truth. ![]() I forgot to buy special glasses in the spring, so I missed the opportunity to look directly at the solar eclipse. I had a schedule conflict that kept me from checking out the peak peek at the northern lights in May, so that’s another moment that passed me by. Even worse, I rescheduled for night two of the northern lights and drove out to a forested area where I spent three hours staring in vain at an uncooperative sky. Even worser, there were a dozen people at the same spot, and all of them showed me pictures they had taken the night before. One after another, they displayed glorious images of the night sky, shot from exactly where we were now standing, and each person marveled that I really should have been there 24 hours earlier. I was pretty miserable about the whole thing, but I had a great time that night. I was already there, so I figured I might as well get the most out of it. The people I met that night were much better informed than I am, so they introduced me to a sky I had never really seen before. They pointed out a satellite or two and, maybe, the International Space Station. They showed me an app that predicted where the northern lights were going to be, which turned out to be just a bit beyond the horizon from where we stood. They were happy to tell me all the camera settings they used to capture great images of the heavens the night before I arrived. As the moon flew over the lagoon, I marveled at the reflection of the trees across the water. As the sky darkened further, I spotted at least one shooting star. As more cars pulled up at the clearing, I remembered how events like this can bring us together for a purpose other than politics. I also learned that many people don’t seem to know how to turn off their headlights when they want to see something in the dark. Deer came out to graze on a nearby lawn and, undoubtedly, the rustling sounds nearby signaled creatures scavenging for food at night. There’s no question my journey was a bust, at least for its intended purpose, but it was still a great night. Do I wish I’d seen the light show? Of course. Am I happy I went anyway? Absolutely. That’s the way life works, isn’t it? Allen Saunders said life is what happens when you’re making other plans. Equally unheralded, Michael Rosenbaum recognized that, “I’m not getting today back.” And the most important question we can ask when things don’t go our way is, “Now what?” Life has more detours than roads, which means we're almost always asking ourselves what we're going to do next. Stay. Go. Laugh. Cry. Rejoice. Complain. It makes no difference to the moving finger, but it makes all the difference for us. |
Who writes this stuff?Dadwrites oozes from the warped mind of Michael Rosenbaum, an award-winning author who spends most of his time these days as a start-up business mentor, book coach, photographer and, mostly, a grandfather. All views are his alone, largely due to the fact that he can’t find anyone who agrees with him. Archives
January 2024
Categories
All
|