'Bred Crumbs

The Inevitable Post-election Entry

Kerry hasn't conceded Ohio, but I have.

I concede it all. But I don't accept it. Not remotely.

I tried to brace myself for this outcome, but the reality of it is too much. I was too angry to sleep last night.

I'm miles farther to the left than I was yesterday. And that's OK.

I'm completely uninterested in healing, or unity.

I'm thankful as always that I live where I do, the amazing city of San Francisco, a last bastion of actual freedom. And I wonder how long it can hold out against the Empire.

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Horns of a "Dilemna" (The Obligatory Election Entry)

The day is upon us, and, like you, I made my mind up ages ago. Given the (ugh) options in the race for president, only one is remotely stomachable. Bush has got to go.

My intention here is not to start a debate at this late date (hence, no comments). It's not even to go on about why I'm so sure the election of Bush would be a horrible thing.

I'm here to say what few others in this contentious country will.

I could be wrong.

Mind you, I don't really believe I'm wrong. The case for Bush mystifies me. He alienates the world to invade a nation, unprovoked and without cause, and without an exit plan, and that's supposed to stop terrorism? Doesn't that just incite terrorism, and waste resources (and lives) that could be truly combatting it – in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iran, North Korea, and Saudi Arabia? And while Bush and his unseemly cohorts claim they're fighting for freedom, they impede it here by chipping away at our privacy, inflicting theocracy on us, and, oh yeah, trying to write discrimination (against me) into the Constitution. And on top of it all, why aren't more people outraged about all the damn lies – lies that have cost lives, and will cost more?

Will Kerry be better? Maybe not. But probably so. At least he's a chance. And at least he can change his mind, admit mistakes. You know, sometimes I'm described as stubborn, and it's hardly ever a compliment. Yet Bush's bullheadedness is pimped as a virtue. Will Kerry be better? How could he be worse?

But my point is not to rant. And I don't expect to sway anyone, or I would have posted earlier. I'm saying I mean it: I could be wrong. Half the country (or, I'm afraid, more) thinks I am. Being sure isn't being right.

Back in college, I was proofreading one day in the newspaper office and came upon the word dilemma. Which I was ready to mark as an error. And a fellow student was as sure as I was that the word had an n in it – dilemna. But we looked it up, and it took us three dictionaries before we would accept that we were wrong. To our shock, something we would have sworn was true wasn't.

I'm just as sure that electing Bush will be a grave, grave mistake. All the evidence, and my gut, tell me that. But in a country split down the middle, somebody's wrong. And it could be me. Indeed, if this election turns out the way I think it will, the hope that I'm wrong is what I'll be clinging to desperately, like a thin branch on a very high cliff.

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The Charley Horse I Rode In On

If I were to start my own religion, the altar would be a massage table.

Not just for the rubby-feely-relaxy reasons, nor because it keeps my neck and shoulders working, but because on the massage table, in the hands of a supremely skilled professional therapist, is the only place that I come even close to shutting down my brain, a self-destructive being that constantly hungers for stress like an addict for smack.

Even on the table, the shutdown is surprisingly difficult; I struggle to not think about anything, sometimes thinking so elaborately about how enjoyable massage is that I block myself from just enjoying the massage. But I do eventually settle down, and when I do, clearer understanding descends upon me unbidden. Connection trumps cognition. Acceptance smothers fear. Life conquers dread.

My latest appointment was more sorely needed than most. In the months since the previous one, a flock of stress had come to roost. My job was plummeting downward as my company sold itself to another one, then bailed on the deal and offered itself to yet another company. To eliminate that stress source, I'd gotten serious about finding a new job, thus creating a new kind of stress. And through all this, we were shooting our movie.

Those first two things would knot anyone's fibers, but the last is a prime example of me turning the weapon on myself. Let's see it from a better-lit angle: here I am, collaborating to make a friggin' movie, one of our very own, building upon unexpected acclaim for our previous one, getting the chance to dabble further in a much-admired art form. But all through the shoot, I found the downside, and set up camp there. I obsessed about staying on schedule. I agonized about whether the weather would behave as we wished, as if I could change it. I worried about being sufficiently prepared instead of just doing everything I could and sorting through the consequences as they came. I acted as if everything was on my shoulders even though I'm really one of several with a stake in it, with most of the others taking on tougher roles than mine.

But they made a good time of it, while I labored to enjoy this new experience. I squandered recess by brooding on the playground.

And on the job front, after a brief and very picky search, I landed an offer for a position that pretty much defines "good fit." But instead of anticipating the numerous improvements over my old situation – a move to a stable and private company, with no slavish, short-sighted devotion to stockholders; an end of three years of wondering when I, too, would finally get laid off; the chance to apply my uncommon mix of creative and coding skills to bigger, more valuable systems and challenges; a 15-minute commute downtown instead of an hour-plus one across the Bay; a return to the bustle and numerous tasty lunch options along Market and a stunning view of the Big Pointy Building and Coit Tower from a high-rise suite – instead of looking forward to all that, I spent more mental energy worrying about the newness of it all. At first.

But on the table, as some big, big knots were popped and pushed out of my body (like the massive ones in my left calf that woke me up by cramping massively out of nowhere two nights before, which had never happened to me), I saw what I was doing to myself. I saw how extensive my blessings are, how my own self-destructive psychology is keeping me from appreciating them, how much effort I squander fearing everything.

I'm not saying the world suddenly became a purely beautiful, painless place – how could I, mere days before a perilous national election and the variety of threats that hang over it? – but there is only so much I can do about all that, and nothing to be gained from wringing my hands and looking for monsters behind every open door.

The coin has a shiny other side I need to start recognizing. And not just when I'm prone and oily.

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