The child in the Hawaiian print shorts is very likely my brother or sister. I tend to think brother, but there’s no way to know for sure. What I do know is that this picture was taken in June of 1959, on a Navy base—2 years and 7 months before I was born. The girl sitting on the floor is my eldest sister, Dawn. We look nothing alike. I look nothing like my other older sister, Dianne, either.

I look like the child in the flowered shorts and so does my son. Same coloring, hair, lips, eyes, and ears. Same face shape and expression when tired.

This picture was discovered and given to me after my mother died, but she wouldn’t have told the truth or given me a name even if she had lived another six decades. She was married when I was born, to a man that was so obviously not my father that it only took me about five years before I began suspecting the truth. It took 30 years beyond that to get her to admit her infidelity fully. Still, she wouldn’t tell me anything about the man who fathered me. I don’t know his name or his nationality. I don’t know one-half of myself and it’s a blank history I’ve passed on to my children. I suspect that the affair between my mother and biological father wasn’t short—that he was also married and stationed on the same ship and Navy bases that my stepfather was.

This post isn’t about unsolved mysteries, though. I’ve sadly reconciled to the fact that I have almost no chance of finding out who the child in the photograph is or who my real father is—my mother had no close friends and held onto her secrets tightly.

What I want to say—what I want to scream, really— is that this is why people should not lie. Not to their children and not to others. Lies are not contained in a neat, singular vacuum. They have far-reaching consequences, for the liar certainly, but even more so for the ones who have been told the lies.

My mother was ashamed of me and her husband resented me. I felt it, I knew it down to my bones, but I didn’t know why. I turned myself inside out trying to be better, trying to understand why I could never, ever be good enough. I was about seven the first time I ever thought about suicide. My child brain reasoned that since I was the source of her misery, my death would make my mother happy—and nothing makes a child feel so good as when they can please their mother. Over time, as my own pain grew, my suicidal ideation became a self-comfort. “If it gets too bad, I can end it.” I comfort myself during hard times with the same thought today.

Most people, even the very young, I think, can feel the truth of a matter even if they don’t know the finer details. If a person feels lied to, even if someone close to them is insisting that they’re telling the truth, then there’s probably some divide between the information that was wanted and what was offered. My mother, for instance, used to point to my birth certificate as “proof” that her husband was legally my father. Legally is not actually—it didn’t square with the truth I wanted—but to her it was close enough. As an older child, she tormented me with teasing games of misinformation when I pressed the issue, telling me my father was Rod McKuen, Warren Beatty, or some stranger she met in a bar. Later, she’d recant and go back to the birth certificate. I can laugh at some of the stories now, but it’s not a happy laugh. There will always be some part of me that craves the truth even if it’s almost impossible to find.

A woman I recently met felt that something in her twenty-plus year marriage had changed and that her husband had grown more distant. At first he denied her feelings and then he blamed work, tiredness, and even her—if she didn’t nag him about it so much, maybe he’d be happier and more interested. For two years, she wavered in a space of swallowing her own feelings for his comfort, hoping he’d recover, and rising up to ask for the truth, or counseling, or some clue that she could work with. In the end she found out that he’d been having an affair. It was a brutal revelation, more so because it came late and it didn’t come from him. When faced with the truth he admitted to it but now, a year or so after the fact, what lingers for her isn’t the infidelity, but the two painful years she spent living with a lie, desperate to reconcile what she felt with what she was being told.

Two years, thirty-five years, or a lifetime…lies cause far more pain than honesty ever could. Had I been told the truth as a child, I might have better understood the why of being treated differently than my siblings. I might not have internalized the shame and resentment. Today, being told the absolute truth, under all circumstances, even if it has to be dug out of rock hard ground, might not be so very important to me. Had the wife been told from the start that her husband was having an affair, she might not feel so bitter about the two years she spent feeling desperate, abandoned, and confused.

People lie for many reasons, but one of the major ones is to make themselves look good. Denying the truth of my father meant that my mother didn’t have to admit to being unfaithful. Other people wouldn’t think less of her. How she looked in the eyes of others was more important to her than the pain her lie caused me or even herself. It couldn’t have been easy for her to have and raise a child she did not want. Had she been willing to be more honest though, she might have given me up for adoption and saved us both from decades of turmoil. She might have looked bad to family and acquaintances for a while but the shame she felt would not have been as long lasting and the consequences not as heavy.

I’ve no doubt that the woman’s husband lied to look good, or at least better, too. He didn’t want to admit to an affair because that would mean that he was responsible for doing something unethical. It was easier for him to put the burden of their failing relationship on his wife because he could still look like the good guy. He wrote the story of an overworked, tired man with a nagging wife and wanted her to follow along until maybe, at some point in the future, when it was more convenient for him, he was ready to leave home and start a new life with someone else.

There are common lies of omission and less commonly, differing definitions. My ex-lover would insist that she loved me but her actions toward me didn’t match her words. In the end I didn’t feel loved, so the chances are that I was not—at least not in any way that would have matched my definition. Love invites in, it doesn’t shut out.  Love is special and rare and not easily replaceable. Love is willing to fight for itself. Everyone has their own definitions of what love is and isn’t. Had I known that her definition was so far off from my own—had she told me that her feelings about love were, in fact, quite opposite, I might not have invested so much of myself into loving her, and the end of our relationship would not have been as fraught with confusion and anguish. I would have been quicker to forgive her for not being able to return the same kind of love I gave to her, and I would not still be working on healing months after our final goodbye.

Lies are not solitary, isolated events. They change people—mentally and spiritually—which means they also affect that person’s present and future—and never, it seems, for the better. Lies add pain to situations that are all ready painful. The truth is not always kind but at least what people might feel as the result of an unhappy truth is real. It’s not clouded with confusion, suspicion, and lack of knowledge.

A harsh truth might cut deeply, but only the first time it’s told. Lies, on the other hand, are like a continuous poison that can seep into years, even decades. It’s easier to heal from a swift truth than a slow, drawn-out lie.

For that reason I’m all for telling people, including my own children, the truth even if it doesn’t make me look good. I know I’ll recover faster and so will others.

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The unbearable tenderness of loving a child does not end when we lose them. Heather Spohr recently lost her baby daughter, Madeline, and wrote an incredibly moving story about finding Maddie’s handprint on a door after her death.

Danny & Kendall Miller lost one of their twins, Oliver, in birth, and have been on an emotional and physical rollercoaster watching their son, Charlie, fight for his life.

One of my readers, Marcie, recently wrote to me about the death of her son, David, in a drunk driving incident fifteen years ago. Time has not lessened their sense of loss.

There is no experience that approaches the grief of losing children to death, but others still mourn children lost to drugs, alcohol, or other problems that found no resolution.  They hang onto hopes, even when scant, that one day the children they spent years loving will return.  It’s a hope that those who have buried children can only wish they had.

There are children being mourned who are fully alive, but unrecognizable. Children — once loved, doted upon, worried over, and nurtured — who have been lost to cults and religions, controlling partners, social climbs, and sweeping changes in character.

The instinct to protect does not end with either death or distance, but often turns into a desire to possess some heroic superpower that can somehow undo tragedy and put the shattered pieces back into order.

The pain that was once acutely felt over nicks and bruises becomes a fierce and long-armed emotion that seethes doubly over every story of child abuse and neglect — and that spontaneously cries over strollers in the mall, or the sight of a parent and child walking hand-in-hand.

The unbearable tenderness never goes away, not in death or painful separation. It pulls, it aches, it cries — and it calls for just one more day, one more moment of warm breath and perfect love.

There are no profound lessons in death or abandonment. There’s no gained wisdom, or sterling epiphanies, except what we have really known all along. Love is everything, love is life, love is precious, and never really dies.

Lola sleeps safely, her blond hair tousled, her head falling upon her arm.  Madeline lives on in the memories of thousands of people whose lives she touched.  Charlie gave his dad the gift of good vital signs on Fathers Day. David’s parents grieve differently on the anniversary of his death, but come together to laugh over warm memories.

Tonight, there are children being tucked in, children being mourned, and children who have been lost.  And there is unbearable tenderness and infinite love, everywhere.

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1. Do you have regrets? What is one? Do you believe that regrets have a valuable place in our life, or do they distract us from moving forward? – Danielle

I do. One of them is marrying at 19. There were years-long consequences to that, even though the marriage did not last long. Yes, I believe regrets are valuable. I think if we never regretted anything, we’d not only lack a conscience, but be more likely to repeat mistakes. I don’t see how having regrets would prevent anyone from moving forward, unless they stemmed from something long-term, such as having children or getting into a certain career, but even then we can only move forward.

2. Have you ever been attacked by cyber-bullies and how did you handle the situation? – Palestar

I have, and I didn’t handle it as well as I should have. I took it much too personally. In retrospect, I should have done more to ignore it and understood that as personal as people get on the internet, they have no way of really knowing you, or you them, on the internet.

3. If you could live your life over, choosing the location, your profession, etc., what would you change and why? – Debbie

I would have started with different parents, never left California, completed my degree, and remained a technical writer unless my literary career took off. In reality, a restless spirit, combined with some incredible hopes and a love for adventure, took me many places, some good, some not. Now that I’m older, I wish I’d managed to be a little fonder of stability in my 20′s and 30′s.

4. And for you: Pizza, steak, Mexican, or Chinese? – Laurie C.

Chinese food, steak, then Mexican food. Pizza way, way far down on the list.

5. If a person could read your tea leaves, and the tea leaves of others accurately without knowing you or them, how would you explain it? – Ann Parker

As a fluke or a set-up, because I don’t believe in such things and have seen too many other similar things, like astrology, seances and psychics, roundly debunked.

6. If you had no choice and could choose, which would you rather lose, your sight or your hearing and why? – Marcie

No doubt, my hearing. You can still “hear” people through their body language, expressions, and writing and you can “hear” things like wind and thunder through sensation…but it’s much harder to see people and things without vision.

7. What is your favorite aphorism? If you were given the choice to learn your date of death would you choose to know? Have you ever seen the movie School of Rock? – Elaine

“Highly developed spirits often encounter resistance from mediocre minds” – Einstein. This became a particular favorite this past election season. And yes definitely to #2, and yes oddly enough to #3 (I’ve seen about five movies in the last six or seven years).

8. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be and why? – Tammie

Hawaii. It’s beautiful, warm, lush, surrounded by the ocean I love, and there are no slithering things.

9. I am a total foodie…so I need to know…what one comfort food do you turn to when you are blue? – Jeanne

Do I have to be blue? I’m a latte fanatic everyday. Chocolate is something I don’t eat often anymore, but I crave it when my energy is low. As far as a comfort meal, I’d have to go with chicken and dumpling soup.

10. Do you lust after the new Mac Airbook for just it’s beauty and style and wow factor and if so wouldn’t the new super slim Dell be just as cool, or are there other internal differences about the Macs you love? – Susan S.

I had a Mac a number of years ago and remember it as being intuitive, fairly problem free, and easy to remedy when there was problem, which has not been my experience with PC’s. I am frustrated by how long it takes to end a program that has quit working, and the number of times that happens even when the memory is nowhere near capacity. I’m frustrated by the updates that seem to almost always cause something else to quit working, and by Windows built-in preferences for its own substandard other services.

11. Why are you important? – Woodrow

I don’t feel I am in the context of self, or what I presently give to the world at large. When I was raising children whom I was solely responsible for, I felt important in the sense that other lives and futures depended on my own. My children see me as important to their lives even though they are grown and competent, and there may be others who find me important in their lives for other reasons, but I think if death was imminent, I’d be at peace knowing I’ve loved, nurtured, and given to my best capacity.

12. Do you have any true friendships with people who’s opinions regarding religion and politics strongly oppose yours? If you don’t, do you believe it’s possible? – Chris

Yes to religion and no to politics. I have among my friends a Lutheran, two Catholics and one Mormon, but none of them are staunchly, wholly conservative. I think my friends tend to take what’s best or most meaningful for them from their religion and apply it to their personal lives without expectation that others should do or feel the same. I have friends who are anti-abortion, for instance, but who wouldn’t want a law that denied abortion for others. They view religion as personal, not political. I don’t think I could be friends, or want to be, with neo-conservatives, because their beliefs are not just personal, but societal and often global. They want their beliefs, including their personal religious ones, to inform government, law, science and more.

13. What really pisses you off… makes you so mad you could scream…? – Theresa

Purposeful ignorance. Someone who is so intent on holding onto a certain belief, philosophy, or way of being that they absolutely refuse to process or understand any other information.

14. Why do you write? I know what rankles and activates you. What brings you: joy? peace? serenity? Describe your ideal Friday night. – Kate

I write for different reasons. Sometimes because I don’t understand something until I’ve laid out my thoughts and questioned them, sometimes because I’m excited, outraged, or heartbroken and sometimes, oftentimes, because I see or hear something I totally disagree with and I want my perspective put out there as a balance. What brings me joy-peace-serenity isn’t an absolute unless we’re talking about the well-being of my children. Where I’m at now, I take those things wherever and as often as I can find them. My ideal any-night is being “in the zone” and writing something that I think is meaningful and that others will enjoy.

15. My question: We all have defining moments in our lives. Moments that shape us, our ideas, our writing, our outlook. Name one defining moment in your life and how it shaped you. – Corina
& When did you know you were a writer? – Sharon

This is not a lovely answer, but true. It was when my mother choked me into unconsciousness when I was in the 4th grade. It was field day at school – we were given permission to wear shorts  – but my mother wouldn’t hear of it, so I put the shorts on under my dress. She had been violent before, but never that deadly. I realized my own mortality then, and on some level finally understood that my mother’s violent outbursts and hatred had to do with something other than who I was or how I behaved. After that incident, I became less of an inward child and began to write in order to find my voice.

16. Who was your biggest influence and why? – LBJ

For better or worse, my mother. The one who gives us life and then nurtures — or not — is the one who sets the foundation from which all else springs. That’s not to say that we can’t build anything we want from there, but the influence from childhood is lifelong, even if it becomes our life’s work to do everything quite the opposite way.

17. What are the things that have made your heart soar to unfathomable heights never reached before? – Tash

Three things: 1) The birth of my children – more than anything in the world. 2) Making love to someone I really loved – the second most-high experience. 3) An article I wrote that seemed to touch a lot of women, but this last one was kind of a fluke because it was something that was linked to from a celebrity site, and so it was her fans that commented. It made it difficult to know if they liked the piece on its own merits, or because she did. A famous person could start using a grocery bag for a purse, and many people would think that was cool. That doesn’t really make grocery bags cooler than they were before the celebrity started wearing them.

18. All that is left of the great artist is: A painting she has done of the cat and the cat itself. You must save one. Which will it be and why? – Laura

The cat, of course, because it is a living, feeling creature.

19. When are you gonna come for dinner and let me cook for you? Red or White…whats your fav kinda wine? – Loony

If I’m ever in that part of Canada, Shoeless Acres will be my first stop, and I’d love a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.

20. What is your favourite curse word? – Peggi Jean

Fuck. Hands down.

21. Miracle whip or mayonnaise? – Caron

Mayonnaise, preferably homemade or organic.

22. Why are people [so willing to ] turn over the control of their lives so easily to an unknown force? – Jeff

The world can be frightening, unjust, and unforgiving. I think people seek to give “control” to an unknown force because it not only lessens their fears and anxieties, but also gives them some hope for all that the unknown force usually promises — which is usually centered around blessings, redemption, and peace. Of course, the ultimate control is always an individual’s, but a belief that one will ultimately be rewarded for being good, and others will be punished for being bad, helps many people get through their days.

23. If you had to pick a single word to guide you through the next year, what would it be and why? – Sandi

Change. Obama’s campaign slogan is also mine — I would like to make and see many changes in 2009, none of them easy or easily accessible, but I’m going to push as hard as I can to make this year really count.

24. What’s your ultimate dream/goal/fantasy as a writer–meaning what would your ideal writing life look like? – V-Grrrl

One bestselling book that will buy me a small house in a beautiful place, and the rest of my years spent writing whatever I wanted with no concern about ever needing or wanting to sell it to a publisher. I think JD Salinger did it right. Unfortunately, it’s the rare writer who can now be both published and a hermit.

25. What do you wish people knew or understood about you that they do not? – Julia

That despite everything I have known and seen, I have a deep core of innocence, and am still easily amazed, affected, and moved by even small, simple gestures, words, and situations.

26. How is the you of 5, 10 years hence going to be different to the you of today? – Karen

I likely wouldn’t be much different 5 or 10 years from now, unless one counts having additional experience as a substantial change.

27. Why is it you, and other female writers, such as Annie Proulx and Amy Bloom, start out life as wives and mothers and then change their sexual orientation? – Carol

I can only speak for myself, but I was bisexual as a child, I just didn’t have a name for my attraction to girls. There were no discussions, no role models, no people I knew who were gay. When I was a teen, I went out with boys because that’s what all the girls did. I married when I was still a teen, at 19, and it was very brief. Afterwards, grown up and on my own, I felt freer to explore my feelings and be honest with myself. I realized that while physically I could be attracted to either sex for the short-term, my long-term desires, physical and in every other way, were for women. I would not say I changed, but grew more self-aware and more comfortable with who I was.

28. Do you believe in God? – Suzanne / What defines you as Jewish? – Neil

I suspect, or want to believe, that there was some intelligent force behind the creation of life, but I also believe the science for evolution is well-proven — which is at odds with the Biblical version of God. I have problems with the great leaps of logic apparent in all the the religions of men, because I believe that any force capable of creating life would not be illogical. Outside of a few very minor species, it takes a female and a male to procreate, meaning if there were a God he would have had to have a mother. It is irrational to believe that God would be born alone from the vapors of the Universe, yet a taboo question in religion is “who created God”. I also believe that human beings have the brains that we do so that we can evolve and reach our highest potential — something that organized religion often seems to want to undermine in favor of blind faith, dogma, and tradition. I find comfort in liberal Judaism not as much for the traditions but for the spiritual, emotional, and practical aspects, such as community, service, self and global awareness, progressive beliefs, inclusion, and a strong belief in education.

29. Huge fan of food network so….you’re given zucchini, pineapples, dried dates, maple syrup, and polenta, what would you make having to use all these ingredients? – Steve

I would make a mess! I was curious, though, so I googled your combination, and discovered that I could make a breakfast polenta of sorts, although the zucchini would be a rather odd ingredient.

30. Why is the desk in the room of your own vision great and big and mahogany? – Tre

I have absolutely no idea! I may have seen something like that as a child and been impressed, but if so I don’t remember where or when. Mahogany has always been my favorite color/grain of wood.

31. What is the one piece of advice, over all others, you would give to someone who wants to be a writer? – Lucie

To try to look at the people, situations, and circumstances around them as writer — a recorder of physical, factual, emotional, and contextual detail. I think most writers begin by writing through a self-reflective lens, which helps them explore hidden parts of themselves, and find their own rhythm and voice. The evolution is in being able to look at something through multiple lenses while not losing your individual vision.

32. What do you think is the next step for feminism? Or is this as good as it gets in a patriarchy? – Callie

First, thank you for acknowledging that we still live in a patriarchal society. I’ve been stunned by how many people deny this is true, despite the continuing imbalance of power. We still live in a time when language like “the state’s first female governor…” is spoken with peculiar pride or surprise. I believe feminism, as a self-sustaining concept, was lost in the mire of several other causes it attached itself to in order to gain more supporters, build solidarity, and present itself as a stronger political force. Those other causes, such as ending racism and gaining LGBT rights, have not been as inclusive of, or outspoken about, womens’ rights as the cause of feminism was to theirs. The brightest and most passionate feminist voices seem to have slipped away to the ivory towers of academia, leaving an entire global generation with only a dim knowledge of domestic inequalities, and the horrors that millions of girls and women face around the world. The only thing feminism can do to revive itself, in my opinion, is step back in the fight. Not with more studies, not with more panels — but as they did it in the glory days — by gathering the tribe, screaming into megaphones, expressing their rage at podiums in college auditoriums, picketing in the streets and demanding to be heard. Without that kind of passion, I don’t think feminism will evolve or be revived.

33. With all that we have at our fingertips in the late-20th and 21st century I think we are lucky to live in the time we do, especially for women, but we do have a long way to go. If you could pick a time period (of the past, of course) to have lived, when would it be and why? – Shelley

I would have liked to have been born fifteen or twenty years earlier so that I could have been there when so many of the people I admire were at the peak of their expression. To hear Adrienne Rich or Gloria Steinem in person? Listen to the beat poets? To see Janis Joplin in concert or Joan Baez at a coffee shop? I would have loved that. I also would have loved to have lived in Berkeley or San Francisco then, and to have contributed something to that spectacular mix.

33. If you could produce a TV show, what would be the premise? Do you feel truly accepted? If you won the lottery, what would be the first thing you would buy for yourself? – Pat (was funny and asked 17 questions, I answered three)

1) I would like to see the return of a network Phil Donahue type show, or Oprah before she got the feel-good “discover your spirit” format. Serious issues that used to be given focused air time aren’t getting but a fraction of that now and when they do, they pile on the guests until the stories are diluted. 2) No. 3) A small, cozy house near the ocean.

34. How would your writing and life be different if the internet and blogging had never been invented? Would your writing be altered or take a different path? – Lisa

Given my minor publication history, and my lack of effort or interest in submitting work during the last few years, I can reasonably guess that without the internet my writing would be less public. I also think I would not have written on as many topical things subjects, such as current events and politics.

35. If you could have one super power what would it be? if you had one last thing to say to the world, what would it be? – Kris D.

The ability to be invisible because the possibilities in that are nearly endless. As for the last thing I’d say to the world, it would probably be a repeat of one of the first things I ever said, Why?

36. Favourite character on Happy Days? – T. Fraser

None! I really didn’t like anything about that show.

37. Do you fear death? – Nikki

No, only any pain that might lead up to death.

38. Do you possess enough rage to take a human life? – Doris

No, but I think if I needed to defend my life or the life of someone else, I wouldn’t hesitate.

39. What is your Meyers-Briggs type if you know it? – Melissa

The last time I took the test, which was about 1998, I was an INTP.

40. When you are feeling lost, and down, and depressed, and you don’t know what to do, and you can’t write, and it feels like everything is wrong everywhere in every dark depressing corner of your head … what do you read? What author do you pull off your shelf, knowing that it’s going to lift your soul? What can you read, over and over again, and just know that it’s going to inspire you, or at the very least make you laugh a little and realise that things aren’t that bad? – Tamara

It’s not a book I reach for, but cards and letters that people have given me over the years, including my daughter, who has written me beautiful notes since she could hold a pen.  I’ve kept every card and letter that’s ever moved me, and when I need an infusion of sun or a way to revive my spirit, I open that box.

_ _ _

Part Two: What impressions might my answers give a group of strangers? How much might those impressions differ from the results of the personality test recently discussed on this site? Stay tuned! I also asked readers questions, and got some fascinating answers!

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I had my choice between a 10 minute, 100 question test or a longer 300 question version.  I’m impatient, so I chose the option that took the least amount of effort.  I’m pretty sure that psychology would give me a demerit for that, since its a subjective science that seems to use Jesus as a role model — and we all know that Jesus wasn’t a slacker.

As a school of thought psychology, like Jesus’s Christianity, seems to value a sense of altruism and sacrifice in its adherents.  It advances a pseudo-religious creed of love for all mankind, unselfishness, and an unbridled spirit of empathy and compassion.  It wants disciples who will strive to maintain a happy, positive attitude no matter how wretched or difficult a situation might be.

But are the ideals and expectations of psychology rational?  Do the terms and labels employed by psychology work toward better understanding and social enlightenment, or are they simply a convenient way to exclude in some way those who don’t fit the mold?

One of the agree/disagree statements on the personality test was:  “You have a good word for everybody”.  This is a question meant to measure one’s level of “agreeableness” — the value an individual places on getting along with other people.  The higher your score, the more “considerate, friendly, compassionate, generous, helpful, and willing to compromise” you are considered to be.  In other words, you’re that much closer to Jesus.

The problem with the “good word” question is that it’s illogical. Jesus might say there’s no such thing as an illogical question, but how rational was a man who believed he could walk on water and rise from the dead?  Jesus today would have been locked up or put on some heavy doses of anti-psychotic medication yet the school of psychology, perhaps unwittingly, relies on a role model very similar to Jesus to inform its beliefs on what constitutes the most positive and desirable individual traits.

As a rational person, I don’t have a good word to say about murderers, child abusers, rapists, suicide bombers, white collar thieves, war mongers, wife beaters, and baby slayers.  Jesus might have felt a calling to dig into the dark souls of the wretched and pluck out a ray of light — but I don’t see the point.  While it pays to understand the why and how of society’s predators so that we can work on prevention, I feel no particular compassion, empathy, or mercy towards the who that committed the crime.  A person who can rape a child, beat a woman to death, kill dozens in a bombing — or who revels in the high life after stealing millions of dollars from others — does not, in my opinion, merit empathy, but disdain.

Another unqualified test statement was “You like to make people happy”.  I know there are some people who might rejoice (such as neoconservatives and child abusers) if I never wrote another word, but I don’t really care about their happiness.  I’m also sure it thrills my neighbor when I clean up his dog’s shit from the communal lawn, but I don’t do it to make him happy. I do it because I have a dog and don’t want the condo association to change its pet-friendly policies.

Jesus would probably clean up after the lazy neighbor as a good deed.  Jesus liked to do good deeds even if they weren’t rewarded — but of course they usually were.  In fabled stories, the wicked would see Jesus’s good example,  have an epiphany, and fall to their knees in gratitude.

In real life, I resent picking up basketball-sized mounds of German Shepherd shit, and the only epiphany my negligent neighbor seems to have had, despite letters and conversations, is that someone else will eventually take care of the mess.  I don’t delight in Sunday mornings hunched over piles of dog poop with rubber gloves, but I might feel quite differently if my neighbor was incapacitated or actually needed my help.

Like most people, I also enjoy making those I love, admire, or otherwise value happy.  There’s gratification in giving to friends and family members, as well as to those whom I see as deserving but less fortunate. So do I like to make people happy? It depends on who they are and whether or not their happiness is important to me.

The test asked if I agreed or disagreed with the statement: “I am not interested in abstract ideas”.  Again, it depends. I met a philosophy student once who insisted that a Pepsi can only existed because I thought it did. He did not believe that material reality could exist outside of one’s own beliefs.  I wasn’t interested in his abstract (nonsensical) theory at all.  Carl Sagan, though, has put out some abstract theories that are fascinating — and so did Jesus — which is what I believe is at the root of psychology’s odd mix of mysticism and studied rationales.

The “think positive” movement is a prime example of mixing magical thinking with academic study.  “Think it and be it” and other reality-defiers are buoyed by massive studies that lead to such sterling conclusions as “happy people are happier”.

The feeling of happiness, despite the reality of circumstances, (think Job, think Jesus on the cross) has, in tides and trends, been sold like a mandate to the masses, and this mandate has diluted even our language — there are no obstacles, only challenges.  We don’t have problems, but issues.  We don’t have realities, but perceptions.  What would Jesus do?

Jesus likely wouldn’t have invented electricity, the telephone, the automobile, or the  MacBook Pro that I covet.  While I disagree with much of the criteria that psychology professor Dean Keith Simonton used to define genius in his recent book,  I agree with his general conclusion that geniuses tend to be “open to experience, introverted, (and) hostile. . .”.  In other words, not very Jesus-like at all.

What label, besides “hostile”, does psychology put on those who are emotionally reactive and therefore more likely to experience “negative” feelings such as anger and frustration?  Psychology calls them neurotic.  The old testament God would have scored very high in this category but the softer, gentler Jesus would have scored low.  According to psychology, the mythical God, creator of the world — the one who was emotionally reactive, moody, and easily irritated –  would have a diminished ability to “think clearly, make decisions, and cope effectively with stress”.  Jesus, by contrast, would be “calm and emotionally stable”.

If Simonton’s personality theory of genius is to be believed, then shouldn’t we be concerned with how much potential is being thwarted in classrooms when non-conforming smart children, who are easily bored and irritated, are taught a curriculum that’s geared towards the average and not the exceptional?  What about adults with above-average intelligence who find themselves frustrated by slow thinkers, outdated methods, and irrational beliefs?

The Jesus-model of psychology would have everyone believe that they are special and unique — but no more special or unique than anyone else –  which really gives “special” a whole new meaning, one that’ s not quite sameness, but more like same worth.  To feel that you may have more intrinsic or social worth than someone else, (no matter how base, unethical, or irrational that someone might be),  is considered by psychology to be arrogant, narcissistic, grandiose –  even delusional.  It’s just not very Jesus-like.

Jesus died on the cross for the sins of others, and didn’t whine enough about it to be considered a martyr or someone suffering from persecution complex, therefore it stands to (psychology’s) reason that people should be selfless enough to see the positives in their own adverse circumstances.  It’s not what happens to you, it’s how you feel about it.  You choose your own feelings.  No one else and no other circumstance can dictate the way you feel — it’s a choice — so think positive.

Try to keep that in mind the next time someone slams your finger in a car door or empties your retirement account. What would Jesus do? He’d forgive, of course, and then find a way to make it a positive, life-affirming experience because, after all, happy people are happier. And happier people are just a whole lot more fun to be around than those who are always questioning reason and authority and letting themselves be bugged by facts or circumstances that are not in their milieu or immediate power to change.

Yet no change occurs in a vacuum, and every grassroots social cause begins with disgruntlement or unhappiness over a certain situation — whether or not it is our own, or even on shared soil.  Positive changes, in other words, often stem from “negative” feelings and thoughts.  While joy is certainly a preferred feeling for its euphoric qualities, this doesn’t lessen the validity or rationality of other emotions, such as frustration, anger, or sadness.  That some people might feel these “negative” emotions more often than others might not indicate neuroses, but a heightened sense of awareness of the world outside their own front door.

Another flaw in personality tests is that questions are often asked in slightly different ways in order to measure truthfulness, but for many people, including myself, a change in wording is a change in meaning. “Do you feel that you have had more bad experiences than most other people” is, to me,  a totally different question than “Do you feel that you are cursed”.  One may be an arguable fact, while the other indicates a belief in the mystical concepts of blessings and curses.

The storied Jesus, while hanging on a cross, went through a range of emotions, at first blaming his father for forsaking him, then believing that he was being tortured so that others could be forgiven. I believe Jesus’s MMPI scores would have fluctuated dramatically given the day. In the end, though, it’s the feel-good story of Jesus — as a simple, self-sacrificing, loving, humble, calm, altruistic forgiver of all wrongs — that seems to inform psychology’s definition of social harmony and mental health.  There is no doubt that many people, particularly the religious, find this not only acceptable but somehow perfect.  After all, who wouldn’t want to be more like Jesus?

There’s a disparity between Jesus and mere mortals, though, that many seem to forget.  Jesus could turn water into wine, heal the sick, stop a storm, and drive the evil spirits out of the wicked and possessed.  Is it any wonder he was such a calm, affable guy?  I know I’d be much less stressed out if I was capable of pulling off a miracle or forty-seven.  I’d definitely be a lot more agreeable.

If psychiatry is to psychology what science is to art, (and I believe there’s truth in that), but both rely on the Jesus model to some degree, then both would seem to be less rational, less tolerant of difference, more bent on conformity, and ultimately much more limiting to the advancement of humanity, than they make themselves out to be.

How many employers are now using personality tests to decide who gets a job and who doesn’t?  How many “introverted” people or “hostile” geniuses are being excluded from consideration due to these supposedly undesirable traits? In schools, how many extraordinarily bright but “easily frustrated” children are being labeled with ADD or personality disorders?   How many potential “beautiful minds” have we lost by insisting that they are not socially harmonious or agreeable enough for our schools, our workplaces, our institutions?

How many potential  Galileos and Van Goghs would the modern day world of psychology have us abandon to the mythical, invisible role model of Jesus?

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Apparently, some people take their social media a little too seriously, likening it to an unpleasant necessity, like watching American Idol or taking out the trash.  They seem to forget that things like Facebook are voluntary and filled with choices — like who you choose to include as friends, and whose notes you choose to read.   It’s not as if 25 Things lists pop up out of cyber-space and grab you in a choke hold until you’re forced to know who likes whitey-tighties and who likes to dress in drag as Madeline Albright on Friday nights.   No, in order to read those personal tidbits, readers have to click on a link.

I’m not fond of memes, but I don’t fear that they’re going to “consume” my private life or enslave my being. I think it’s ridiculous that the subject of social media irritants even makes the news in major publications.  Then again, I also think it’s weird that photographers fall all over each other to snap Donatella Versace’s bikini-clad body or Britney’s every gas station outing. I think it’s so freaky that I don’t buy those rags — but I totally admit to being a supermarket aisle voyeur.  And people who take issue with Facebook’s 25 Things should admit that the only reason they’re irritated with the lists is not because they exist, but because they couldn’t resist the urge to read them.

Maybe they felt ripped off when they learned that some of their internet friends were boring, un-gifted, pathetic, or perverse.  Maybe, like Tod Goldberg, they were surprised to learn that the people who liked them, and sent them friendship requests, weren’t necessarily the smartest or brightest people on the internet.

“I hate that sometimes I read your updates and think, Man, if this person is a fan of mine, I need to stop writing books. Because apparently only complete fucktards read my books.” – Tod Goldberg

It seems like the quest for internet popularity often works against common sense. The ability to have thousands of “friends” on Facebook (or followers on Twitter) gives the illusion of interest, often without any interest at all, or at least not the kind that is mutual.  Public figures like Goldberg may use Facebook or Twitter as a way to keep fans in the loop, but more commonly, social sites are just that — social.  People generally join to communicate, share their thoughts and work, and learn about others with similar interests.   Others, of course, join hoping to cross-sell their business or blogs by gathering as many internet friends or followers as they can, wanting nothing more than their links to be spread by Facebook sharing, or Twitter “re-tweets”.  These are the people that tend to complain the most.  They have no interest in the lives or projects of others, but will send out and accept droves of friendship requests in order to bolster that bottom line number that indicates popularity.

It’s amusing to me that the list writers have been called narcissistic or self-obsessed for sharing some odd facts of their lives in a voluntary forum.  It would seem to me that the most narcissistic people aren’t those who wrote the lists, but those who damned them.  It reminds me of the Marlon Brando quote — “An actor’s a guy who, if you ain’t talking about him, ain’t listening.”   So in defense of the list writers who wrote their 25 Things in the spirit of sharing or friendship, I offer my list of Five Reminders for Snarky, Pompous, and Overzealous Facebook Users:

1.  Facebook is voluntary. I think that bears repeating.
2.  You don’t have to friend everyone who asks.
3.  You can de-friend anyone who bores, annoys, or doesn’t interest you.
4.  If you only want a fan page, get one.
5.  If you don’t want to read something, don’t click the link.

And if you ever really feel that Facebook is “threatening to consume what little remaining free time and privacy” you have, it might be time to shut off the computer and write a list of 25 reasons you’ve gotten totally ridiculous.

This article also appears on the Huffington Post.

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The laughter in my throat was stilled by the heavy clomp of her boots in the mud. She was angry at her truck for running out of gas, angry at the rain, and angry at the whole world it seemed. She muttered and cussed, and insisted that I thought she must be a real fuck-up. What I was really wondering was how an empty gas tank could trigger what amounted to a self-flagellating tantrum.

“What a great start to your trip, huh? You must think I’m a real idiot.
“That fucking gauge was above E. You saw that right? That it wasn’t below E?
“I bet you’re regretting being here.
“I’m tired of shit like this always happening to me.”

After the third or fourth reassurance, I realized it didn’t matter what I said. Eloise was determined to be miserable. Her hostility was easily tapped, and there was a black hole to her being that she catered to as if it contained the only precious truth left in the world.

A mile-long walk left us standing on her porch, rain soaked and muddy, and I couldn’t help but think that with someone else, this might be a fun occasion. Leah would run for the wine glasses, Sheila would challenge me to wrestle in the mud, Jen would tell jokes, and then laugh so hard she’d have to stop walking. None of them would have done what Eloise did next –- which was to take off her boots and throw them against the garage wall.

“Never mind that those were my favorite boots,” she seethed to the mud-streaked plaster.

Later, I sat on a couch in her living room, listening to a litany of trivial, wine-soaked complaints. Her parents loved her, but not well enough. She had a stellar education, but not Ivy League. She had many friends, but no one who really understood her deep complexity. She had a trust fund, but it wasn’t enough to quit working. There were lovers that used, and lovers that left, and a sense of never being appreciated.

“It would be nice if even just once I got back 10% of what I gave to others, but I guess I’m screwed on that. Everybody I ever meet is so selfish.”

For four nights, I sat like a cypher in Eloise’s smoky living room, willing myself into stillness as I watched the stars through the skylights. She was an unlikely Scheherazade, a steely, bitter-eyed woman who seemed to have spent her life creating conflict so she would have an outlet for her combativeness. With every story, she seemed to grow fresh scars, counting and recounting the wrongs committed against her until there was no good will, and no right thing left in the world.

Instead of bolting, I found my curiosity turning morbid. There was a sour aftertaste to our one-sided conversations that was all at once revolting and intriguing. My incredulousness was stretched but not yet sated, not even when she told me the story about driving drunk, and the massive damages done to her lover’s face when she drove into a ditch going 80 mph. Even in that story, Eloise reigned as the ultimate victim. The lover sued, Eloise received a suspended jail sentence, and when the story hit the local newspaper it was humiliating.

“So her face – did they manage to fix it?”

“What? Oh. She lost most of her lower jaw and lower lip, but had lots of reconstructive surgery. Between the insurance company and me, she made out pretty well. I ended up having to go to treatment, though, which was stupid because I wasn’t an alcoholic — but who cares, right? I paid through the nose for that night. There are still people in this town who hate me…”.

On the morning I left, I woke up early and walked through the house, and for the first time noticed how beautiful it really was. Stained glass French doors led to a wrap-around patio. The floors were a dark walnut wood, and there was an exquisitely patterned red Persian rug in the living room. Abstract art hung neatly from clean white walls, lit from below with key lights. In four nights, I hadn’t noticed the antique chairs, covered in cobalt blue velvet, that framed the fireplace, or the soft white chenille of the couches. Either Eloise’s misery had sucked all the color and light out of the room, or I was so enchanted by it that I turned blind to everything else. In the pale yellow light of morning, I was reminded of a song by Sara McLachlan – “you live in a church where you sleep with voodoo dolls, and you won’t give up the search for the ghosts in the halls”. Eloise’s home was like a tainted church, a sanctuary lost to the cause of both old and ongoing wars.

In front of the airport terminal, Eloise handed me a folded up piece of paper and told me to read it on the plane. It’s just a poem I wrote, she said, something I wanted you to have.

Nobody heard her, the dead woman,
but still she lay in the abyss moaning.
I was much further out than you thought, she said,
and not waving, but drowning.

As if there were not enough reams of torment in her own life, Eloise resorted to stealing the tragic words of others. The poem was written by British poet Stevie Smith, and only slightly changed by Eloise’s interpretation.

I might have never known, but I discovered Not Waving, But Drowning in the county library when I was nine years old, and ran home to read it to my mother –- a woman who was drowning in an unhappiness I was powerless to change. I was always looking for words she would recognize –- that would move her in some way, or that let her know that while I didn’t understand everything, I did understand that she felt I was to blame in some way, and that I was sorry, sorry, sorry. For three decades, I waited for the day my mother’s secrets would spill, and we could forgive each other for the darkness. The right combination of words were never found. There was no grand rescue, no heroic act of forgiveness, no chance of saving either one of us from wanting what we could never have.

Yet, years after her death, I found myself drawn to sitting silently in the darkest shadows of other women, waiting for a hint, a revelation, or some epiphany. When I wasn’t actively seeking out the most brooding people I could find, they seemed to find me.

And the only thing I ever really learned from all those years of shadow sitting is that misery can travel beyond time and circumstance, and become a black hole that voids all light and swallows any possibility of good. There really is no mystery to the the forever-lost, the fucked-up, the hateful, or the chronically bitter. We move in this universe on differing parallels –- some paths are rife with danger and difficulty, and some are so easy that they seem supernaturally preordained, but most are a mix of challenges, habits, and celebrations. Sometimes there are choices, and sometimes there are unmitigable circumstances. We fall as often as we get pushed. We embrace each other, or we stand apart. We scar, berate, and rail against each other, or extend our compassion and love. We kick each other, or help each other up.

We are the secret, the key, the magical, elusive meaning of things that we search for in the clouds, ancient books, and new-age gurus. There is really no major mystery to who we are. We are what helps creates the other. In the largest picture, we are the source of each other’s love, misery, happiness, anger, regret, support, hope, longing, and despair.

Eloise and my mother were partially created by others on their path, as surely as Beethoven, Curie, and Van Gogh were.  But instead of gathering love, they nurtured grudges. Instead of striving for happiness, they chose to lash out in anger and bitterness.

The worst monsters and tyrants in the world only exist by collective permission, as do the greatest thinkers, pianists, artists, and inventors. We don’t always agree with the collective, and often lack the power to enforce our differing will, but many of us accede our personal ethics as if our singular thoughts, ideals, or dollars had little value at all. We sit in the shadows of corruption, perverse politics, bad will, unjust laws, and miserable people until we are numb and feel them as inevitable.

And perhaps they are, at least until the collective masses experience a new call to enlightenment, but we don’t have to sit in the shadows and wait. We don’t have to sleep with voodoo dolls, or taint our sanctuaries with totems of death and misery. We can, instead, consciously choose to live in a way that honors our highest ideals.

We can stand and speak clearly instead of moaning. We can wave, and refuse to let ourselves be drowned.

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