Sympathetic Magic

While recuperating I read Joan Didion's "The Year of Magical Thinking." It led me to consider how much I engage in magical thinking. It was surprising to discover I did so many times each day.

As a kid I would attempt to foresee the future by setting up scenarios such as: If I see a blue car on the way home, Mom won't be angry with me for forgetting my permission slip.

I'm ashamed to admit that as an adult I continue these searches for signs of affirmation. For example, if he sends me a text or email within 24 hours, it means he likes me.

Much of this behavior is so ingrained, it has continued without examination. I avoid certain clothes because I associate them with bad experiences. For example, I will probably send to Goodwill the sweater I wore on the day I was laid-off. It is an old sweater I hadn't worn in a couple of years. Yet, I happened to have worn it on that day because it was snowing. Now it is forever tainted.

It's unclear even to myself whether I really believe the sweater is bad luck or whether there is a longer chain of variables that lead me to avoid it from now on. Its strong association with an awful event will significantly diminishes my confidence each time I wear it. When I wear it, it will conjure up a very unpleasant event that is likely to make me glum. That lack of confidence and glum demeanor will have some repercussion, and it will not likely be positive.

I've tried on several occasions to read a classic early anthropology text that outlines many rituals, "The Golden Bough." So far, I have not made it past the first 40 pages. Although I haven't opened the book in at least five years, I recall with clarity a couple of ideas presented in it. There are similarities among rituals; one being the charm of association (i.e. love potions made of the sexual organs of animals).

It appears that I am continuing this tradition by designating items associated with very good events as good and items associated with very bad events as bad.

A while ago I heard a radio program in which a psychologist said the root of superstition was a lack of control over one's environment. His comment made me think about all of the things I do almost daily in an attempt to attract good luck: blow away eyelashes and make a wish or light candles and pray.

I am an intelligent person who understands that these rituals probably have no impact. In spite of my intelligence and talents, I have not enjoyed the income or credentials that would insulate me from the whims of the New York housing or job markets.

I can only interpret my emphasis on superstition as a reflection of my own sense of powerlessness.

It's strange that it has taken such a long time for me to come to this realization. Perhaps I am not as intelligent as I imagine myself to be! Or maybe I have been too distracted by other pursuits to pay attention to this behavior and thinking.

I equate money with power generally. It is ironic that my strong desire to make money has emerged at the very time the worldwide economy has collapsed.

On the one hand, I wonder whether I am overly concerned about the events that impact my life. Am I too sensitive? On the other hand, it is widely recognized that having to move or getting laid-off is a traumatic event.

It is unlikely that the emergence of these situations will wane no matter what ritual I follow to ward them off. There is little I can do to prevent these events from happening. I need to learn how to improve my reaction to them.

My Contracting World

I met a friend for lunch today and, in the course of conversation, realized I really didn't know what she did at work day to day. She is a defense attorney with a practice representing people who have been charged with parking violations. She was on a lunch break during a court recess, and our conversation revealed that her work at the courthouse was very different from what I had imagined it to be.

We rarely talk about our work lives because we tend to converse about other topics. In addition to being an attorney, she is also a jewelry designer and potter. She takes dance lessons and intensive Spanish courses. Unlike many New Yorkers, her job seems to take a backseat to her personal life.

She mentioned to me that there was a character in Summons Court that morning who saluted the judge like an army officer and declared he had to "consult his wallet" before determining whether he would plead guilty or pay a fine. I was surprised to learn she was the court-appointed attorney for this man and many other defendants.

She invited me to join her at the court to watch the proceedings, and I did so.

The room was depressing in the usual sad, bureaucratic way. There were linoleum floors, beat furniture, white walls, an ancient air conditioner, and dirty blinds.

There were people caught with open containers. Others were accused of driving recklessly. Several vendors failed to properly display or renew licenses. Two men were accused of loitering. A couple of young people were charged with excessive noise violations. It struck me that these misdemeanors are probably very common.

It was difficult to hear all of the proceedings. The air conditioner obscured much that was said. I wish I had heard more.

As I watched case after case, I wondered how this legal structure would compare to others. Each person stood beside the judge with a court-appointed attorney who handled their case on the spot. The judge, an elderly man in a seersucker suit, appeared to be a parental figure admonishing bad behavior. He restated the law violated sternly and listed consequences such as criminal records and further fines.

Some of the defendants took the summons seriously while others shrugged it off. One wore a suit but another had jeans slung so low his red underwear mooned those watching the proceedings. A couple missed their appointed time for court with lame excuses but another simply stated he had to watch his son while his wife was at work.

With the exception of cases about permits, it seemed that there wasn't much evidence that could be presented to the judge. Basically, it was the word of the defendant against the police officer who wrote the summons. Some of the stories seemed weak. The judge asked several defendants whether they had been in court before. Many had. I assumed he used this background information to gauge their veracity.

I wondered about the circumstances in each case. Had the defendants enjoyed beers on their stoop with friends or were they drunk and loud on the street? Did the police who issued the summons do so in good faith or were they picking on people?

The people brought before the judge reminded me of my students' parents in the Bushwick, Brooklyn projects. They were kids, taxi drivers, cooks, or hot dog vendors. Many of the defendants were immigrants. One required an interpreter who spoke Chinese. It is likely that many of these people earn about $10 an hour. It struck me that the $25 and $50 fines metered out must be a great burden on this group.

There is so much going on in the world around me, and even in the public lives of my friends, that is alien to me. When I consider this, I feel profoundly ignorant. My corner of the world shrunk significantly in just one day.

Yet, it is exciting that there is so much more to explore. Each case was a small drama. Each life a story.

Surrender

Unbeknownst to me, I walked around with large blood clots in my leg for two weeks in May. On the evening before my last post, a massive blood clot moved through my heart and exploded in my lungs. It happened in my sleep.

As the tissue in my lungs began to die, I felt pain that I dismissed as an onset of long-dormant asthma. The pain continued and my insurance provider's nurse hotline advised me to go to the emergency room, but I went to an all-night clinic where my co-pay was much lower. I was again advised to go to the emergency room but hesitated due to the $300 co-pay. The pain worsened, and I finally went to the emergency room. I was diagnosed with pulmonary embolisms and spent the next 4 days in the hospital. Upon discharge, I went directly to Maryland to recuperate with my family.

The moment I was diagnosed and informed that I would be hospitalized is probably the moment that I began to surrender. The doctors took control of my body. Then I succumbed to the wishes of my family.

I had to recuperate at the homes of my relatives because I couldn't walk the 4 flights of stairs to my apartment. I wore clothes that were packed for me by someone else. I ate whatever groceries were on hand. My job search was put on hold, and then into low gear.

Now that I am back in New York, I have more choice about what I do day to day. But I realize I am still in a state of surrender.

It is easy to get angry and sad about all that life has thrown at me this year. In an attempt to avoid self-pity, I try to find lessons to learn from the experience.

I suppose the biggest shift I have experienced is in my perspective. The issues that were nagging me when I got sick seem petty now. Unemployment is a major issue, but it isn't immediately life-threatening. The bills will be paid somehow. I will carry on.

I also realize that any sense of control that I thought I had over my life was an illusion. A year ago I had a job, a great apartment, my health, and a budding relationship with a man I really liked. The reality was there were people at a much higher level than me at my company making decisions about the future of the business, and they didn't value my work at all. The apartment belonged to the landlord and he moved to evict me and my room mate because he wanted to charge far more rent. My doctor performed a physical and declared me healthy based tests taken at that time. The man seemed to like me, but I suppose he really didn't or his feeling changed.

I have some influence over what happens to me. I suppose I am lolled into thinking that doing a good job will keep me employed or paying my rent on time will keep me in an apartment. The reality is: the causal relationship I envision isn't always there. The whole world is random and capricious. People and businesses don't disclose their motives. Bodies change. It is my task to deal with it.

I try not to worry. It diverts too much energy from healing. I'm in good shape, but I have not completely healed.

Worrying also diminishes any good that happens. If there is only a glimmer of good happening each day, I don't want it overshadowed by concerns that may not really manifest themselves as problems.

I walk less and I buy less. I endeavor to enjoy my time here a little more by not beating myself up about expenses I can't reasonably avoid. I try to focus on the fact that my situation was improved by the income I earned from freelancing in April and May.

I still have to forge ahead with my job search, but I will also give myself a little bit of a break and breathe.

It is a little creepy to read my last post. The text now seems to have anticipated what followed. Any day could be my last, so I better enjoy at least a part of each day.