Adaptations

Shortly after arriving on this off shore shoal in the North Sea, I wrote a post in which I went on and on about the blessings of a strong middle class and how I had miraculously landed in the bosom of one of its last remaining outposts.

Well, I must have been too tired to keep my eyes open and/or my brain sufficiently nourished when I was writing this or maybe I was simply blinded by all the flashy two- seaters speeding past.

While we may indeed live in a middle class neighborhood, everyone around us is trying to be anything but that. Just everywhere else, the middle class is under such pressure it seems that nobody likes to remain in it, if they can help it. People do everything to move up and out before it implodes and all that’s left will be a couple of bent Volvo hubcaps.

And by that I mean virtually anything. At times it borders on the obscene, especially with parents and their children. From day one in a child’s life all energy is spent on positioning her or him for the big run up the ladder.

Local magazines abound in advertisement for elite preschools, extra-curricular this and that, and distinguished ‘independent’ (i.e., private schools) including training sessions on how to get into one of them. And sadly, parents buy into all this (not just the magazines).

They virtually inhale what they hear, see, or read and with it also the smelly old school us-against-them mentality.

I am not much of a flag swinging socialist but this here has the metallic smell of New Age Darwinism. Funny enough, Darwin said that it’s not the strongest or the smartest who will make the cut “but the ones who are most adaptable.”

So, maybe it’s time to relax and wait until the last one drops dead. It’s too bad for the kids, though. But maybe they’ll learn to adapt as well. The question is...to what.

No such thing?

I remember the sensation of surprise and disbelief when my otherwise quite capable English teacher returned to me one of my papers with the remark, “There is no such thing as self-deception!”

In one respect she was, of course, right since the word ‘self-deception’ does not exist in English, but that wasn’t her point.

I had translated the German concept of a so-called ‘life-lie’ (Lebenslüge), as ‘self-deception’ in an effort to describe the human tendency to protect one’s peace of mind in the face of adversity.

My teacher insisted, however, that the word self-deception was illogical because it implies a subject and an object in the same person.

Maybe I would have faired better had I proffered more sophisticated terminology like “delusional disorder” borrowed from the abundant chest of treasures of the human psyche. But I wasn’t looking for the extraordinary. In fact, I was trying to describe a very ordinary state of mind.

In post-Nazi Germany one very common ‘Lebenslüge’ was, “I didn’t know that my neighbor was killed by the Nazis, I just took over his store.”

‘Lebenslügen’ can be inconsequential but sometimes they are outright criminal. Either way they are adopted to avoid unpleasant truths. They make one’s life a little easier. They are a common coping mechanism. But like all lies, they usually come back to haunt us in the end.

To this day, I find that English is just a tad bit poorer (and maybe less honest) for its inability to provide or simply adopt a term like ‘Lebenslüge’.

A person can be self-delusional or she can be in denial but neither expression captures the subtle as well as sinister state of mind implied in the German word ‘Lebenslüge’.

But then, language always changes and so do cultures. ‘Schadenfreude’, a German term describing an equally unattractive human quality (i.e., the rejoicing in someone else’s misfortune), has made it into English almost unscathed.

‘Lebenslüge’ should be a close runner-up. After all, just take a look around, it’s everywhere in this best of all possible worlds.

Have you noticed...?

It takes some people a lifetime to get to know themselves, most need longer.

That'll do

Let’s be honest. We all thrive on positive feedback. A little slap on the back, an encouraging smile, two thumbs up, anything will do to enliven our minds, to quicken our tread, and to render us just a bit more willing.

It is as simple as it is cheap. The need for reassurance is alive and well in us. Like morning sickness it’s not something that ever goes away although we think we have it under control.

In some unhealthy way it probably tabs right into our fear of rejection and imminent abandonment and likely death. And that’s what makes it just as powerful.

Life here in London provides a realistic insight into the power of that ever-lasting craving. People here seem to be mad with ambition. And while some actually get some monetary return for their breathless strive most of the chaps, mates, and blokes, and laddies who make their way into their little back room offices every day do so on little more than the hope that someone (preferably the front room gray back) at the end of a long day might stretch their pinched lips into a smile that says it all: “Well done.”

I hope nobody who actually has the power to bribe with a smile will be reading these lines. In fact, I am quite sure they won’t. But believe me, accolades are far more manipulative than scorn or disinterest. They are the cheap way to assure compliancy.

That’ll do, pig.

bird

now that i have landed
on this tree
its leaves seem to tremble
the boughs are hanging limp
and the trunk is but a twiggy leg

it will be up to me
to find beauty in its subtle curves
and fill the air with bursting strength
to fight the north wind and the heat
and call myself lucky
that i have landed

The Rope's End

Last night I felt like I had reached the other side of death, and I must have looked like it too!!

Zoë gave me that inquisitive two second glance that let me know that she knew. Then she took it one step further by asking about that end of the rope that I keep referring to when the day goes past seven thirty:

“Mom, do you actually get a new rope every day?”

Less is Best

There is one fact that makes it so much easier to live a modest life and that is that the ones who have money usually spend it on things I wouldn’t want anyway.

And not only that. Because, of course, not only do they own all that stuff, and it’s collecting dust, they are also cursed with maintaining, fixing, and replacing it. Think of the time and energy going into that!

Maybe you say that these fortunate souls have other people deal with that. Well, then they will have to hire and manage them. And that’s not that much fun either.

Believe me: Small is beautiful. And less is better.

If we invested half as much money in the quality of a product as we tend to do piling up mere quantities of stuff, the world would be a cleaner and I even venture to say happier place.

All those tape recorders that never managed to play a single tape, cameras that lost ten of their nine functions in the first month, scissors that cut nothing but air and not even that very well, matchbox cars that lose their wheels faster than they lose their lacquer, and sweaters that started pilling profusely just by looking at them...

Really, what degree of satisfaction can truly be gained from designing, producing, manufacturing, buying, owning, and throwing away all that stuff?

Or maybe it’s not about satisfaction...not of the lasting kind anyway. Maybe we are too busy fulfilling some momentary craving to think about what really matters.

I for my part, however, am much happier with fewer things around me if only I knew that the big picture was all right, that the ozone layer was fat and well, polar bears had more than a couple of wobbly shoals to cling to, and the next generations could grow up knowing that life as we live it is sustainable.

Right or Rong

I am afraid I have gone too far.

Today I managed within less than half an hour not only to cut in front of people in a traffic circle twice and to leave several pedestrians standing baffled at a number of crosswalks on my way to Sainsbury, I also did IT again.

I drove in the wrong lane!

It always happens (‘always’ implying that it wasn’t the first time!!), when there are no other cars around (whew!).

Finding my place in the wrong lane is much easier when everyone else is driving in their respective wrong lanes. When I am all by myself, I naturally revert back to the right lane.

And yes, you Brits, the right lane is called the ‘right’ lane for a reason!!!

Anyway, today, on my way back from dropping off Julian at his friend’s, I took a leisurely right turn out of a parking lot and didn’t think much of it when a car politely swerved out of my way. We all make mistakes, right?

Well, I have to start making fewer of them.

The last time I did it, Fred was next to me as I turned onto a main road and he demurely inquired whether it was indeed a one-way street. NOT !

Stop being so damn polite you folks...I hate having to kick my own butt!

But it’s about time -- right lane or not.