A Flaw in The Golden Rule

Yesterday I wrote about my 2012 resolution to be kind and I claimed The Golden Rule as my definition of kindness.

I'm wrong.

The Golden Rule (in all it's incarnations) asks you to do to other as you'd like them to do to you. In its simplest form this can be beautiful – a well-meant smile or a sincere compliment – but the phrase itself is selfish. Who's to say if others want to be treated the way you like. For example, some women think that a gentleman should open the door for her and others accuse the act as a statement of implied weakness.

Kindness and The Golden Rule, I've decided, are not interchangeable. Instead, kindness – in the deeper sense than general politeness – means to do to others as they'd like you to do to them. It means looking beyond yourself and standing - as best you can - in their shoes. Respect the person to whom you are communicating by having due regard for their feelings, wishes, rights, and traditions.

Maybe you're the kind of person that welcomes a warm hug as a greeting; others don't. If you know someone isn't a touchy person, greet them with a smile and (if you must) a pat on the shoulder. A mundane example perhaps, but it illustrates my point.

And so I revoke The Golden Rule as a definition of kindness and place in its stead politeness and respect. My revised 2012 resolution.

Be Kind

In addition to choosing a theme word for 2012, I've also resolved to be kind.

Kindness means all sorts of things to different people. For me, it means to do to others as I'd like them to do to me. If I were Christian, I'd point you to Luke 6:31, the Golden Rule. As a Jew I might tell you read Leviticus 19:18 and hope that I am close enough to be considered a neighbor. Of course, you don't have to dig far to see that every religion has a version of this commandment in its scripture.

When I lived in New York City, a gazillion years ago, I had a roommate from Wisconsin who would say, "kill 'em with kindness." I loved the phrase and began the practice myself. Very quickly I learned that kindness is an extremely effective weapon. A grumpy cab driver or store clerk would visibly relax when greeted with a genuine "hello" and a smile. Saying "thank you" or "I hope you have a great afternoon" would illicit a surprised grin. Smiles are contagious and excellent for maintaining mental health. Did the next customer receive a smile as well? How many people "caught" the original smile bug that began with me?

Being kind also means taking a moment to think before reacting or speaking. My first response to someone being crass might be to defensively return the sentiment. But if I can remember to pause and consider this person's stories (known and not) I might be able to forgive the words and respond with kindness. Perhaps they are dealing with life changes, maybe they got some bad news, it's possible that someone just insulted them or yelled or ... the point is, being kind won't add to their misery and it might just help.

So, if I'm called a bitch by the gardener? Instead of yelling back or taking it personally I could say, "oh gosh, I'm sorry you're having a bad day." Do you think my response would incite him to call me more names? It's possible, but not likely.

Be kind and thrive. It's my 2012.

Sophia from Mugglesam's YouTube Channel

UPDTATE: Shortly after writing this I decided that there is a major flaw in the Golden Rule and kindness is not its equivalent. You can read it here.

Thrive

The first man I dated after leaving my marriage told me I was a wreck and that I wouldn't be normal for two years. He said it with such certainty that it couldn't be anything but true. This statement - which I took as fact - carried me through the weeks and months that followed. Everything would be OK by the end of 2010 <video>. "I'd be normal."

Funny thing. He was right.

So by the beginning of 2011 I'd reached a new normal. I'd gotten through the divorce and its aftermath. My ex had settled in with his girlfriend - a woman liked by both the kids and me. Online dating lost its intrigue and I gave it up in the first quarter of the year. Concentrating on my new(ish) roll of single mom, I tried my best to conquer the challenges and relish the joys. It's a journey that won't end anytime soon, but it's no longer one that scares me.

So now it's 2012 and I can confidently claim that this particular stage in my life is over. All the energy and effort placed on pushing through the last three years can be forayed towards living a better life. There is a lot I'd like to accomplish in the next several years. I've got things to do and places to go and children to raise and a business to grow. And there isn't anything holding me back anymore. There are no excuses.

On December 31, 2009 NPR suggested summarizing the year in a single word. I chose "transition". And then, in an exercise suggested by a group of friends, I decided on a theme word for 2010 - it was momentum. A verb that I carried all the way through 2011.

Momentum has pushed me along for two years and I've come out the other side. The time has come to change the word and move forward and grow strong. Thrive.

Thrive. It's my theme word for 2012. What's yours?

A Life, Dichotomous

dichotomy  (daɪˈkɒtəmɪ) 

— n  , pl -mies

1. division into two parts or classifications, esp when they are sharply distinguished or opposed.

Juggling has become a skill in which I excel. Every month I strategically buy groceries, pay the bills, fill my gas tank and somehow manage to pay my outrageous Bay Area rent. Sometimes it means borrowing money until the next check comes in (I work freelance). Sometimes, when I juggle, things drop.

On the other hand, if you follow me via social networks like twitter, facebook, google+, instagram, flickr, foursquare or here, you might see status updates indicating the opposite: gourmet restaurants, exclusive events, theater seats, trips to Mendocino, Montana and NYC.

How is this possible?

There are a number of explanations. The first is work. I have many fabulous clients that do a variety of wonderful things - such as supporting cultural arts - music, food, dance, wine, performance, etc. I'm lucky enough to be able to attend these events - some of which are exclusively for donors who wear pinky rings worth more than my yearly earnings. 

Second, many of my friends have been successful in their careers and work in high places. Maybe they have expense accounts. Sometimes they invite me to their company events. Or they take me to lunch. Either way, I'm the recipient of perks that probably weren't meant for me. And I'm alright with that.

I also have very generous friends. And I'm not just talking about corporate accounts or holiday Secret Santa stuff. In addition to surprise gifts, sponsored vacations and emergency funds, these folks believe in me. I have worth to them. At least this is what I tell myself. In turn, I, myself, begin to feel worthy and THAT is the real gift. The idea that I'm thought of well enough to be gifted an iPad or flown to NY for the weekend. That there are people out there who like to see me happy. Wow.

Finally, as you may expect given the first paragraph of this post, I'm not skilled at keeping a personal budget. As a freelancer there are times that I have lots of work and great big checks appear in my mailbox. But sometimes it's slow and I can barely meet my rent. Why not save the "big checks" for slower times? Because when they arrive I get very excited and after paying off everything I owe, I might think there is enough left over to, say, go to Montana for a few days to hang out with a friend. A smart person would put that money away. So I'm not the smartest. But I'm learning. 

In the meantime I lead this dichotomous life - one minute deciding which Broadway show to see and the next selling belongings to come up with money for gas and electric. And that's ok. Half the time.

Cornflake Chicken

On the side of the Kellogg's Cornflakes box is a recipe for chicken. You can make that, or you can make mine. Mine is easier and the kids eat it.

• 3 cups cornflakes
• 1 package onion soup mix
• 1 egg
• half cup milk
• chicken tenders (package)
• olive oil

Preheat oven to 350.
Prepare baking dish by coating with olive oil.
In a large bowl crush 3 cups of cornflakes and mix in the onion soup mix.
In a smaller bowl whisk together the egg and milk.
Dip chicken tender in egg/milk and then coat in cornflake/soup mix.
Place coated chicken tender in baking dish.
When all are coated and in the baking dish pop it in the oven.
Take it out 30 minutes later (when the juices run clear.)
Serve with coleslaw.

Tastes delicious the next day on a sandwich with avocado and said cole slaw.

PS: if you are snobby about onion soup mix then leave it out and add your own custom spices. Just don't judge.

New York City and Me

I posted this last year and someone flagged it for copyright. All the words are mine. The photo is from Flickr's The Commons Collection and has no known copyright restrictions. Last year I didn't have the time/strength to deal with the false claim. This year I do, so I'm putting it back up because - except for the part at the bottom which says it's my first time in NY on my own - it's all relevant. It's just that it's my second time. 

High school wasn't a fun place for me. Rather than just plod along and deal with it I decided to find a way around the system.

New York City skyline from Queens, c. 1974
From The Commons at Flickr

My school offered several ways to get credits without being on campus. Working 15 hours a week counted as "work experience" so I took on a job (receptionist at a hair salon). Furthermore, I was able to work the system such that I was able to take community college courses at night in lieu of high school classes. As it worked out, I only had to be at school in the mornings. I left before noon and went about my life which, on a good day, meant putting in a couple of hours at work, going home to my apartment (yes, I lived outside my parents' home as a junior in high school - perhaps I'll write a post about that sometime), cooking dinner and then taking off again for night classes. I don't know where I got my energy. But then again, I was 17.

This isn't to say that I didn't have a healthy teenage social life. I did. But my friends were a little older.

Somewhere along the line I got it into my head that I "belonged" in NYC and so that is what became my goal. My grades didn't warrant Columbia and my SATs kept me out of NYU, so, thinking I'd study fashion merchandising, I applied and was accepted to FIT - Fashion Institute of Technology - a SUNY school that required general ed along with marketing, advertising and design courses. They also had dorms.

With all the extra courses I took (summer school included) I was able to graduate high school a semester early, so in January of 1987 - two months before my 18th birthday - I found myself on a plane to NYC.

We (my dad and I) flew directly into a wild winter storm and were stranded in Chicago for two days before we finally arrived. FIT was out of dormrooms, so they cleaned out a storage space and furnished it with a bed, a bunk bed and three desks. I was so pleased to actually, finally be there that I wouldn't have cared if they'd stuffed us in the basement.

My dad and I went shopping for bedding and such and then he had to catch a bus back to the airport. We said our goodbyes on the corner 7th Avenue and 34th Street. To this day he says it's the hardest thing he's ever done. Of course, my memory is absolute elation - I'd made it to New York. And I was on my own.

I lived there for two years. The only constant was my job at the New York Health and Racket Club and a wild ride. Let's just say that I moved through three universities (finally ending up at Hunter) and four apartments. While there I dated wildly, went "clubbing" with my pals and learned how to handle my liquor. By 1989 I was done.

I told folks it was the high cost of living. I was making barely $6/hour and my rent was $900/month. But really, the city was eating me up and spitting me out. It was the late 80's - AIDS had come into public awareness and Madonna was in vogue - Like a Virgin. Rudy Giuliani hadn't become mayor yet and the city was a mess. From my apartment window (granted this particular apartment was on 46th and 10th) I could watch the prostitutes and their pimps and learned who belonged to whom and how to avoid a police raid. Maybe it was too much for me. But looking back on it, I can't help but feel I gave up.

I didn't really make it in NYC.

I left and moved back to California where I worked through my last two years of college at UC Riverside (with a stint or two at Hebrew U) not dis-similarly to how I got through high school: head down, straight on.

Marriage - and the fact that my husband and his family were from New Jersey - brought me back East several times over the past 12 years, but I've not had an opportunity to spend time in New York on my own - without the arguing or the children. Until now.

The stars have aligned in just the right way to stick me on a cross country flight over a long weekend. I've got four days to re-discover New York as a woman more than twice the age of girl I was in '87.

I'm so excited.

Montana Part III - That Moment

Last month my friend Jenna Skype'd to say she was getting her ovaries removed in (yet another) preventative measure to hopefully avoid a cancer relapse. I was in a rare position to afford the $300 plane ticket to Kalispell, Montana and decided to fly out to give her hand. This is the last of three posts about that trip. The first post is here and the second post is here.

A couple of days before leaving for Montana I received an email from Jenna saying that her cousin's daughter, Lillian, had gone to sleep on Halloween eve and did not wake up. Lillian was a healthy, 13-day-old baby.

Jenna (a graphic designer) volunteered to design the program for the funeral service and was able to complete it a night before she went to the hospital. Prepping for surgery should not include this sort of activity, but no one plans for death, and certainly nothing as unthinkable as this.

The funeral was on Sunday so, three days after her surgery, Jenna was sitting in the front of the sanctuary with her husband, while I stayed in the back of the room, sitting quietly with her boys.

"Let us not grieve that Lillian is gone, but celebrate that she was here. Look around this room, see how many lives she has touched in her short time with us."

Indeed, the room was full of people. Of course, I knew very few of them, and many (like me) had never even met Lillian. But we were all in tears by the end of the slide show that was meant to celebrate her life.

Later, at the reception, I heard Jenna say to her cousin, "I know what it's like to have everything be one way one moment and then totally different the next. Please let me know if you'd like to talk." Of course, the "moment" Jenna referred to was the one where the doctor told her "you have cancer." Those words spoken in that moment changed everything for her.

I'm grateful in my life to have not had such a moment (knock wood). Of course this is not to say that change hasn't happened. It has - but my "moments" have been longer - allowing space to adjust and become, eventually, comfortable. This, I've learned, is a luxury.

_________

My friend Erin Vang has just completed an amazing project called Kaddish in Two Part Harmony and she has dedicated this beautiful Kaddish to Baby Lillian. (A Kaddish is a prayer of mourning). Erin's french horn is particularly lovely.

Daily Kaddish for Lillian Isabel (October 18-21, 2011) (sound file)

Translation of the Mourners Kaddish:

May the great Name of God be exalted and sanctified, throughout the world, which he has created according to his will. May his Kingship be established in your lifetime and in your days, and in the lifetime of the entire household of Israel, swiftly and in the near future; and say, Amen.

May his great name be blessed, forever and ever.

Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled, honored elevated and lauded be the Name of the holy one, Blessed is he- above and beyond any blessings and hymns, Praises and consolations which are uttered in the world; and say Amen. May there be abundant peace from Heaven, and life, upon us and upon all Israel; and say, Amen.

_________

Lillian's older sister (12) wrote this poem in honor of Lillian.

Lillian Isabel, Oct 18 - Oct 21, 2011

WE WILL ALWAYS HOLD YOU CLOSE

Lillybel, Lillybel

My oh so sweet baby

Our beautiful Lillybel

Come to us in our darkest

hour.

We showered you in love

For 13 days I held you

close.

Our sweet Lillybel

The more we cry

The more we love

It was and is all

for you.

Lillybel, Lillybel

My oh so sweet Lillybel

Our beautiful baby girl

Even if you cried

at night

Even if you need us

now

We are here for you

And you are up high for

Us

I’ll pick a star up

in the sky

Just for you

And think of you all day.

Lillybel, Lillybel

My oh so sweet Lillybel

Our beautiful baby girl

You knew no cruelty

You only knew love

We shielded you from

loss

Just to save ourselves

Now we are hugging, kissing,

loving

waiting… waiting for

you to show yourself to

us again

Lillybel, Lillybel

My oh so sweet baby girl

Our Beautiful Lillybel

Our one and only

Baby

Lillybel

-----------

In loving memory of Lillian Isabel Nelson

I dedicate this poem to you

Your always loving Big Sister