'You can be sure our doctors are very good', said my Slovak colleague to me one day. I had been suffering from a pretty bad cold for several days, at which point my colleague insisted I see a doctor about it. I calmly explained I already had plenty of cold medicine I'd brought from America, but she would have nothing of it. I was to see a doctor and that was that.
Off I went to see the doctor. Her office looked like a set from a 1940s period film. There was nothing to suggest a modern 1990s facility. The doctor spoke little English, but my Slovak was by then strong enough to describe my condition to her. After a bit of poking and prodding, and against my protestations that I had cold medicine, she gave me the prescription: herbal tea and a potato. A potato? I asked. Yes, she intoned. Cut it in half and rub the cut ends on your neck. This, along with the tea, will cure you for sure. She thrust a packet of tea in my hands - and said potato.
After I left the doctor's office I chuckled sadly to myself. If this is what passes for the medical profession in Slovakia, no wonder 'universal access' is so, well, universal. Who needs scientific diagnoses when a little folksy remedy can cure whatever ails you? Needless to say, I discarded the potato and the tea and took my Sudafed. I felt better soon after that. When my colleague asked me about my experience with her crack doctor (or is it cracked out?), I said it was very instructive.
Flash forward to America in 2009. A new President has been elected on the nebulous notions of hope and change, and the world grins beatifically with approval. The nostrum of 'universal health care' has tightened its grip on a goodly number of the American populace, whilst those of us who have some experience with these vaunted systems outside the US scratch our heads in wonder over the affair. Just what do people think they're going to get for free? MRIs at the drop of a hat? Advanced laser surgery? And does it occur to anyone that it might be a tad dangerous to give scalpels to people with the mentality of a nine to five postal worker, as exists in these fantastic medical systems in countries the world over?
Now, I need not spend much time here describing how most Canadians or most Australians or most French love their public health care systems. Like post offices and schools, these systems have been in place so long that virtually no-one questions whether government run medicine is moral and practical. Therein lies the great danger for Americans. Even with a medical system largely controlled by government, the country still has some free market principles that allow for continued innovation in the development of new drugs and surgical techniques. Under a fully government run system, Americans in the decades to come will come to get used to the stultifying bureaucracy and glacial pace of the beloved nationalised systems abroad. They will see as normal the kind of service they now associate with air travel, the post office and public schools. They will shrug their shoulders in resignation and say: 'At least everyone gets care now'.
But what if medical care were like the about to be released Apple iPad or the amazing devices that make our daily lives more productive and enjoyable? What if, instead of filling out reams of paperwork designed to protect themselves from a faceless agency or ministry, doctors attended to their patients as their primary purpose? And what if they decided on what fees to charge based on whatever criteria they deemed reasonable to make a good living? And what if individuals believed that their health, like their careers, was completely up to them?
I do not expect anyone to agree with me. Few do on this matter. My expectation, as always with my articles, is to encourage people to consider the consequences of the things they refuse to think about. If everyone silently abdicates the need to think about the big issues, have they still the right to grumble about the poor service they get or the botched operations that leave their loved ones worse off than before they went under the knife? In other words, if YOU value YOUR life, don't you owe it to yourself to find out that good doctors are far too important to relegate to the clutches of government boards and agencies?
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Introspection and Repression
In the one corner sits psychological repression. In the other corner we have introspection. Both forces can tug at us throughout our lives, depending on the situation we must face, and both have consequences for our long term well being. As I was watching the 1980 film 'Ordinary People' again recently, it struck me how well this 30-year-old movie presents both sides, without degenerating into mawkishness or self parody.
Some of my readers may know the film, but others not. The story concerns a well off family in suburban Chicago facing the death of a son and brother. Donald Sutherland plays the father dumbfounded by the sad event of his eldest son's death in a boating accident and the resulting suicide attempt by his youngest son, played superbly by a young Timothy Hutton. Hutton's character Conrad is wracked with guilt over his brother's death. The movie begins just after Conrad has come home from a stay in hospital. In a bit of casting genius, Mary Tyler Moore plays the emotionally distant mother Beth. At the time, Moore was known as a comedienne, having recently completed the seven-season run of her hit sitcom. To cast her as the uptight suburban mother seemed risky in 1980, which is what made her tour de force performance all the more satisfying.
Ordinary People was Robert Redford's directorial debut, and in my mind he has never equalled the skill he shows in this film. There isn't a single throwaway scene or camera angle. The entire film maintains its focus on the issue of coming to grips with a personal tragedy and never lets go of this focus. Other movies turn suburban American stories into social commentaries about the idle rich or seek to reveal the 'obvious' underbelly of such a milieu. Ordinary People avoids the pontificating and cheap shots and shines its light on the Jarrett family's troubles. It neither derides them for their affluence nor snickers at their very real difficulties. It is, in my opinion, the most honest view of a family I have ever seen.
Some people may think of the film as a naturalistic slice of life. After all, there are no big heroes or monumental life-and-death struggles. Similarly, there is no obvious villain. It is a quiet and slow moving story - and a sombre one at that. Despite the apparent lack of an epic and gripping tale, in its own way it is epic. In the space of two hours, it deals with the issue of psychological health and at the close of the film has provided a subtle conclusion about which side it favours.
I first saw the movie at age 14 with my parents, when it was released in cinemas. At the time I didn't think twice about seeing such a difficult movie with my parents, but in the 30 years since, I have often thanked my parents for taking me to see it. It's quite something to sit in a dark cinema watching a family come apart at the seams, with a teenage son telling his mother to f*** off - and having my parents next to me no less! At that age, I surely didn't grasp the subtlety of the dialogue or the quiet intensity of the interplay between the characters. What I did know was this family had an awful truth to swallow and the two opposing characters of Beth and her son Conrad illustrated the theme of the film in stark frankness. To this day, the pivotal scenes at the end of the movie move me to tears.
30 years later, the movie still resonates with me because I always chose the path of introspection to resolve my difficulties. I don't credit Ordinary People with teaching me this lesson, but I do turn to it to highlight the importance of dealing with one's problems head on, regardless of how difficult it may be. Judd Hirsch, who plays the character of the wise Dr Berger, Conrad's psychiatrist, has an especially good line: 'A little advice about feelings kiddo; don't expect it always to tickle'. To me, this sums up the theme of the story. To deal with one's emotions isn't always pleasant, but it is a necessary step along the road to psychological health.
In the ruthless pursuit of values, the best gift one can give oneself is to introspect constantly and without regret. Anything less to me is to live incompletely. It's a choice we must all face on a daily basis: to think or to evade. I have picked the former and it has served me well in more than four decades of living.
Some of my readers may know the film, but others not. The story concerns a well off family in suburban Chicago facing the death of a son and brother. Donald Sutherland plays the father dumbfounded by the sad event of his eldest son's death in a boating accident and the resulting suicide attempt by his youngest son, played superbly by a young Timothy Hutton. Hutton's character Conrad is wracked with guilt over his brother's death. The movie begins just after Conrad has come home from a stay in hospital. In a bit of casting genius, Mary Tyler Moore plays the emotionally distant mother Beth. At the time, Moore was known as a comedienne, having recently completed the seven-season run of her hit sitcom. To cast her as the uptight suburban mother seemed risky in 1980, which is what made her tour de force performance all the more satisfying.
Ordinary People was Robert Redford's directorial debut, and in my mind he has never equalled the skill he shows in this film. There isn't a single throwaway scene or camera angle. The entire film maintains its focus on the issue of coming to grips with a personal tragedy and never lets go of this focus. Other movies turn suburban American stories into social commentaries about the idle rich or seek to reveal the 'obvious' underbelly of such a milieu. Ordinary People avoids the pontificating and cheap shots and shines its light on the Jarrett family's troubles. It neither derides them for their affluence nor snickers at their very real difficulties. It is, in my opinion, the most honest view of a family I have ever seen.
Some people may think of the film as a naturalistic slice of life. After all, there are no big heroes or monumental life-and-death struggles. Similarly, there is no obvious villain. It is a quiet and slow moving story - and a sombre one at that. Despite the apparent lack of an epic and gripping tale, in its own way it is epic. In the space of two hours, it deals with the issue of psychological health and at the close of the film has provided a subtle conclusion about which side it favours.
I first saw the movie at age 14 with my parents, when it was released in cinemas. At the time I didn't think twice about seeing such a difficult movie with my parents, but in the 30 years since, I have often thanked my parents for taking me to see it. It's quite something to sit in a dark cinema watching a family come apart at the seams, with a teenage son telling his mother to f*** off - and having my parents next to me no less! At that age, I surely didn't grasp the subtlety of the dialogue or the quiet intensity of the interplay between the characters. What I did know was this family had an awful truth to swallow and the two opposing characters of Beth and her son Conrad illustrated the theme of the film in stark frankness. To this day, the pivotal scenes at the end of the movie move me to tears.
30 years later, the movie still resonates with me because I always chose the path of introspection to resolve my difficulties. I don't credit Ordinary People with teaching me this lesson, but I do turn to it to highlight the importance of dealing with one's problems head on, regardless of how difficult it may be. Judd Hirsch, who plays the character of the wise Dr Berger, Conrad's psychiatrist, has an especially good line: 'A little advice about feelings kiddo; don't expect it always to tickle'. To me, this sums up the theme of the story. To deal with one's emotions isn't always pleasant, but it is a necessary step along the road to psychological health.
In the ruthless pursuit of values, the best gift one can give oneself is to introspect constantly and without regret. Anything less to me is to live incompletely. It's a choice we must all face on a daily basis: to think or to evade. I have picked the former and it has served me well in more than four decades of living.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Politics and Parties
A curious and fascinating thing occurs whenever I attend parties. Throughout the majority of an evening, the topics of conversation concern the details of people's lives - their careers, romantic relationships, movies they like, bands they absolutely MUST see when they return to Sydney, etc. And then that brief period hits that some of the partygoers see the need to broach the big topic of politics. Leaving aside the futility of such conversations in mixed company, I often wonder what motivates people to discuss them anyway.
To be clear, I do not view people as imbeciles incapable of deeper conversations on a variety of topics. On the contrary, I am constantly heartened to hear people wax eloquently about the industries they work in and how they have an impact on the wider culture. People are often passionate about their own values and can convey them with aplomb.
When I am asked about my career, I give a brief summary of the business problem my company solves with our software and my role in the sales process. I am neither too technical nor too 'sales-y'. I present examples of better customer service achieved through better communication, which is the key benefit of what my company sells.
Being American but living permanently in Australia is a built-in conversation starter, too. Partygoers are curious about my decision to move here and fascinated to hear about all the odd places I've lived in the world over the past 25 years. Australians I know often view Americans as uneducated homebodies, as opposed to worldly adventurers, which I clearly am.
These are all excellent party conversations. They address values at a personal level, which are to me the most important values. And yet inevitably, someone brings up politics at a party. It raises hackles because people don't want to seem uninterested and yet few people take a deep interest in the underlying principles of political philosophy. Because politics as practised in Western nations today is rarely principled, the predictable conclusion over party conversation amounts to: ah, who cares about ideas when we have such chumps in office. Rarely is there a next logical question, which is: why do we elect such chumps, only to complain later that they are liars and thieves after the fact?
During the American Presidential elections of 2008, a great many Australians asked me if I were proud that serious ideas were finally being discussed. My polite but direct answer was: I didn't find the ideas serious and that there was nothing new about quibbling over how the next administration was going to go after this or that industry for its alleged abuses.
This brings me back to the uneasy broaching of the topic in polite company. If people are moved by ideas in their personal lives, why do they so casually discard them when it comes to more abstract areas of intellectual endeavour? The answer lies within the question. People know a great deal about their own lives and careers, but when it comes to areas that do not directly concern them, their views become the boilerplate content of the airwaves and editorial pages.
As a mental exercise, think about your closest friends and what you know about them. Could you ask them 25 good questions about what they value in life and expect that the answers would be well reasoned and interesting? Now consider if the same is true if you were to ask them 25 questions about politics.
Abstract ideas are abstract for a reason: they are necessarily far removed from the immediately perceptual data that we all witness every day. It is far easier to reach rational conclusions about our jobs because we do them every day. We can even think ahead and form conclusions about how our work life can and ought to be, to borrow a formulation from the Greeks. When it comes to politics, however, few have the wherewithal to question the validity of minimum wage laws or the corruption of science when taken over by politics, to cite a few examples I have frequently overheard at parties.
As a matter of habit, I never bring up politics in mixed company and I never try to persuade anyone of the contrary views I hold. I respect people's intellects too much to bombard them with data they are unlikely to process fully. I have reached the conclusion, upon observation of a number of parties over the years, that people want to appear more intellectually 'with it' and so they jump headlong into a topic destined for a train wreck at the next switching station. Whilst I appreciate the sentiment, I still wish people would refrain from such desperation and stick to discussion better suited to party conversation: their own fascinating lives.
To be clear, I do not view people as imbeciles incapable of deeper conversations on a variety of topics. On the contrary, I am constantly heartened to hear people wax eloquently about the industries they work in and how they have an impact on the wider culture. People are often passionate about their own values and can convey them with aplomb.
When I am asked about my career, I give a brief summary of the business problem my company solves with our software and my role in the sales process. I am neither too technical nor too 'sales-y'. I present examples of better customer service achieved through better communication, which is the key benefit of what my company sells.
Being American but living permanently in Australia is a built-in conversation starter, too. Partygoers are curious about my decision to move here and fascinated to hear about all the odd places I've lived in the world over the past 25 years. Australians I know often view Americans as uneducated homebodies, as opposed to worldly adventurers, which I clearly am.
These are all excellent party conversations. They address values at a personal level, which are to me the most important values. And yet inevitably, someone brings up politics at a party. It raises hackles because people don't want to seem uninterested and yet few people take a deep interest in the underlying principles of political philosophy. Because politics as practised in Western nations today is rarely principled, the predictable conclusion over party conversation amounts to: ah, who cares about ideas when we have such chumps in office. Rarely is there a next logical question, which is: why do we elect such chumps, only to complain later that they are liars and thieves after the fact?
During the American Presidential elections of 2008, a great many Australians asked me if I were proud that serious ideas were finally being discussed. My polite but direct answer was: I didn't find the ideas serious and that there was nothing new about quibbling over how the next administration was going to go after this or that industry for its alleged abuses.
This brings me back to the uneasy broaching of the topic in polite company. If people are moved by ideas in their personal lives, why do they so casually discard them when it comes to more abstract areas of intellectual endeavour? The answer lies within the question. People know a great deal about their own lives and careers, but when it comes to areas that do not directly concern them, their views become the boilerplate content of the airwaves and editorial pages.
As a mental exercise, think about your closest friends and what you know about them. Could you ask them 25 good questions about what they value in life and expect that the answers would be well reasoned and interesting? Now consider if the same is true if you were to ask them 25 questions about politics.
Abstract ideas are abstract for a reason: they are necessarily far removed from the immediately perceptual data that we all witness every day. It is far easier to reach rational conclusions about our jobs because we do them every day. We can even think ahead and form conclusions about how our work life can and ought to be, to borrow a formulation from the Greeks. When it comes to politics, however, few have the wherewithal to question the validity of minimum wage laws or the corruption of science when taken over by politics, to cite a few examples I have frequently overheard at parties.
As a matter of habit, I never bring up politics in mixed company and I never try to persuade anyone of the contrary views I hold. I respect people's intellects too much to bombard them with data they are unlikely to process fully. I have reached the conclusion, upon observation of a number of parties over the years, that people want to appear more intellectually 'with it' and so they jump headlong into a topic destined for a train wreck at the next switching station. Whilst I appreciate the sentiment, I still wish people would refrain from such desperation and stick to discussion better suited to party conversation: their own fascinating lives.
Monday, December 28, 2009
The Year that Was
It is customary at the close of the year to reflect on the events of the past 12 months. The purpose, for me, is to see where I was 12 months ago and where I'm headed in the upcoming year.
2009 began with my first trip to India and ended with a new friend's first trip to Sydney. In between, I experienced a host of interesting events, which I will attempt to sum up briefly here.
3rd January 2009: I return home from a Christmas trip to Phoenix.
4th January 2009: I depart for New Dehli, India for a week long business trip. I know what you're thinking: how does one survive a 15-hour flight from the United States to Australia, only to turn around and take another 13-hour flight to India from Australia? The answer: business class upgrade on my LAX to Sydney flight!
My week in India was fascinating and grueling at the same time. I had a class with 20 students, but also managed to get in the sights of the city with some fellow co-workers, as well as a day trip to see the Taj Mahal. As impressive as the structure is, it is still a tomb. I prefer monuments to the living, which is why skyscrapers have always fascinated me.
Over the several months after the trip, I began settling into my new life in Sydney more and more. I made some new friends and attended my very first Australian Football League game. I am not much for sport, but I found the AFL game fast moving and exciting.
Throughout the year I had several out of country visitors, starting with my old friend Daniel who flew down from Montréal en route to Bali and then back to Sydney again to spend several days with me. In August I welcomed my parents to Australia for an entire month and practically exhausted them, I think, with escapades all over Sydney, as well as to the Hunter Valley, Melbourne, and Port Douglas in North Queensland. Finally in December my friends Randy and John came down for several weeks to experience summer in winter, so to speak. It was John's first trip down, so I was amused to see his reaction to Sydney and to my eclectic mix of friends and neighbours. We even attended a number of parties and partook in Janets Pies, which are about the best I've had in the area. John is now a huge fan of the meat pie!
If my first year in Sydney was a little solitary, then the second has turned out to be much less so. After careful thought and planning (is there any other way?) I decided to move to a larger apartment away from the centre of the city. I found a lovely little townhouse apartment in Alexandria, which is an inner city suburb not too far from the Sydney Airport. At the same time, it is still only minutes away from my office, so it was no compromise for me. I fell in love with it the minute I walked in. Two full bedrooms and bathrooms. The guest bedroom downstairs even has its own bathroom, so my guests needn't bother coming upstairs. It also has a decent sized balcony with doors that open all the way. Perfect for entertaining!
The nicest surprise of the new neighbourhood is the Love Grub cafe, just downstairs from me. The staff and patrons alike are friendly and full of life. Within weeks, I'd met several new people, many of whom I call friends now. Thanks to the Love Grub, I met Wendy and Daniel, a lovely couple who run a photography studio up the street from me. I was even able to take their beginner's course at the end of 2009. In October, Jacqui and Justin - who run the Love Grub - moved into the unit next to mine. And to round things out, Jacqui's sister Domonique lives in the one-bedroom apartment just above the cafe. Domi quipped that we've become Melrose Place, and I tend to agree!
2009 was not without its sorrows, too. In September my dear friend's mother passed away after many years of battling cancer. The loss of Marilyn was a terrible blow to the family and to me, too. I even dedicated my first blog post to her. It was my way of ensuring that her memory lives on. She is sorely missed.
I have deliberately skipped discussing politics in this article, for the obvious reason that I do not wish to engage in topics of little value to me these days. Until a man of integrity and principle rises to steer my home country back towards its proper founding ideals, I will have little to say on the matter.
In closing, I'd like to recommend my two favourite films of the year: Up and Julie & Julia, which I have discussed in greater detail in previous articles. Both appealed to my childlike sense of wonder at the world I live in, as well as my admiration for great achievements in life. And yes, two of my goals in 2010 are to perfect Julia's Boeuf à la bourguignonne AND to de-bone a duck. Take that, Julie Powell!
Here is to a fruitful and value-laden 2010!
2009 began with my first trip to India and ended with a new friend's first trip to Sydney. In between, I experienced a host of interesting events, which I will attempt to sum up briefly here.
3rd January 2009: I return home from a Christmas trip to Phoenix.
4th January 2009: I depart for New Dehli, India for a week long business trip. I know what you're thinking: how does one survive a 15-hour flight from the United States to Australia, only to turn around and take another 13-hour flight to India from Australia? The answer: business class upgrade on my LAX to Sydney flight!
My week in India was fascinating and grueling at the same time. I had a class with 20 students, but also managed to get in the sights of the city with some fellow co-workers, as well as a day trip to see the Taj Mahal. As impressive as the structure is, it is still a tomb. I prefer monuments to the living, which is why skyscrapers have always fascinated me.
Over the several months after the trip, I began settling into my new life in Sydney more and more. I made some new friends and attended my very first Australian Football League game. I am not much for sport, but I found the AFL game fast moving and exciting.
Throughout the year I had several out of country visitors, starting with my old friend Daniel who flew down from Montréal en route to Bali and then back to Sydney again to spend several days with me. In August I welcomed my parents to Australia for an entire month and practically exhausted them, I think, with escapades all over Sydney, as well as to the Hunter Valley, Melbourne, and Port Douglas in North Queensland. Finally in December my friends Randy and John came down for several weeks to experience summer in winter, so to speak. It was John's first trip down, so I was amused to see his reaction to Sydney and to my eclectic mix of friends and neighbours. We even attended a number of parties and partook in Janets Pies, which are about the best I've had in the area. John is now a huge fan of the meat pie!
If my first year in Sydney was a little solitary, then the second has turned out to be much less so. After careful thought and planning (is there any other way?) I decided to move to a larger apartment away from the centre of the city. I found a lovely little townhouse apartment in Alexandria, which is an inner city suburb not too far from the Sydney Airport. At the same time, it is still only minutes away from my office, so it was no compromise for me. I fell in love with it the minute I walked in. Two full bedrooms and bathrooms. The guest bedroom downstairs even has its own bathroom, so my guests needn't bother coming upstairs. It also has a decent sized balcony with doors that open all the way. Perfect for entertaining!
The nicest surprise of the new neighbourhood is the Love Grub cafe, just downstairs from me. The staff and patrons alike are friendly and full of life. Within weeks, I'd met several new people, many of whom I call friends now. Thanks to the Love Grub, I met Wendy and Daniel, a lovely couple who run a photography studio up the street from me. I was even able to take their beginner's course at the end of 2009. In October, Jacqui and Justin - who run the Love Grub - moved into the unit next to mine. And to round things out, Jacqui's sister Domonique lives in the one-bedroom apartment just above the cafe. Domi quipped that we've become Melrose Place, and I tend to agree!
2009 was not without its sorrows, too. In September my dear friend's mother passed away after many years of battling cancer. The loss of Marilyn was a terrible blow to the family and to me, too. I even dedicated my first blog post to her. It was my way of ensuring that her memory lives on. She is sorely missed.
I have deliberately skipped discussing politics in this article, for the obvious reason that I do not wish to engage in topics of little value to me these days. Until a man of integrity and principle rises to steer my home country back towards its proper founding ideals, I will have little to say on the matter.
In closing, I'd like to recommend my two favourite films of the year: Up and Julie & Julia, which I have discussed in greater detail in previous articles. Both appealed to my childlike sense of wonder at the world I live in, as well as my admiration for great achievements in life. And yes, two of my goals in 2010 are to perfect Julia's Boeuf à la bourguignonne AND to de-bone a duck. Take that, Julie Powell!
Here is to a fruitful and value-laden 2010!
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Who Should I Be?
What kind of man do I want to be? When I was a boy, I frequently asked myself that question. In the mind of a small boy, the question is too abstract, so it frequently takes the form of 'what do I want to be when I grow up?' A child understands what people are based on the adults he observes around him: my father worked for a newspaper, Mr Casey next door worked in the food business, still another neighbour was an architect who designed the new swimming pool complex at my local high school. All three men were productive in one way or another, so I thought it perfectly normal to aspire to the same.
As I grew older, I began to grasp the specifics of the work these men did. My father was an editor for a city newspaper and contributed to the quality of the end product. Mr Casey was a food broker who bought and sold products not for direct consumption by everyday people, but for bridging the gap between producers and sellers. Mr Kahler had to know an enormous amount about structural engineering and aesthetics to produce sound, elegant and practical buildings. I never once thought there were other types of men - men who existed to seek advancement in life not by their skills, but by their ability to seek influence.
Today, of course, as a fully-grown man, I understand all too well the type of men who exist not for the sake of their own abilities, but who stand in the way of those who do. This brings me back to my initial question, which I can now state in the present tense: what kind of man am I? People who know me well can answer easily: I am a man who seeks out achievements, wherever they may be. When I get an idea in my head about a future project, I observe, think, plan and act. It never occurs to me to consider the opinions of others, nor does it worry me. I may get an idea for some new achievement based on a conversation I've had, but the work itself is its own motivation for me.
As a teenager, I decided I was going to become fluent in French. A worthy goal, right? Some expressed doubt that I was capable of mastering a second language well after the muscles to produce the sounds of French had atrophied in my mouth. As it turns out, for me they hadn't, and so I was able to mimic the sounds of French effortlessly. The looking in the mirror exercises that the teacher had recommended were unnecessary, so I didn't do them. The teacher was never the wiser for it. It was easy for me and I loved it. I always got the best marks in French class and happily continued acquiring vocabulary and more complex verbal constructions.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, there were a number of fellow students who resented me for my skills. They thought I was haughty and a show-off. They thought I was the teacher's pet. This attitude became clearer to me years later as a student at the Université Laval in Québec City. I recall one afternoon sitting in the student coffee lounge, overhearing a conversation two English Canadians were having with one another. Apparently I was an offensive jerk for refusing to speak English and becoming part of the Anglophone community. I thought: how odd that these women I didn't even know would concern themselves with my life. What was it to them really? I had neither harmed nor maligned these two strangers. I simply went about my business.
I began to formulate the idea that some people do not live their lives to seek out achievement, but rather to malign those who do - or worse, attempt to stop them from attaining success in life. These are men and women whose driving force in their lives is envy of others. Envy is that emotion that moves people not to admire ability - as I do - but to denigrate it.
Why, I wondered. Why do people care what others do? What do they hope to gain? Why the focus on others when they could be expending that same energy achieving for themselves? As I moved into the work world, the same ugly emotions manifested themselves in the men and women who took pleasure in playing office politics. Another concept emerged for me: the notion that some people prefer to curry favour rather than do their jobs. They want desperately to be liked, but do everything in their power to sabotage legitimate business relationships. Time and again I have seen this play out in my current job, but because I have a rational and high achieving boss, every attempt at treachery in the office is thwarted. The schemers are always cut off at the pass and wonder why they never succeed at their task.
I could become a cynic. I could conclude that men are rotten to the core. I could proclaim that these creatures seeking to suck the lifeblood out of others are the rule, not the exception. Human history is rife with examples of envy destroying good people: Socrates, Galileo and even Bill Gates who did nothing so odious as to produce software that others wanted at prices they were willing to pay. And yet, I pay these examples no heed. I know that, despite the evil intentions of some men, vast achievements are all around us to admire. When I walk down the gleaming streets of Sydney and Melbourne, I see high achievement in the skyscrapers and shop windows. When I enter the Apple Store in Sydney, I see employees and patrons alike marvelling at the array of fantastic products available to the public at large. When I order my strong flat white coffee in the morning from my local cafe, I watch admiringly as the barista prepares my delicious beverage for me.
In all my years of living, I have never worried what other people thought of me. I have only concerned myself with my own goals. I realise that I am the kind of man who exists to live fully, and even though there are bumps in the road and occasional set-backs, nothing stops me from that singular focus.
What kind of man are you?
As I grew older, I began to grasp the specifics of the work these men did. My father was an editor for a city newspaper and contributed to the quality of the end product. Mr Casey was a food broker who bought and sold products not for direct consumption by everyday people, but for bridging the gap between producers and sellers. Mr Kahler had to know an enormous amount about structural engineering and aesthetics to produce sound, elegant and practical buildings. I never once thought there were other types of men - men who existed to seek advancement in life not by their skills, but by their ability to seek influence.
Today, of course, as a fully-grown man, I understand all too well the type of men who exist not for the sake of their own abilities, but who stand in the way of those who do. This brings me back to my initial question, which I can now state in the present tense: what kind of man am I? People who know me well can answer easily: I am a man who seeks out achievements, wherever they may be. When I get an idea in my head about a future project, I observe, think, plan and act. It never occurs to me to consider the opinions of others, nor does it worry me. I may get an idea for some new achievement based on a conversation I've had, but the work itself is its own motivation for me.
As a teenager, I decided I was going to become fluent in French. A worthy goal, right? Some expressed doubt that I was capable of mastering a second language well after the muscles to produce the sounds of French had atrophied in my mouth. As it turns out, for me they hadn't, and so I was able to mimic the sounds of French effortlessly. The looking in the mirror exercises that the teacher had recommended were unnecessary, so I didn't do them. The teacher was never the wiser for it. It was easy for me and I loved it. I always got the best marks in French class and happily continued acquiring vocabulary and more complex verbal constructions.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, there were a number of fellow students who resented me for my skills. They thought I was haughty and a show-off. They thought I was the teacher's pet. This attitude became clearer to me years later as a student at the Université Laval in Québec City. I recall one afternoon sitting in the student coffee lounge, overhearing a conversation two English Canadians were having with one another. Apparently I was an offensive jerk for refusing to speak English and becoming part of the Anglophone community. I thought: how odd that these women I didn't even know would concern themselves with my life. What was it to them really? I had neither harmed nor maligned these two strangers. I simply went about my business.
I began to formulate the idea that some people do not live their lives to seek out achievement, but rather to malign those who do - or worse, attempt to stop them from attaining success in life. These are men and women whose driving force in their lives is envy of others. Envy is that emotion that moves people not to admire ability - as I do - but to denigrate it.
Why, I wondered. Why do people care what others do? What do they hope to gain? Why the focus on others when they could be expending that same energy achieving for themselves? As I moved into the work world, the same ugly emotions manifested themselves in the men and women who took pleasure in playing office politics. Another concept emerged for me: the notion that some people prefer to curry favour rather than do their jobs. They want desperately to be liked, but do everything in their power to sabotage legitimate business relationships. Time and again I have seen this play out in my current job, but because I have a rational and high achieving boss, every attempt at treachery in the office is thwarted. The schemers are always cut off at the pass and wonder why they never succeed at their task.
I could become a cynic. I could conclude that men are rotten to the core. I could proclaim that these creatures seeking to suck the lifeblood out of others are the rule, not the exception. Human history is rife with examples of envy destroying good people: Socrates, Galileo and even Bill Gates who did nothing so odious as to produce software that others wanted at prices they were willing to pay. And yet, I pay these examples no heed. I know that, despite the evil intentions of some men, vast achievements are all around us to admire. When I walk down the gleaming streets of Sydney and Melbourne, I see high achievement in the skyscrapers and shop windows. When I enter the Apple Store in Sydney, I see employees and patrons alike marvelling at the array of fantastic products available to the public at large. When I order my strong flat white coffee in the morning from my local cafe, I watch admiringly as the barista prepares my delicious beverage for me.
In all my years of living, I have never worried what other people thought of me. I have only concerned myself with my own goals. I realise that I am the kind of man who exists to live fully, and even though there are bumps in the road and occasional set-backs, nothing stops me from that singular focus.
What kind of man are you?
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Holiday Interlude
Hello friends and followers,
As you can see, my blogging of late has been non-existent. Fear not! Due to a busy work schedule and visiting friends from the US, my writing has been on the back burner. I fully intend to continue with the momentum very shortly. I have heaps of new topics and here's a shocker: I may weigh in on the nonsense that is 'climate change'.
Stay tuned and Christmas wishes to all!
Jason
As you can see, my blogging of late has been non-existent. Fear not! Due to a busy work schedule and visiting friends from the US, my writing has been on the back burner. I fully intend to continue with the momentum very shortly. I have heaps of new topics and here's a shocker: I may weigh in on the nonsense that is 'climate change'.
Stay tuned and Christmas wishes to all!
Jason
Sunday, November 22, 2009
The Life of an Immigrant - Part II
In the few months leading up to my arrival in Czechoslovakia, I travelled around Western Europe, ending up in Vienna with little money at the end of August 1992, and therefore not much to pay for a decent hotel. I spent those last days in the West holed up in a cheap backpackers style hotel, with little to do but read and ruminate about my upcoming adventure or folly, depending on my mood. It must be said that embarking on the utter unknown is daunting to say the least, but it also provided an adrenaline rush like none other I had experienced. What in the hell had I agreed to and what sinkhole of a country had I committed to living in for the next year?
Finally the day arrived to meet my group of eager future English instructors at the Vienna airport, where a hired coach would take us over the border of the Slovak Republic and into the unknown. I encountered a friendly lot of traveller types, some in their 20s, but some older and seeking a new kind of life, too. There were married couples and hippie types. There were staunch leftists and conservative Republicans. In other words, all of the teachers came from varied backgrounds and viewpoints. To this 26-year-old the volleying of ideas over the several days of our orientation in a dusty little Slovak town called Piešťany invigorated me. It made me realise I had made the right decision to seek out this opportunity.
On the final day of our orientation, nominated representatives from our assigned towns and schools arrived to escort us to our new homes for the next year. My placement was in the eastern Slovak city of Prešov, which had the distinction of being home to a university, but not much else. Like most small cities of Eastern Europe, it was grey and dingy, with a main street resembling a fairy tale village, replete with faded taffy coloured 18th century buildings, but ringed with the 'housing estates' most Western nations relegate to those unfortunate souls subsisting on government largesse.
My home was a student dormitory close to the town centre, referred to in Slovak as a 'študensky domov'. It had the distinction of resembling all the other aforementioned greying housing estates. It had a front desk where the 'vrátnik' kept watch on all the comers and goers. In the socialist era, the vrátnik surely filled the role of informant, but I was never able to receive clarification on this point. My assigned room had two twin beds with a modest desk and wardrobe, a bathroom and a balcony overlooking a soccer field. My colleagues informed me I had a prime location on the second floor as the upper rooms never got any hot water, due to the poor plumbing system. I believed them.
My year in Slovakia consisted of teaching both teenagers and adults conversational English, taking weekend trips to various other dusty towns with fellow Westerners, and gradually learning to communicate in Slovak. The greatest lesson I learnt, however, was how to value my freedom as an American and the breathtaking gift the Founding Fathers of the United States had bestowed upon the world. I often thought Slovaks would benefit greatly from discovering the ideas that lead to the vibrancy of America, but I also realised that the older Slovak generations had been so steeped in the propaganda of socialism that for them to contemplate a system that revered the individual was beyond their capabilities.
I left Slovakia in May of 1993 having experienced a culture that I disliked, but which also gave me much fuel for seeking out a career and a life that suited me. For the next 15 years I acquired a career in the software industry in both Milwaukee, Wisconsin and Phoenix, Arizona. Those skills prepared me for the next big adventure in my life: a permanent relocation to Australia in June of 2008.
Throughout this piece on the life of an immigrant, I have only discussed my life as a world traveller and expatriate American. When one goes abroad for extended periods of time, as in my year in Belgium or my four years in Québec, there is a built-in expectation of a return to one's home country. An immigrant, on the other hand, has left his home country permanently with the expectation of achieving his fortunes elsewhere. He sees his home country with a degree of nostalgia, but looks to his new country as where he will live out the rest of his days. There is a psychological element in operation here, too. Without a time limit, the immigrant must learn to adapt to his new culture without reference to his own.
It is true the United States and Australia are similar cultures. Both are relatively young cultures. Both are constantly reinventing themselves and quick to embrace those changes. To become an Australian has nothing at all to do with skin colour or national origin, just as the same applies to becoming American. Australian culture is a fantastic repository of some of the best and brightest the world has to offer. It attracts talented and adventurous people from the world over, and it has its own distinctive style. In short, it is a particularly easy culture for an American to adapt to.
And yet, I am an immigrant. I hold ideas foreign to many Australians. When I express my horror over compulsory voting, for example, most Australians I've met are befuddled by my objection. They see it as a citizen's responsibility to elect their representatives, not the violation of rights I ascribe to it. This highlights a vitally important role an immigrant can play, though it is necessarily a secondary role, which is: the injection of new ideas into a culture. My objection to mandatory voting, while unusual to Australians I know, has the effect of challenging received wisdom. I may never persuade a single Australian directly, but I have expressed a notion previously unheard by a great number of Australians.
I will make clear that I do not see myself as an official or unofficial American ambassador. I am an individual with clear ideas about who I am and what I stand for. It is for that reason alone that I never seek to 'evangelise' about the virtues of the original American system. In fact, I consider that presumptuous because Australians are perfectly capable of forming their own opinions. They don't need a foreigner wagging his finger at them, proclaiming they should think this or that. (See my article on you-shoulders for clarification on this point.)
What I do think is I must also remain true to my own hard won convictions, neither preaching to others nor succumbing to ideas I disagree with because I fear rebuke. As a man happy to call Australia my home country, I owe my new friends and associates the integrity that I espouse every day, while accepting that differing opinions are the reward of living in a dynamic and modern culture.
Thank you, Australia, for welcoming this immigrant with open arms.
Finally the day arrived to meet my group of eager future English instructors at the Vienna airport, where a hired coach would take us over the border of the Slovak Republic and into the unknown. I encountered a friendly lot of traveller types, some in their 20s, but some older and seeking a new kind of life, too. There were married couples and hippie types. There were staunch leftists and conservative Republicans. In other words, all of the teachers came from varied backgrounds and viewpoints. To this 26-year-old the volleying of ideas over the several days of our orientation in a dusty little Slovak town called Piešťany invigorated me. It made me realise I had made the right decision to seek out this opportunity.
On the final day of our orientation, nominated representatives from our assigned towns and schools arrived to escort us to our new homes for the next year. My placement was in the eastern Slovak city of Prešov, which had the distinction of being home to a university, but not much else. Like most small cities of Eastern Europe, it was grey and dingy, with a main street resembling a fairy tale village, replete with faded taffy coloured 18th century buildings, but ringed with the 'housing estates' most Western nations relegate to those unfortunate souls subsisting on government largesse.
My home was a student dormitory close to the town centre, referred to in Slovak as a 'študensky domov'. It had the distinction of resembling all the other aforementioned greying housing estates. It had a front desk where the 'vrátnik' kept watch on all the comers and goers. In the socialist era, the vrátnik surely filled the role of informant, but I was never able to receive clarification on this point. My assigned room had two twin beds with a modest desk and wardrobe, a bathroom and a balcony overlooking a soccer field. My colleagues informed me I had a prime location on the second floor as the upper rooms never got any hot water, due to the poor plumbing system. I believed them.
My year in Slovakia consisted of teaching both teenagers and adults conversational English, taking weekend trips to various other dusty towns with fellow Westerners, and gradually learning to communicate in Slovak. The greatest lesson I learnt, however, was how to value my freedom as an American and the breathtaking gift the Founding Fathers of the United States had bestowed upon the world. I often thought Slovaks would benefit greatly from discovering the ideas that lead to the vibrancy of America, but I also realised that the older Slovak generations had been so steeped in the propaganda of socialism that for them to contemplate a system that revered the individual was beyond their capabilities.
I left Slovakia in May of 1993 having experienced a culture that I disliked, but which also gave me much fuel for seeking out a career and a life that suited me. For the next 15 years I acquired a career in the software industry in both Milwaukee, Wisconsin and Phoenix, Arizona. Those skills prepared me for the next big adventure in my life: a permanent relocation to Australia in June of 2008.
Throughout this piece on the life of an immigrant, I have only discussed my life as a world traveller and expatriate American. When one goes abroad for extended periods of time, as in my year in Belgium or my four years in Québec, there is a built-in expectation of a return to one's home country. An immigrant, on the other hand, has left his home country permanently with the expectation of achieving his fortunes elsewhere. He sees his home country with a degree of nostalgia, but looks to his new country as where he will live out the rest of his days. There is a psychological element in operation here, too. Without a time limit, the immigrant must learn to adapt to his new culture without reference to his own.
It is true the United States and Australia are similar cultures. Both are relatively young cultures. Both are constantly reinventing themselves and quick to embrace those changes. To become an Australian has nothing at all to do with skin colour or national origin, just as the same applies to becoming American. Australian culture is a fantastic repository of some of the best and brightest the world has to offer. It attracts talented and adventurous people from the world over, and it has its own distinctive style. In short, it is a particularly easy culture for an American to adapt to.
And yet, I am an immigrant. I hold ideas foreign to many Australians. When I express my horror over compulsory voting, for example, most Australians I've met are befuddled by my objection. They see it as a citizen's responsibility to elect their representatives, not the violation of rights I ascribe to it. This highlights a vitally important role an immigrant can play, though it is necessarily a secondary role, which is: the injection of new ideas into a culture. My objection to mandatory voting, while unusual to Australians I know, has the effect of challenging received wisdom. I may never persuade a single Australian directly, but I have expressed a notion previously unheard by a great number of Australians.
I will make clear that I do not see myself as an official or unofficial American ambassador. I am an individual with clear ideas about who I am and what I stand for. It is for that reason alone that I never seek to 'evangelise' about the virtues of the original American system. In fact, I consider that presumptuous because Australians are perfectly capable of forming their own opinions. They don't need a foreigner wagging his finger at them, proclaiming they should think this or that. (See my article on you-shoulders for clarification on this point.)
What I do think is I must also remain true to my own hard won convictions, neither preaching to others nor succumbing to ideas I disagree with because I fear rebuke. As a man happy to call Australia my home country, I owe my new friends and associates the integrity that I espouse every day, while accepting that differing opinions are the reward of living in a dynamic and modern culture.
Thank you, Australia, for welcoming this immigrant with open arms.
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