Happy December 22th! Three shopping days left until the first day of Christmas. Are you done yet? Whether you've got a lot or a little money to spend before December 25, why not consider spending that money locally?
It's true you might not get as much bang for your buck spending money at a locally-owned business. Why? Because big-box retailers are taking over our economy, and can get stuff so cheaply they make it impossible for smaller fish to compete in price wars. Smaller fish who live in your neighborhood, send their kids to your schools, pay local taxes, and create jobs from the ground up.
Since the tradition of exchanging gobs of gifts with everyone on the planet on Christmas was created entirely by the retail industry, I wonder what the acceptable, appropriate number of presents is to have under a tree. Maybe by shopping locally there are 18 presents instead of 20 presents to open on Christmas day. How much difference does that really make?
One such bastion of local talent and passion is Pocatello's co-op, located on 1st street in the rapidly developing warehouse district. “Co-op” means “co-operative;” as in teamwork, as in nonprofit. My first experience with a co-op was the Duck Soup Co-op in DeKalb Illinois, which as a college English minor I took to mean “as in a chicken coop.” I later learned I could become a member of this funky, interesting market and get a discount, and even more so if I worked at the co-op a few hours a week.
So the Pocatello Co-op, or natural foods market, whichever term you prefer, operates in this same manner. It is a community market available to anyone, and if you pay $150 you become a member for life and get 7% off forever--even more if you work at the co-op a few hours a week. You don't become a member like you become a member of an exclusive club. Because what merchant thinks “no,no--you don't belong, please take your money somewhere else” is a sound business philosophy?
Whether you become a member to help run, maintain, and grow this nonprofit shopping venture or not, the Pocatello Co-op is a clearinghouse of regionally and locally-produced goods—local food for your table, local artisan gifts for under your tree.
Money spent at a co-op stays at a co-op—all the extra money brought in goes towards growing and expanding the types of services that only an organic, community-minded market can do. And money spent in a local region stays in a local region—there isn't a headquarters across the country or world where all the real profits go.
It is a true mark of a healthy community to be self-sustaining. Where it doesn't need the help of distant corporate empires to give out needed services and jobs. So in the next few days as you drive in and out of parking lots, decide if there is a local shop that's caught your eye or you know deserves your business. Then spend some of that last-minute shopping money (providing, of course, that you are managing your holiday finances in a healthy and sane manner) on a few nice gifts from a local merchant to open Christmas morning, even if the person opening them will be you. Onward!
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Abyss? What abyss?
Published in the Idaho State Journal on Sunday, December 6, 2009
One of my best friends recently had twin boys after more than seven years fighting the infertility dragon. “What a journey,” her husband said over the phone, clearly delirious as he updated me from from the hospital.
A few days before she gave birth, I had a conversation with her about how if this or that thing didn't happen, I was surely going to ram a pen in my eye. In all fairness, she was saying the same thing about what would happen if those babies didn't come out of her soon, comically immobilized by what must have appeared, in those last days, to be a 13 month pregnancy.
I like to talk a lot about the abyss—that dark place along life's journey where we are consumed and engulfed by our ego wounds, to rise again renewed and ready to carry on. So as I prepared myself to swan dive into the abyss because of this thing or that thing, knowing the routine and being OK with that, my fertility queen friend simply said, “there is no abyss.”
She is so much smarter than me.
This level of peaceful thinking, much like a good epidural and other fun labor drugs I suppose, can remove much of the pain associated with trauma. You still still feel it some, that's just part of being human. Contractions are contractions, heartache is heartache. It's normal to feel pain, grief, sorrow, agony. But after a certain point, it's pretty much up to us how much time we spend in the cold and dark.
That's my sticking point sometimes. Feel what's supposed to be felt, but then shake it off and start doing the next thing, eyes forward, fresh and reset. Me, I'm a loiterer. There must be weeping. But I sure would like to improve my recovery time between unexpected turns and disappointments because there is much work to be done, and much joy to experience.
So, sometimes it comes down to that fancy word, metaphor. The abyss is a picture of a place—for everyone it's a different place—maybe down a well, in the blackness of outer space, that represents our feelings of fear, hopelessness, grief, and intense self-doubt. But maybe we can tear down that black curtain, toss it on a corner, and see what's been hiding behind the oblivion. Maybe it's not much, a vacant warehouse, an abandoned town, an open field, and maybe your sack is still empty. But at least it's daylight, and pretty soon something or someone is going to come along to get your compass facing the right direction again.
This tranquil way of being is a discipline. It requires focus, it requires faith, it requires repetition, it requires deep desire and appreciation. Who's got that on tap all the time, especially when it's new? Not many.
So you're going to find yourself in that dark, rainy forest again. That's when it's important to remember you've got unending creativity about where you imagine yourself to be, and then pull out all the tools you need to maintain a better, brighter state of mind. Affirmation lists, support systems, yoga, humor therapy—whatever works.
Nothing needs to be abyss-mal if we don't want it to be that way. Every day brings new opportunity and potential, and the chance to create as much light as we choose. Let us all make good choices in that area. Onward!
One of my best friends recently had twin boys after more than seven years fighting the infertility dragon. “What a journey,” her husband said over the phone, clearly delirious as he updated me from from the hospital.
A few days before she gave birth, I had a conversation with her about how if this or that thing didn't happen, I was surely going to ram a pen in my eye. In all fairness, she was saying the same thing about what would happen if those babies didn't come out of her soon, comically immobilized by what must have appeared, in those last days, to be a 13 month pregnancy.
I like to talk a lot about the abyss—that dark place along life's journey where we are consumed and engulfed by our ego wounds, to rise again renewed and ready to carry on. So as I prepared myself to swan dive into the abyss because of this thing or that thing, knowing the routine and being OK with that, my fertility queen friend simply said, “there is no abyss.”
She is so much smarter than me.
This level of peaceful thinking, much like a good epidural and other fun labor drugs I suppose, can remove much of the pain associated with trauma. You still still feel it some, that's just part of being human. Contractions are contractions, heartache is heartache. It's normal to feel pain, grief, sorrow, agony. But after a certain point, it's pretty much up to us how much time we spend in the cold and dark.
That's my sticking point sometimes. Feel what's supposed to be felt, but then shake it off and start doing the next thing, eyes forward, fresh and reset. Me, I'm a loiterer. There must be weeping. But I sure would like to improve my recovery time between unexpected turns and disappointments because there is much work to be done, and much joy to experience.
So, sometimes it comes down to that fancy word, metaphor. The abyss is a picture of a place—for everyone it's a different place—maybe down a well, in the blackness of outer space, that represents our feelings of fear, hopelessness, grief, and intense self-doubt. But maybe we can tear down that black curtain, toss it on a corner, and see what's been hiding behind the oblivion. Maybe it's not much, a vacant warehouse, an abandoned town, an open field, and maybe your sack is still empty. But at least it's daylight, and pretty soon something or someone is going to come along to get your compass facing the right direction again.
This tranquil way of being is a discipline. It requires focus, it requires faith, it requires repetition, it requires deep desire and appreciation. Who's got that on tap all the time, especially when it's new? Not many.
So you're going to find yourself in that dark, rainy forest again. That's when it's important to remember you've got unending creativity about where you imagine yourself to be, and then pull out all the tools you need to maintain a better, brighter state of mind. Affirmation lists, support systems, yoga, humor therapy—whatever works.
Nothing needs to be abyss-mal if we don't want it to be that way. Every day brings new opportunity and potential, and the chance to create as much light as we choose. Let us all make good choices in that area. Onward!
How is your technological health?
Published in the Idaho State Journal on Sunday, November 29, 2009
This week, I experienced a shocking and terrifying loss. My computer warranty expired. Actually, it expired 10 months ago, but aliens inserted a memory into my head that I purchased a longer warranty, and I thought I had another three months to go. So all of a sudden, I found myself with a comatose laptop, and no cushy tech support to gently talk me off the ledge. The ledge where I was about to drop my computer 10 stories to the ground.
Mythologist Joseph Campbell said, “Computers are like Old Testament Gods; lots of rules and no mercy.” No kidding. Certainly it seemed that way as a local, bearded guru pored over my laptop, translating terrible coded secrets while I helplessly wrung my hands praying for a miracle.
I’ll tip my hat to the super-natural feel of today’s technology. Technology that is getting so complex I’m afraid I lack the requisite computer coursework to purchase a telephone. It’s a little unsettling to feel so out-of-control when confronting something that, without the magic, is little more than metal and plastic. Digital and wireless technology hasn’t had a lot of time to seep into our primitive psyche, but today we use it to travel, communicate, and archive, without much understanding.
In 1983, my grandmother Mae Goodman wrote an article called “Yuk, my son bought a computer.” This woman who wouldn’t get a driver’s license, much less something fancy like an answering machine produced a son who was one of the first to peruse bulletin boards and learn COBOL. She lamented the introduction of technical demons into our household, or any household at all. And here society is, many years later, “drowning in information and starved for knowledge,” as she fearfully predicted.
I’ve been an advocate of the multidimensional nature of health for quite some time now. The dimensions of wellness, as I’ve unearthed, are: physical, emotional, occupational, intellectual, environmental, social, spiritual, multicultural, and financial. I see overall wellness as the delicate and fluid balancing, evening-out, and compensating within these dimensions.
So as I pray that my files haven’t disappeared, I wonder if technology needs to be included in this wellness dance. Technology affects my career, finances, stress level, and carbon footprint. Technology affects my interaction with people from other cultures, as well as my interaction with long-lost summer camp friends.
Managing technological health, like everything, is about balance. It’s possible to be a technological hold-out and still thrive in today’s society—only listening to music on vinyl, only having that cell phone “for emergencies.” And it’s possible to be wireless and Kindled and Wii’d and still enjoy fresh air and real friends. But if you’re too digitally stoned to leave your basement or too scared of computers to take a college course, consider how your technological health maybe holding you back from a full, happy life.
Now that I’m off-warranty, flung into the static and noise to fend for myself, I hope my knowledge and understanding of technology can continue to improve. I would like to be in good technological health; knowing how the things I use work, knowing how to troubleshoot, and knowing how to make good decisions about what I do and don’t need. It seems an impossible task sometimes; but I’m beginning to appreciate how this knowledge, and perhaps a sweet new netbook, can enhance my life overall. Onward!
This week, I experienced a shocking and terrifying loss. My computer warranty expired. Actually, it expired 10 months ago, but aliens inserted a memory into my head that I purchased a longer warranty, and I thought I had another three months to go. So all of a sudden, I found myself with a comatose laptop, and no cushy tech support to gently talk me off the ledge. The ledge where I was about to drop my computer 10 stories to the ground.
Mythologist Joseph Campbell said, “Computers are like Old Testament Gods; lots of rules and no mercy.” No kidding. Certainly it seemed that way as a local, bearded guru pored over my laptop, translating terrible coded secrets while I helplessly wrung my hands praying for a miracle.
I’ll tip my hat to the super-natural feel of today’s technology. Technology that is getting so complex I’m afraid I lack the requisite computer coursework to purchase a telephone. It’s a little unsettling to feel so out-of-control when confronting something that, without the magic, is little more than metal and plastic. Digital and wireless technology hasn’t had a lot of time to seep into our primitive psyche, but today we use it to travel, communicate, and archive, without much understanding.
In 1983, my grandmother Mae Goodman wrote an article called “Yuk, my son bought a computer.” This woman who wouldn’t get a driver’s license, much less something fancy like an answering machine produced a son who was one of the first to peruse bulletin boards and learn COBOL. She lamented the introduction of technical demons into our household, or any household at all. And here society is, many years later, “drowning in information and starved for knowledge,” as she fearfully predicted.
I’ve been an advocate of the multidimensional nature of health for quite some time now. The dimensions of wellness, as I’ve unearthed, are: physical, emotional, occupational, intellectual, environmental, social, spiritual, multicultural, and financial. I see overall wellness as the delicate and fluid balancing, evening-out, and compensating within these dimensions.
So as I pray that my files haven’t disappeared, I wonder if technology needs to be included in this wellness dance. Technology affects my career, finances, stress level, and carbon footprint. Technology affects my interaction with people from other cultures, as well as my interaction with long-lost summer camp friends.
Managing technological health, like everything, is about balance. It’s possible to be a technological hold-out and still thrive in today’s society—only listening to music on vinyl, only having that cell phone “for emergencies.” And it’s possible to be wireless and Kindled and Wii’d and still enjoy fresh air and real friends. But if you’re too digitally stoned to leave your basement or too scared of computers to take a college course, consider how your technological health maybe holding you back from a full, happy life.
Now that I’m off-warranty, flung into the static and noise to fend for myself, I hope my knowledge and understanding of technology can continue to improve. I would like to be in good technological health; knowing how the things I use work, knowing how to troubleshoot, and knowing how to make good decisions about what I do and don’t need. It seems an impossible task sometimes; but I’m beginning to appreciate how this knowledge, and perhaps a sweet new netbook, can enhance my life overall. Onward!
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