What would happen if, instead of the current economic system, all nations were set up so that every individual automatically received a monthly allowance?

A decree might state that everyone would receive the same amount. It would be up to each person to budget and ensure they put each dollar to good use. Entrepreneurship would be encouraged, as would the ability to make a profit, hire staff and invest. There would still be taxes to pay, as a means to support shared infrastructure and services and promote a sense of responsibility toward the well-being of the community.

Of course, for this to work, it might be helpful to put in place programs to train people in effective money-management skills. For while everyone would be assured consistent income, not everyone would necessarily manage it in their own best interest. This is true with the current system. Regardless of how money is earned and regardless how much is earned, guaranteed income, whether on a temporary or ongoing basis, does not guarantee financial shrewdness.

One might argue that guaranteed income would create generations of lazy people who do not feel there is any reason to contribute to a work force. I would argue that the majority of people have creative minds that beg to engage in society, projects, work, development and community. I would also suggest that many brilliant entrepreneurs and dedicated workers at heart might strive under such a system, because they might feel secure enough to dare to act on their dreams and visions. I find I am most creative when I feel secure. I know this to be true for most people.

Another possible argument is that any individual who chose not to actively participate in the workings of their community simply because their ability to obtain food and shelter is ensured would not be in any different position than people who refuse to participate today. Thus, in the end, the source of income does not matter and the guarantee of income may not matter at all either. What matters and what makes a difference in how successful we are at living and sharing in the activities and prosperity of a community is our attitude, and our willingness to take action. In the end, we create our own ability to support and fulfill ourselves.

Perhaps what is truly needed is not guaranteed income, but the aforementioned training program to provide every individual with not only a keen understanding of financial matters and survival, but also a real sense of respect for self and others. We “earn a living” by taking action, sharing our strength, skills and creativity with colleagues and ultimately with an entire community. In this sense, it is likely that a system that guarantees income to all would in fact rob many of the incentive to go out on a limb and develop strength, skills and creativity.

An engineer, who earns thousands putting together a proposal that is finally accepted, may feel great sense of accomplishment and meaning. Likewise, a server who sees clients return, specifically asking for her table, and leaving a good tip as a token of appreciation, may feel a great sense of accomplishment and meaning. The dollar amount and means of earning it are irrelevant.

Money does not give value to our lives; how we live our lives gives value and meaning to each dollar earned. Ultimately, how we live our lives give values to far more than that.

Slainte!

Last week, my husband and I visited his father. He lives about two hours south of us. I was not going to come along at first, but changed my mind. It had been a while since I had seen his dad. On the way there, we usually stop by a ball field where we can let our dog out to run and play for a while. Since our dog is small, most of our attention remains near ground level, where we pick up sticks to throw for him, or watch him run in giant circles with a huge grin on his face. That day, however, something in the distance caught my attention.

There is a batting cage at the back of the field. A huge raven was trapped inside, flying back and forth from one end to the other, desperately trying to be free. I ran to it. As I approached, I noticed a tear at the bottom of the net and decided my feathered friend had probably ventured in that way and forgotten about it after a while. I immediately proceeded to raise one end of the net. Raven stayed at the opposite end. It was exhausted and panting. Every time it tried to stabilize itself in a corner, it soon drooped down, unable to keep its strength. The sun was warm. It was not a good day for a black bird to be trapped out in the open and to panic.

I secured the end higher, to offer a more obvious opening, and motioned Raven to fly over to that side of the net. I had removed my sunglasses, so it could see my eyes, and I spoke in a soft voice so it could hear the vibration of my love. Raven seemed to calm down a bit, but it insisted on staying in the top corner. I crouched down and motioned “down” with my hand, several times. After three or four repetitions of this “message”, Raven got the gist of it and soon began to shift its attention from me to the bottom of the net. It inched its way down as best it could, found the exit, flew straight out and circled back over me before disappearing into the trees by a nearby river. It needed shade and drink.

What a gorgeous creature! It was so close to me that I could have picked it up in my harms. I was tempted by this great opportunity to hold such a beautiful animal and shower it with tenderness, but it did not want my tenderness and I had no right to impose. A French love song says, “I do not want to be tamed or caged. I want to be loved simply for what I have to offer”. We cannot hold on to everything we love, not even our life.

A few days later, in a restaurant in Montreal, a young couple sat in the corner of a greenhouse that extends onto the sidewalk, in front of a tall hotel building. They were celebrating her upcoming birthday. Neither one was trapped or caged. They had tamed each other, yet they were free. They could have gone another day or sat anywhere else, but it is reported that the woman insisted on the corner table. A block of cement weighing over 400 pounds came undone from the hotel, eighteen floors above, and fell directly onto the young woman’s head, killing her instantly. Her husband lost a few fingers, but preserved his life. Perhaps he had been reaching across the table at the time, holding her hand, not knowing he would be forced to let go.

We try to assign cosmic order to such seemingly random events. A raven’s life is spared because someone happens to drop by and look up at the right moment. A young woman’s life ends because she picked the wrong table at the wrong moment. It is difficult to believe in random acts because in such instances the course of events is modified due to a decision that was made moments before the outcome. These events stand out because the outcome, or averted outcome, awakens a sense of loss. By choosing to stay home today, instead of going for a drive, we might be avoiding a serious accident, or perhaps we avoided one last week, while distracted by Raven. Perhaps it is Raven who was in the right place at the right time, needing our attention long enough to spare our lives from what awaited down the road had we been there instead.

I was so close to Raven that I could have held it. It did not want my embrace; it wanted the freedom it had lost. I felt so moved by the story of the young couple that I wished I could be there to hug the survivor. He does not want just any embrace; he wants the companion he has lost. Conceivably, Raven did not fly away with a sense of pain or remorse. It is intelligent enough to not venture there again. Lesson learned. It was just an isolated event in the life of one raven and, in truth, in the story of ravens in general. However, these events change the course of things, drastically.

Raven may avoid anything that looks like a batting cage from now on, or it may decide to be more trusting of humans and end up hurt by someone who dislikes black birds. For humans, it appears to be slightly more complicated. Personal loss, and certainly personal trauma, affects our work life, social behavior, sense of freedom, ability to trust and ability to love in ways that often override our most basic survival instinct. Forgetting and getting back to the routine of life is not easy. Sometimes, it not possible.

It is when we realize how much we have lost, or how much we risk loosing, that we question the sequence of events or decisions that lead to painful outcomes. It is when our well-being is at stake that we consider our path, our level of education, our choice of career, our money management skills, our choice of activities, our choice of friends or partners and so on.

The pain of unforeseen accidents, injury or loss collapses upon us in an incomprehensible rumble of debris. Only time, the beginning of a new routine, a new day, a new line of work, a new approach, a new relationship, a new event to catch our attention, a new reason to laugh, a new sunrise, a new delectable meal or a new symphony  can convince us that we have the ability to overcome. It is the anchor that holds our story together regardless of what unfolds between the first and the last chapter.

Slainte!

I recently participated in a discussion regarding mid-life woes. Participants generally expressed a sense of loss: the loss of a youthful body, youthful activities and overall physical comfort. Facing change requires strength and a good sense of humor. Both were evident traits of each person involved in the discussion. It was also clear that what we, middle-age folks, seek most, is reassurance and support.

The media add insult to injury by repeatedly bombarding us with product and role models geared to an everlasting youthful demeanor, appearance and mentality. These myths possibly originated far before television and magazines. In all cultures, for centuries, models society has sought to emulate typically had perfect strength, courage and bodies. We forget that these images are metaphors, that the physical attributes of heroes and role models represent outward evidence of inner strength and composure. It is a visual language, nothing more, but it has become so distorted.

We now equate white hair, a few extra pounds, wrinkles and aches and pains with something undesirable and with imperfection. We fear becoming unattractive, forgetting that as we age, we develop an inner attractiveness and others develop the ability to see and appreciate it. We forget that we are animals, and though our brains and abilities may be different from those of other animals, we are still governed by similar biological laws. After a certain degree of usage, our bodies are not meant to attract others because we are no longer meant to reproduce. After all, the round habitat on which we walk, create, love, and fight can only accommodate so many bodies.

Discussing all of this with friends is far from futile. It is a philosophical exercise that inevitably reminds us that we are not alone, that we have become so much more than what we were, that we can laugh at ourselves, that we can no longer briskly skip up the stairs, but we have raised fine children, made true friends, developed a useful product, sustained a successful business or mastered an art we could not have mastered without maturity and experience.

I left the discussion and went to bed, but not without many thoughts churning on my mind. So many good points had been made, yet I had not identified the reason for my own discomfort. It is not grey hair, wrinkles or lack of youthful activities that cause me concern. I felt the same sorrow as others, but could not name it until later. It came to me as a revelation, moments before falling asleep. What I regret most and truly about my youth is the loss of courage. Perhaps it could be referred to as the loss of innocence.

I am not brave anymore, in spite of all my accumulated life and work experience, all the accumulated self-awareness, all the skills and talents I have developed. Conceivably, insecurity is a safety valve. It is the mechanism that allows us to pause and consider options, alternatives and, especially, possible consequences when making new decisions in life. It can also leave us in a state of paralyzed fear.

Therefore, our challenge as we age is not to make wrinkles disappear or hands regain their dexterity. Our greatest challenge may be to develop discernment, the sort that enables us to act boldly and youthfully in spite of our years. Courage does not operate in the past, it is not meant to help us repeat circumstances from familiar, comfortable past events or appearances. Courage operates in the present moment. It is the spark that enables us to embrace new circumstances and trust new ideas, friends and abilities. In this sense, courage may be the coveted potion we seek to draw from the mythical fountain of youth. There is nowhere to go to find it. We must simply allow it to flow through us. As water, it effortlessly embraces every shape, wrinkle or color on its path because it does not recognize shape, wrinkle or color as real or interfering objects.

Slainte!

When asked what I wanted to become when I grew up, I usually replied a veterinary or anthropologist. Then, I went and studied arts and communications.

Later, one of my most memorable work experiences took place at a kite and flying toys store in old Montreal. I had no retail sales experience per se, yet I had passion for the act of fending for myself and for learning new trades. I had seen an ad in the newspaper and jumped on my bicycle with the sole intention of first visiting to decide if it felt like a place where I could work. I arrived heart beating, skin flushed, sweat beads on my forehead and heat in my limbs, unprepared.

I barely had the time to ask the sales clerk how she liked it there. She immediately picked up the phone and called the manager. A cheerful woman soon appeared and invited me to the owner’s office. Twenty minutes later, I had a new job, in spite of my sweatpants and the sweat that continued to shine on my face as I sat across the desk from this creative and passionate man. I spent the next two years or more creating theatrical displays with kites, building them, explaining flying methods to customers, setting up for trade shows and meeting the most fascinating people.

I especially remember two young boys who appeared one day. They were extremely articulate for their years and soon explained that their father was a ship captain. They docked in Montreal, across the street from the kite shop, traveled with their own personal teacher and their sea faring dog. I wondered what they would become when they grew up. They had already seen so much of the world and would see so much more. Surely, this would shape their passions and goals. At seven and nine, they had already begun to build a network of knowledge and acquaintances, all of which could significantly shape their destiny.

My story is not unique. Countless people from my generation have found their most memorable work experience to be that one apparently simple, little job where they learned from scratch. The key ingredient in those times was trust; trust in the abilities of others to learn and apply themselves. Employers who had built their business on their own passion and remembered their own trials and tribulations had the ability to recognize the passion in others and trust that it was possible for yet inexperienced youth to follow the same path, to want to learn and grow so much that anything was possible. Perhaps we lived on the brink of a significant shift in the job industry: the remnants of the age of masters and apprentices.

Of course, this relationship between employer and employee is still possible, but it is rare. In the highly specialized industries of today and in a world where litigation, risk management and bottom lines influence every business decision, employers seek highly knowledgeable individuals to minimize training time and ensure proper practices and behaviors with minimal supervision. The atmosphere of the family-owned business, where skills and knowledge are passed down from one generation to the next, is not easy to maintain or recreate in this context. However, it still exists in some trades where internship is an integral part of learning.

Ideally, our schools prepare us for a career, but what of those who have several interests and the passion and ability to excel at them? My father was an electrician, and a photographer, and a geologist, and a theater programming director. He left school at 14, thought himself English and every trade he ever felt inclined to tackle. When asked what he did for a living, he normally only referred to his current activity.

When asked, “What do you do?” or, “What do you want to become?” we are expected to give a precise answer. Admitting that we wish to become a musician and surgeon and illustrator would feel like admitting that we do not have a clear goal or we do not seek to become an accomplished “somebody”. What of passion, that ingredient which enables us to stay awake late at night to avidly study a new trade and drives us to take on new work and learn from the seat of our pants? What of our true interests and the freedom to develop many parallel or intersecting careers?

Some people do it. Some people dare. When they have to, due to circumstances or simply because they cannot hold back anymore, when there is much they want to experience and they still do not know what they want to be when they grow up. This is the point, precisely. We miss the mark. We perceive what we call “growing up” as a goal in a string of goals. We must choose a path, begin to prepare for it as though we knew exactly what to accomplish, become “grown up” and at once attain the goal of accomplishment.

What if “growing up” is the path? Then, every hobby, every career or trade we dare to embrace creates a life of persistent learning and continuous personal reassessment. Then, mastering life and every talent at the tip of our fingers becomes our career. What if schools encouraged us to choose as many paths and side roads as we can imagine taking?

Then, we would not regret the things we had not done or tried. Then, we might have been in the right place at the right time to provide assistance, to fill a need for an employer, to teach, to learn, to contribute and to continue growing. Then, our legacy would be a road map and our vision without limitations. Then, we might be fearless. Then, we might have more compassion because we would have walked on each other’s paths.

Slainte!

What is it that truly brings communities together? Celebrations and state holidays certainly create an opportunity, but the majority of people return to their daily routines and the natural boundaries of shyness and individualism isolate us again by sunset.

There was a fine Fourth of July celebration in my town this year. Unlike previous years, I decided to get out of my cave and participate a bit more. I set up shop in the school field with other vendors and crafters and spent a mesmerizing afternoon in the crowd. From that vintage point, I observed a cloud of people coming from all directions and descending on the venue in one accord.

Like bees swarming to a mother hive to attend some buzzing convention, they seemed to gather to collect information, reassure each other that the center of town was still alive and well and perhaps acquire a treasure or two before returning to their own dwellings. In such moments, we are reminded of the collective consciousness that sustains us even as we continue to live our private and guarded lives. In fact, this may be the greatest treasure we come to seek; the glimpse of everyone else to remember we are not alone, the glimpse of a smile to remember we are worthy of it, the humming of new voices to break the silence of our habitual conversations, a good tip for a new recipe or a new career, a new reason to love each day.

It is interesting that we are capable of such conviviality, but for such a fleeting moment. By evening, we withdraw to our select few friends, to the familiar and safe. I confess that I am an accomplished cave dweller. Perhaps this is why I am so mesmerized by these gatherings. They reveal the bursting enthusiasm and child-like nature of people of all ages and all backgrounds and provide a reason or excuse to confirm that we are part of a common story.

When the music fades and the crowd disperses, when families retreat to their backyards, I often have the urge for a new tradition. Once a month, one family would select a theme for a community gathering. It could be anything, it could be silly or creative or informative. We could build a giant screen and view a movie out in the field, we could build a stage and have a talent or improve show, and we could do workshops, where people teach a skill or craft, we could take a vote on a simple idea and assign different families to develop it until the next gathering.

We do not realize that the dynamics that apply to our encounter and subsequent comfort with close friends are indefinitely applicable to everyone with whom we cross paths. It is quite simple. We connect with people the instant we discover common grounds. We do not need to have the same political views, that same age, the same fashion or gastronomic tastes, the same cultural background or belief system to find common grounds. Often, passion unites us in subtle and lasting ways. A Republican and a Democrat at heart can share a passion for art, a Christian and a Buddhist can share a passion for children, an octogenarian and a seven-year old can share a passion for books.

We guard ourselves from others, saving our friendship for a select few. By doing so, we seek to protect our vulnerability. Maybe this ensures it instead. I wonder. I wonder what it would be like to have a community of 5000 friends who look forward to arbitrary monthly gatherings to come together and laugh about the idiosyncrasies of work, hear different stories and points of view from what we hear each week and see, first hand, the vastness of our circle of friends. I do not believe this would lead to intrusion of our privacy. I believe it would ensure more privacy and dignity because there would be more trust.

Face Book is a vast community that in some ways resembles what I am describing here. Yet it is also a virtual world that floats somewhere above the surface and away from the parents and children, entrepreneurs and students who dwell in neighboring houses and make up the fabric of our immediate surroundings. I imagine a “Field Book” community, one where we can shake hands, walk the same grounds and see the same sunset. There is always a place where we can meet. Just as we seek the flat spot in a field to cast our tablecloth and have a picnic, we can seek the soft spots in each other to cast our friendships on common grounds.

Slainte!

We live together to help each other strive, overcome and, ultimately, remember that we exist. This occurred to me as I considered the various types of relationships people around me seem to have. Love is not the reason we choose to share our lives with a significant other.

Love is the magnet, the irresistible mechanism that ensures we align our destinies with another. What we make of this attraction is up to us. It transforms over time. It fades or becomes a deep sense of belonging that no longer needs the games of physical chemistry to justify or embellish the connection. To reach a hand and at once recognize the soul mate in the subtle leap of energy that confirms his or her identity and love with instantaneous, absolute certainty, with nothing else to be done or said; that is sublime; more so than what we commonly call love.

We mistake “falling in love” for the real thing, yet the real thing may very well be utterly strange to physical attraction. To be able to cry together, listen to one another, understand without explanation, know without being told, offer help without being asked, to spontaneously say or do exactly what must be said and done to uplift and acknowledge one another, that must be true love. It has the power to transform.

Our relationships are a balancing act. We believe we have so much to give and expect there is so much to receive. We believe that giving and receiving should be equal. We unconsciously keep a ledger of good deeds, earnings and expenses. We live in a culture of checks and balances where time and effort have a price tag. The metaphoric price tag of relational expectations is the most costly of all.

This becomes obvious in relationships were salaries are unequal or one person does not work. It is very difficult in this culture to accept that the time one spends preparing a meal, the effort and energy placed into it, is not any different from time dedicated to a workplace. Both require commitment to the task at hand for the benefit of a group or agency, even though in the case of a marriage or partnership the group consists of only two individuals and maybe only a few children.

We equate our efforts with a paycheck, yet the volunteer in the hospital feels abundantly compensated by the sheer satisfaction of bringing assistance where it is needed. The difference in our perception may lie in the fact that volunteerism is a form of work whereas the chores of every day living are necessary acts and are often governed by expectations. It is through our expectations of one another that we set the standard by which we unconsciously determine whether the other measures up to our own efforts. We assign a value to chores: doing dishes is worth two imaginary tokens, whereas sitting in the office is worth eight. Any task that does not equal our own efforts in time falls short and imaginary token stacks do not line up.

Time after time, the “player” with the highest stack assumes the role of champion, stands at the top of the podium but does not receive a medal. Deep down inside, we like being the hero, so though we scold others for not doing their part, we secretly wish to be able to continue pointing out that we are the hero, over and over. In reality, we dream of a bronze medal, we dream of ignoring the dust on the furniture and the dishes in the sink, we dream of tasting laziness for one delightful afternoon. If we dare do so, we realize that others do not react and do not care. It is not that they do not care; they simply did not have an expectation.

What is discovered in that instant is acceptance; from ourselves for having had the honesty to do as we pleased and from others when they simply let us be, silently noticing “she finally took time for herself”. However, we generally overlook this acceptance because it does not fit in the scheme of things. We feel like “less” because we are not performing, not meeting expectations, not earning our imaginary tokens in every moment of every day, not matching the stack of tokens in others’ pockets.

Acceptance, integrity and honestly are the proper currency. Expectation is like Monopoly money. It does not even look real, yet we handle it with greed and seriousness.

Slainte!