NO LONGER SHOCK-PROOF IN THIS CRUELEST OF MONTHS—APRIL—A MORE HUGGABLE SEASON THESE DAYS
A crucial conviction, concept, wisdom, insight, “lesson,” sadly, I NEVER learned — as well as some original and secret stratagems to make work more workable I call The Answer to Work.
Once more, I’m going to forego convention and begin at the very end. I usually save questionable…risqué subjects for last, but I recently read a new book* — I’ve unabashedly quoted and paraphrased here — with some far-out theories I found downright shocking and all this time, I passed myself off as shock-proof Jim Fragale.
I struggled to make this new SUBSTACK turn-of-the-screw different(ly), to borrow a phrase from Henry James’ classic horror novella “The Turn of The Screw”. If you’ve never heard that phrase before perhaps you should be watching television, instead of reading this. Here goes…
NAKED, SEX, AND “WE HAVE THE POWER TO CHANGE”
In the late Sixteenth Century, respected, prominent, serious French author Michel Eyquem de Montaigne had one burning question: Why on earth, he expressed multiple times in his one hundred-plus essays… Why on earth do we have to wear clothing? And that desire was for both metaphorical and literal nakedness. He shared that “had he lived among those nations which still live under the sweet liberty of nature’s primitive laws he would easily have painted himself quite full and quite naked.” To him nudity expressed “honesty, trustworthiness, and perhaps a hint of transgression.” In one essay, Montaigne addresses the “indocile liberty” of the male member…with no equal time for the ladies, I may add. [Once he gets his teeth in the bit, this guy can’t let go.] His argument: “other animals don’t wear any clothing at all, regardless of the temperature…”
His words, “We have developed a kind of learned helplessness as a result of so-called civilization: and custom only determines what people wear—or if they wear anything at all.” Yep, “custom dictates that the reason we do most things—cut our hair, wear clothing, [that again!] perform certain actions—is not because we ought to or because we always have, with no particularly good reason behind our actions.” [He gets more worked up and a tad persuasive!] “Our social lives, and the rules that govern them are simply arbitrary… And we have the power to change them.” Enough, already!
What I want to know is…what if his persistent off-the-ceiling theory had caught on? Why, we’d all be sitting here naked as jaybirds, hanging out with everything hanging out. I confess I’m truly grateful his peccadillo-ian philosophies didn’t catch on.
And now for the books* author’s take on SEX. To quote Sonny and Cher, “You better sit down, kids.”
1) “What is authentic about the stiff suits of Beau Brummell, the green carnations of Oscar Wilde, or the preternaturally full lips of Kim Kardashian?” 2) The post-Enlightenment world would hew closer to that of Niccolo Machiavelli (he’s that controversial Florentine Renaissance historian, politician, diplomat, philosopher, humanist) than that of beloved Thomas Aquinas — he’s the Dominican friar, priest, influential philosopher, theologian, and jurist in the tradition of scholasticism from the county of Aquino in the Kingdom of Sicily. And, 3) Philosopher, writer, composer Jean-Jacques Rousseau opined the ills and ailments of humanity are our “wants, avidity, oppression, desires, and pride” and he felt could not be blamed on Christian doctrines [Catholic Church] of original sin, but “ideas which were acquired in society…and society was to blame…Too often does reason deceive us…conscience NEVER deceives us, she is the true guide of man…. He who obeys his conscience is following nature, and he need not fear that he will go astray.” [WOW-WEE] 4) “Naked, our leading strings severed, our customs overcome, our inner voice becomes our most useful guide. And what we ourselves desire, rather than what others desire for us, becomes a new source of authority.” [HERE IT COMES.] “And chief among human desires — Enlightenment authors tended to agree — was sex.” SOOO, 5) “…free yourself from the shackles of societal authority, why wouldn’t you give yourself over, guilt free, to your unbridled sexual urges?” [YES, FOR GOD’S SAKE, WHY?] 6) From the studied, cap asexuality of Beau Brummell to the free-wheeling gender bending of Jackie Curtis [He/she was American actor, writer, singer and Warhol Superstar], from the aesthetic androgyny of the French dandies to the free-love communes of the 1960s, the story of self-making [sometimes called genius here] has also been a story about using sexuality—particularly outside of the heterosexual, monogamous, cisgender mainstream—as a way of indicating to the public that the self-maker is somehow above the norm…beyond the rules.” [MY MOTHER WOULD BE SICK ABOUT IT.] 7) “Throughout our history of self-making, we’ll meet many self-makers who use sexual liberation, or the idea of non-normative sexuality, as a political statement. 8) The nineteenth-century poet Guillaume Apollinaire lauded the Marquis de Sade—French writer, libertine, political activist, nobleman imprisoned for sex crimes and pornography--as the “freest spirit who ever lived.” And remember Sade believed the only thing natural is doing exact what one wills—and suggested we do away with morality altogether.
Sade thought “Self-making has liberatory potential…the power to help us transcend the often limiting or repressive circumstances into which we have born” — but… and there is always a but, it also has a shadow side. “How do we avoid coming to the very conclusion that self-making at its most idealist tries to overthrow—that some people are simply better than others?” [God forbid.]
Not just Sade. Oh, no. “Throughout the history of self-making, transgression—our ability to present ourselves as superior to, and distinct from, the rules and customs of society…moral, aesthetic, or sexual…will become a way for self-makers to perform their identities…set themselves apart from the common herd.” Then the author* gives us glowing examples worth noting: “Think of the glam rock star David Bowie flirting with Nazi imagery in Berlin, or of Andy Warhol making art out of photographs of a gory car crash.” [I’m quitting here while I’m behind.] So…
*THE BOOK: I recommend this non-fiction, publisher by Affairs/Hachette, Self-Made, Creating Our Identities from Da Vinci to the Kardashians. Author: Tara Isabella Burton. Respected writer Peter Pomerantsev gushed about this new release: “This funny, startling, insightful story of the selfie, from Durer to the Kardashians, is a must-read if you want to understand how we reinvent ourselves every time we reveal ourselves.” And obviously, the work unsparingly gets my vote. I can’t recommended it enough. Read this book.
Ahhhhmen.
THE WORK HAPPINESS METHOD
A SEPARATE BOOK, different issue, I’m suggesting on how to get better at setting boundaries, by Stella Grizont, The Work Happiness Method: Master the 8 Skills to Career Fulfillment,” newly published in March 2024, by Hachette Go Publishing.
BITCHY, possibly. I’m reminded of a terrific, transforming paperback on the same issue—setting boundaries—I savored back in 1975, Don’t Say Yes When You Mean to Say No, by Herbert Fensterheim and Jean Baer, Dell Publishing, and it’s now available online for nickel.
ONE MORE BOOK, PLEASE. Sometimes I go through life double-parked. And think it would be a good idea to slow down and meditate. For years, I’ve planned to meditate and for the life of me I can’t seem to set aside the time to do that. So, I got a revised copy of Dan Harris’ bestseller, 10% Happier – now in its Tenth Anniversary Edition. Harris tells us we all have a voice in our head causing us problems, though we are NOT stuck with that voice. What we need to do to quiet that chatter—is meditate. Harris discovered that meditation rewires our brain. He goes so far as to call this theory, his brand, “Meditation for Fidgety Skeptics.” I’m putting this here to nudge myself and you to make some time to meditate.
“FAMILY, FAMILY, FAMILY…” - I work-out with a fellow gym-rat (he swims every day; I pump light weighs) a classy, successful, upscale, well-connected, articulate gent who tells me he enjoys my writing best when I write about my family. I’m complimented — but I can’t for the life of me understand why. This one’s for you, T. K.
Oddly enough, I feel the most sheepish in my monthly effort when going on and on about my folks – mainly, because it doesn’t always sit well back home in Clarksburg. And then I ran across some pages on world renown speaker Frederick Douglass—Frederick Douglass was a highly regarded, American social reformer, abolitionist, orator, writer, and statesman.
He used one word to separate self-made men from the rest or humanity. And that was Work! Work! Work! a gent who “people from all over the Eastern Seaboard thronged town halls and church basements to hear [Douglass] speak.” To Douglass “the lazy man is the unlucky man, and the man of luck is the man of work…the moral character of hard work remains,” for Douglass, he’s “thoroughly enchanted.” His first autobiography, one of three, was hailed as ‘the most thrilling work which the American press has every issued.’” Douglass “counted himself as one who had come from humble beginnings” — that is, a Self-Made Man.
Frederick Douglass actually gave a lecture with the title “Self-Made Men.” The message from one born into slavery was “simultaneously a clarion call to abolish chattel slavery in the United States and an expression of full-throated optimism about the country that had tolerated it for so long.” He believed America was “…a place where any man, whether Caucasian or Indian, whether Anglo-Saxon or Anglo-African could become a ‘self-made man.’” Yes, “Every man has his chance,” he added. “If he cannot be President he can, at least, by prosperous.”
THE POINT HERE: 1) Douglass “often told the enthralling story of his own life.”* 2) Though my work is far from “enthralling,” I feel a little less sheepish writing about my own life now. Thank you Frederick Douglass and T.K. for the encouragement.
A SITCOM
I had six siblings; we were all born one year apart. We recovered nicely from the eviction and moved into a rambling, ramshackle house we fixed up at the bottom of a winding hill in a better neighborhood. At that time, it was as if all six of us were all the same age which made for some good times, fun and unforgettable evenings. I’ve often thought it might make a fun sitcom. Along about then, a second cousin dubbed our place, “The House of Adventure.” Mother said we all made her feel young.
Music always played (remember rock ‘n’ roll?). The phone rang constantly (“I’ll get it!”) Noise, noise, noise. A joke and a laugh here. A fight, a disagreement there. And often, “I can’t find my other shoe!”
Rushing forward decades, here’s how it all played out. The sister after me, a year younger, once a knockout, quite lovely, personable, and stylish, became obliged later in life (her choice) to submit to constant care for her aging husband. (‘Til death do you part?)
The brother below her, once a D.C., TV cameraman moved back home and opened a restaurant. Reminiscing about this middle brother invariably evokes questions and feelings about the truth of it all …the reality: karma, fate…pre-ordained…predestined? That middle brother was the most hapless from early childhood. He had been hit by a local laundry truck and from what I witnessed with my child eyes: he was not properly cared for. Was it his fate; his karma; bad luck, an unfortunate accident (?); I’ve rarely let the WHY of many situations go… There’s no space or inclination for the full story here. Know that he had problems in school; made unwise choices in relationships (don’t we all?), not to mention unwiser other choices. Mother and Dad didn’t know how to handle this sibling. With little discretionary income, for a short while, he was sent away to a school in New Jersey called DON BOSCO. While there, he learned campfire songs he was keen to share with us when he came home, and even came back home with a few good habits which quickly evaporated I suspect before my parents’ check cleared. Yet… he finessed a job at the local TV station, and then parlayed that into a big job in a power station in D.C. After a couple of years and a run-in with some fellow employees about his at-work parking space too sensitive to include here, he brought his wife and brood back home and opened a restaurant/diner that was to be an instant success. He turned into this colorful, well-liked, irreverent eatery owner. The customers lined up for a taste of his irreverent flippant attitude and great goombah food. Example, at lunch, he once told a customer, “If you want coleslaw on my great hotdogs, go to the restaurant downtown.” And I never knew what was in his salad-dressing, but I still feel it should have been available for the world to enjoy; it was just great. Alas, hi-ho and lackaday, he passed away a few years back, leaving his six children in the wake. (Thank the Lord, he always loved children, yet love doesn’t always satisfy the landlord.) I DO subscribe to a (unprofessional, personal) theory—nobody gets off the hook—we all deal with stuff, but when all is said and done (is it ever done?) I still contend that he had it the roughest and my heart goes out to him and pray he found peace up there or somewhere out there.
And now for the sister below him — she is now stuck in a nursing home, though mentally alert, she needs to 24/7 care. (She never liked vegetables; I always wondered if it had something to do with her overall health…) She had darker hair and darker eyes than the rest of us. That sister was more creative, loved arts, crafts, and do-dads. To this day she makes quite-fetching greeting cards for any special day that comes up and down the pike from the “rehab.” We had a running joke: A single glove turned up and she thought it was mine then put it among my things. I then hide that glove with her stuff. Next, she stuck the glove in my gym bag…and on and on. In retrospect, it was a sweet game and at the time an amusing share.
The brother below her — did the unforgivable – he became a staunch Republican (read: Trump supporter) and incurred the wrath of the rest of us and quite possibly Satan. He made it clear with us, he hoped I didn’t write about him; he was afraid I’d tell tales about him, so I won’t say much. He needn’t have concerned himself.
And then there’s my youngest brother — a successful realtor, likeable, honest man, a good father – who hasn’t spoken to me in years. He disliked my first book — (“It’s a novel!”) — still doesn’t talk to me. So perhaps here, too, the less said the better… which brings me some laughs. We had some great times within a four-or-five-year middle period until I went away to college. I repeat, worthy of a sitcom. I recently ran across an evocative line in Woody Allen’s feature film “Crimes and Misdemeanors,” “People carry sins around. It passes—with time, it all fades.” Maybe in THAT tale, but NOT in my story.
And now let me explain the opening quote, “Family, Family, Family…”— a fascinating phenomenon.
BACKGROUND: “FAMILY, FAMILY, FAMILY…” the lead quote here, I appropriated that opening line from a comedy album that sold millions — until JFK was assassinated. First Family was a 1962 studio comedy lp featuring impressionist Vaughn Meader — written and produced by Bob Booker and Earle Doud; recorded on October 22, 1962 — a hilarious, good-natured parody of then-President John F. Kennedy, both as Commander-in-Chief and as a member of the prominent large Kennedy family. The LP was issued by Cadence Records, The First Family became the fastest selling record in the history of the record industry, racking up more than one million copies per week for the first six and one-half weeks in distribution (7 ½ million copies) — plus, it stayed at #1 on the Billboard 200 for 12 weeks. By January 1963, sales reached more than seven million-plus copies. Cadence Records president Archie Bleyer credited the album's success to heavy radio airplay — all that unprecedented at the time for any album, especially a comedy album. The First Family, went on to win the Grammy Award for Album of the Year in 1963, the second and most recent comedy/spoken word album to win the award… Alas, President Kennedy was assassinated on November 23, 1963, which put an end to that record and the phenomenon. I have this fantasy, in some warehouse in a suburb, there are hundreds of leftover Vaughn Meader albums stacked in a forgotten bin.
NEXT!
LESSON UNLEARNED
And now, the Universe’s most dire lesson I NEVER learned.
Let’s begin at the end here also. What has surfaced recently is some infinite wisdom that would have come in mighty handy if I’d had it in hand at the time I was suffering…hurting bad. I did not.
I’ve gone on and on about my writing experiences and the like, but rarely shared about those necessary jobs I endured to pay the rent I’ve endured along the way in between writing projects.
EXAMPLE ONE: As a young man, I landed a job (titled: producer) at one of the world’s biggest records companies; I was hired over 26 other applicants, I was told. My job was to package existing record product: topnotch, world famous recordings, to be offered to corporation for promotions as “premium” records—offered to clients as a prize/reward at a lower than market prices. I was in my glory and up to my neck daily in American Popular Songs of every era. If memory serves, it’s interesting to note, I think the first company to do that was Lucky Strike Cigarettes—way, way back which spawned the entire premium record industry.
Details are unimportant. Soon into the job, my boss D. S. told me, “Jim, you make the rest of us producers look bad. Your presentations are invariably picked up.” RED FLAG ONE. Then, on a roll, coincidentally, fate was even more kind, I had some outside luck with a separate project (Melba Moore under contract to me wins the Tony Award). Boss D. S. called me aside and said, “I sure hope that doesn’t mean your going to leave us.” I was riding high in April, enjoying NYC my great social life, lots of friends and partying… and then…and then, I was shot down in May.
Ergo, Good Boss D. S. took a bigger job with another company, and I got a new supervisor, Mr. J. P. It was instant hate. But it was my want to show up and do a good job—the best I could. Near the holidays that year my paternal grandmother passed back in West Virginia, and I went home for the funeral. Meanwhile, J. P. had an elaborate Christmas party in his fancy flat for the staff — and, of course, I wasn’t there. Frankly, I don’t think he ever believed that I went back home for a funeral. He thought I had deliberately snubbed his social event.
Soon I was fired. I’d been riding high and now I was out on the street. J.P. went so far as to try to stop my unemployment — reasoning, “He wanted to be fired.” Wanted to be fired?! Who wants to be fired? I was devastated, deflated, dejected…sad, depressed, down, down, down. Which brings me to the insightful, essential, critical information at hand that I did not know…had no inkling of.
Sometimes setbacks are setups. A blip in your radar might be a blessing … perhaps, something that looks as though it’s out to destroy you, to do you harm — and might be, in fact — sent to push you out of a comfortable nest — of course, a place you’d rather stay… but instead, the boot might be meant to launch you to a path-breaking turnaround, a higher level in your life.
Re-framing that thought: can a stumbling block that brings you down, down, down actually be a stepping-stone to help you; force you, to move on up. If you’d told me that I would have said, No way. I was doing great; I get kicked out after being on top, so don’t tell me that pap. But… what if … what if you / I / we were meant to be under undue, extreme pressure to stretch ourselves…to overcome, to persevere, and one more time: to move on up? to take you/us to unprecedented breakthrough heights. I would not have wanted to hear that back then.
How can I understand / comprehend / embrace / this concept…this unorthodox perspective? Am I you going to look back in the future and think, as PSALM 119:7 states (King James Bible) “It is good for me that I have been afflicted; that I might learn thy statutes.” How can that be and who needs that pain and distraction not to mention colossal waste of time? I wanted my old job back! No. Was it possible that it was necessary for me to go through the process, like it or not — it’s a process — to gain fresher perspective…to come out of the darkness better, bigger, stronger…somebody renewed who has meanwhile grown, and is now armed with untried talents, developed character (in winning, they say, “Character is more important than talent.”) Do you buy that (?), and God forbid, availing oneself / myself / himself / yourself to trailblazing opportunities? Hogwash?
The specifics are not the most important part of the concept/theory here.
I DID find new, bigger, and better work. What’s more pressing here is, if I’d only had an inkling of some of the above to lift me out of the morass, it would have been so much kinder, gentler for me. It was to take decades to learn these lessons...grasp those concepts and I’m still absorbing more of them every day.
PATTERNS
It had to happened again in a similar but different way. But for me, as if it was my pattern, my karma, my destination to endure and go through it … again. But first…
BREAKING NEWS. William Shakespeare said, “What a piece of work is man!” … How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! ...In action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a god!” … at the same time, man is nothing but a “quintessence of dust.” Interesting…
Now here’s how writer-reporter-Award Winning New York brilliant author Tara Isabella Burton saw it in her recent non-fiction outing, reviewed as “…insightful, an eye-opener,” titled *Self-Made: Creating Our Identities from Da Vinci to the Kardashians, (Publisher, Public Affairs):
POST SCRIPTS: 1). Ms. Burton wrote, We are a “…story about human beings doing what we have always done: trying to solve the mystery of how to live as beings both dazzlingly powerful and terrifying vulnerable, thrust without out consent into a world whose purpose and meaning we may never be able to truly know.” OMG. After reading that, I had to lie down for a little while. 2). The author introduced me to a word I’d never heard before, Spezzaturna. She referenced it eight times in her book. Though I found a variation of its root, the term is not in any English dictionary. It means: to conceals design and depict that what is done and what is said is performed without effort and almost as an afterthought. The paradox with spezzaturna: at the heart of self-creation the artificial must at least appear authentic. Or at least contain the illusion of authenticity. I love this new word so much I may write a song using the word as a title. Spezzaturna - whoo-ooh-oh-oh. Where is Dean Martin when you need him?
Before moving on, I’d like to include a couple of worthwhile asides I remembered along the way.
1) In many of the self-help books I’d read over the years, I’ve noted, the authors opine, you don’t have to figure it out. You don’t need to know why. And for sure, you don’t have to “how” it’s going to play out for you. It’s better if you don’t dote on the “how,” I’ve read. 2) A toughy, don’t get involved in battles that don’t matter. 3) Our enemies might be better in catapulting us you to win than our friends. So, bless your friends and be thankful for your enemies… that’s one odd theory. 3) PAUL SIMON — you know singer-songwriter Paul Simon (“50 Ways to Leave Your Mother,” and “Still Crazy After All These Years”) — was recently on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. He shared he used to dislike American Popular Standards, even “hated” Frank Sinatra. He’s about-faced and now loves both Frank Sinatra and American Popular Standards. Those songs, that art form is awesome…constantly surprising to me. If you don’t know it, sample A P.S., free on the computer’s AccuRadio outlet. You’ll be changed forever. 4) P. P. S. to all that. The late Tony Bennett (1926 – July 21, 2023) was 85 when he hit No. 87 on 2011 charts with Amy Winehouse (look her up!) duet, “Body and Soul.”
EXAMPLE TWO: A fluke, worth a perusal, I landed / got a job at one of the powerful television networks. At the time, it was nearby (no commute!) and the position was ideal for a writer…let’s call it a great day job for a writer. Yes, a writer with a good day job, what could be better? And I was glad to have it.
I started on Floor Three, with three bosses. The head of trio was kind, savvy, and well-read dad who chain smoked in his office. (Allowed back then.) We had many highbrow conversations. I liked the guy and the work.
One day, after a few years, we all received a “buy-out-packet” of information. Kind Boss Dad did the math and grabbed a buyout using the money to buy a little house outside Vegas. He was out of the TV station faster than you could say, “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass.”
For a while, I was stuck with those two supervisors below him, Frick-and-Frack, one I whom I would swear was a bone fide psychopath who did things that Shakespeare might cheer (sneer?) inviting God and the angels to weep, (amateur psychiatrist here). The other guy was overweight and had a heart problem (poor thing). We had our…disagreements; both of these gents, were enjoying their brief authority, as the angels cried and I cringed, and were never overly nice to me. But I showed up.
GER-UMP. Then there was some internal shifting, GER-UMP, you could hear the noisy ger-umps of the ground shifting.
One day I arrived at the office and before I had my coat off and needing to take a leak, this gentleman I’d never seen came by my desk and said, “You’ll be working for me up on tenth floor, I’m J. McK.” Now, I ask you, is that anyway to run a railway?”
Alas, it turned out this gent had been around a long time; was well-informed, well-versed, articulate, and especially knowledgeable in my forte: popular music. I found him to be a wonderful human being, fair, thoughtful, an exceptional boss. It now became a pleasure to go in to work every day. Imagine that.
For some time, all was well. One day, nice boss J. McK. confided in me that he had done my review and his superior, “upstairs” sent the document back with this note: “Nobody is that good. Re-do James Fragale’s review.” RED FLAG. My mother would weigh-in about now. “When they pay you compliments, beware, watch out, the Fasha (the Italian Evil Eye) is doing pushups in the wings.”
Of course, yep, when it’s too good to be true, the Universe takes a hand. J. Mc. re-did my review, and I got a small (read: tiny) raise...
But just when I thought it was safe to go back into the water…
Down the road a bit, seemingly out of the blue, one not-so-fine day, J. Mc. was out. With a snap! Just like that. Out of there. I was told “upstairs” management thought he wasn’t a reliable enough “company” man. There were multiple employees to deal with AND difficult NABET union men with many touchy situations. It seems J. Mc. was a little too fair with union guys… he didn’t always side with management/“company.”
TRUMPET SOUND: Here comes G.X.F. from out of the rank and file. This new manager was cold, not too friendly, uncommunicative, played it close to the vest, followed the rules closely, and made distracting un-controllable sounds, ya’ know, like R2-D2 in Star Wars. Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep, yourself, buddy.
I did my job, occasionally got in to shuffles with my equals. I’m not perfect, and obvious unfair treatment isn’t always suffered silently. Mr. G.X.F. favored a woman down the hall … she had a family; two children. Did she deserve preferential treatment? To be UN-fair, she was not an exemplary employee. She took lots of time off and it appeared to me she never worked a full week. This writer-with-the-day job showed up every day, never late… because I liked and needed the work. I lived close by, and I was writing every weekend. It was ideal.
May I back pedal a moment… interject, J. Mc. once said to me, “You have a great work ethic.” His exact words. RED FLAG. My mother would say, “Beware, Fasha is listening; plus, invariably, when someone pays you a compliment, be en-garde.”
Some fresh upheaval around me. It was G.X.F, R2-D2’s opinion, my work area, a decent-sized cubicle, was commanding too much space … he began causing some distraction around my space. Was he trying to make me quit? I don’t know, I just don’t know... Over the period of a couple of years, I showed up…never took an extra day off — never a sick or personal day. I rarely allowed myself to get too comfortable... (I was secretly even more productive with my weekend writing).
One gray January day I was called upstairs—upstairs and over a building or two--to H R.
The company was downsizing. Hundreds were to be let go. I was one of those selected to be ousted. Wait a damn minute here—what about my counterpart, sandbagger-mother-with-children who never worked a full week…She got to stay on—G.X.F. R2-D2 favored her. And she was able to be there for some time after. As Maud (Bea Arthur) would say, “God ‘ill get ya’ for that.”
Know that I fought some, to no avail. After all unsaid and undone, I was out yet one more time.
AT FIRST, I re-experienced the familiar devastation, the depression, the disappointment, the unfairness of it all feelings. It took some time…
After I got used to my familiar situation, I concentrated on my writing—I could work in several arenas. I could write for magazines; pen songs; and there were new “blogs” out there now; and years back, I’d written an un-published novel.
The novel! Where is a copy of that novel? My onetime agent didn’t have one….
Finally, I found some of the pages under a pile of photocopies and went to work on rewriting it.
Monday Morning Quarterbacking. Why in God’s name and grace wasn’t I privy to the world’s most universal and obvious lesson(s) detailed above and re-paraphrased here:
PSALM 119:7 suggests (King James Bible) “It is good for me that I have been afflicted; that I might learn thy statutes.” How can that be? And who needs the pain and distraction not to monumental mention waste of time? Was it possible that it was necessary for me to go through the process, like it or not — it is a process — to gain a new perspective…to come out of the darkness better, bigger, stronger…somebody renewed who has, in the meantime, grown, and is now armed with finer-honed talents; improved character, and God forbid, availing himself to new opportunities. (Sigh.)
Carpe diem?
WORK PARADIGM
Before wrapping up, I would like to share with you The Answers to WORK — MY answers to making work workable. I keep these parameters…this Paradigm next to my computer. When stuck with work, I ask…
JIM FRAGALE’S ORIGINAL WORK PARADIGM
Option. / What is my option?
Options. / What are my options?
Possibility. / What’s a possibility here?
Possibilities. / What are the possibilities here?
Try thinking outside the box. If you’re not able to, do not beat yourself up. Most people can’t.
Uncertainty. For now, hang in with uncertainty — for now. It serves you to be open—not yet set in stone. Fresh ideas might flow in.
You don’t have to know HOW things are going to be resolved. Do not get hung up on the “how.”
Lastly, Free Associate: On your personal computer, never work appliances, a document with password protected document where you can Free Associate on work and/or personal problem. Be specific. Solutions are hidden there. A week down the road, some will come to light. Make sure no one else on the planet can see this so you are at liberty to write anything you desire without fear of judgement. Kernels of wisdom are hidden there.
DAVID BROOKS. I’ve stated that my favorite writer on the plant is New York Times’ columnist David Brooks. He continually surprises me and his Friday, April 5, 2024, didn’t disappoint. The headline was “Why Is Technology Mean to me?” This particularly hit home for me since I recently had to change cell telephone numbers after getting 25 robocalls a day. Then within the last few weeks, YAHOO blocked my 15-year email account/address and began asking me for money.
Here is the first paragraph of Mr. Brook’s April 5, outing:
“It is never easy to re-examine one’s fundamental convictions, but now I am forced to question my previous disbelief in the existence of Satan. I am compelled to confront this ugly possibility by the fact that from time to time my electronic devices seem to fail under demonic passion.” Mr. Brooks must have tapped my telephone line.
SAD TO SHARE: THE WORLD HAPPINESS REPORT
Young Americans are a lot less happy than older Americans, according to Gallup’s “2024 World Happiness Report” — data culled from nearly 150 countries around the globe. The United States dropped from #15 to #23, just below the U.K. (#20) and the United Arab Emirates (#22) — a bleak turn of events for young people in the United States, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand, unlike other areas of the world.
2024 Happiness Rankings
Finland
Denmark
Iceland
Sweden
Israel
Netherlands
Norway
Luxembourg
Switzerland
Australia
Folks under the age of 30 are unhappy enough, in fact, for the first time in the report’s history to boot the United States out of the top 20 happiest countries in the world.
For Americans OVER the age of 60, the U.S. is the 10th happiest place on the planet.
Americans under the age of 30 are a lot less happy than Americans over the age of 60.
The United States is the 62nd happiest place on earth for people under 30
Lithuania ranked first in happiness for people under the age of 30 followed by Israel, Serbia, Iceland, and Denmark.
Denmark ranked first in happiness for people aged 60 and older, followed by Finland, Norway, Sweden, and Iceland.
The least happy place in the world? Afghanistan. Are you surprised?
ENDQUOTE: To quote Joel Osteen, “Many businesses, ministries, charities, relationships were birthed out of someone’s pain.”
LET ME CLOSE WITH THIS CLASSY CLASSIC: Iliegitimi Non Carborundum – Latin phrase for “Don’t Let the Bastards Get You down.”