Feeling good feels like a luxury

I am not someone who gets depressed. Frankly, I resented that for years--I was surrounded by people who couldn't get or keep their lives together, and I had to pick up for them while everyone (sometimes including them) were scolding me for not having a better life of my own. Not being able to do something sounded like a luxury.

I understand depression a little more now, and I am grateful that I have been spared. When something terrible happens, I don't retreat, I get motivated. 

So I don't get depressed, but boy, was I devastated this week when that horrible budget bill was passed. That hit me worse than the election, and it's not like I was skipping through a field of flowers for that. It's not that I can't believe a bill which condemns the most vulnerable among us to destitution and death passed, it's that I can't believe we've been watching this slow-rolling disaster for months and NO ONE has a plan. No, do not say "the 2026 midterms". That is not a plan, that is a delay, and if that's the best you can do, that is you saying that you are fine with people dying before that. How can that be the best that anyone can do?

I am not the expert--please believe me, you don't want me to devise a work around for our medical system and housing availability--but the best bet we have seems to be a general strike. Nope, sorry, we can't wait until 2028, as some proposed previously. We do not have time for that. 

I'm very concerned that the media wants to see something like a general strike--you know, for the drama--but they are unwilling to do their part, which is truthfully report events. I take this personally; my uncle risked his safety as a reporter and then editor in South Korea to tell important stories. I don't see our press doing the same thing. In the prestige media, I see a lot of capitulation, and it makes me ill.

Someone on an episode of Tech Won't Save Us earlier this year advised that the platform decay (aka enshittification) of media and social media sites means we need to go back to smaller scale communication and distribution. We need newsletters--though, please, not ones generated from all of those popups--small group chats, and blogs. This was music to my ears in an otherwise depressing episode, because those are all things I've been enjoying. I hate the internet, but since Cory Doctorow recommended using an RSS reader, I've hated it a little less. Progress!...?

A few days ago, I stumbled onto a website called good internet. The writers are young enough to be my children, but it actually makes me feel better to know 1) that people that young feel the same way I do about the internet and 2) that they see a way out. Spoiler alert: it's about making the internet smaller and more interactive again, as opposed to the hellscape our tech overlords have been shoving down our throats. I'm enjoying it, and I recommend it, almost to the point that I feel guilty feeling so cheered by it.

But if we're going to get out from these fascists, we need to have a dream of what the world should look like. That, maybe, is part of my plan.

Deb in the City 

Benefits are a lifeline for many (Day 46)

I met someone yesterday who was deeply depressed because her Long-Term Disability benefits (SSDI) had suddenly, erroneously, been cut off at the beginning of the year. As soon as she started speaking, I felt ill. Like so many people, I've had to deal with sudden changes to insurance benefits, and I've had to help family members navigate those bureaucracies. It can be an agonizing process, and wow, I hope people aren't trying to do that on their lunch hours, because the wait times can be forever. 

I've come to the conclusion that difficulties navigating a bureaucracy are a feature, not a bug. In other words, they know that after a certain point enough people are going to give up, and they want it that way, and that means they have fewer services--or guaranteed entitlements--to provide. That is a scam.

And it is deadly, especially when your inaction harms people who are already the most vulnerable. People who are on long-term disability depend on those benefits as their only source of income. Some are fortunate enough to live with family and friends who can provide for them, but many are not. Some of them are also dependent on that money to supplement other benefit programs, particularly the ones that make it possible for them to eat. Losing that money can be a matter of life and death.

The person I met could not stop crying for the first few minutes. She had been spending months trying to sort it out, and she hadn't been able to yet. Doing so required medical notes from her doctor to verify her condition--on a good day, those can be hard to get. Bureaucracies involve more bureaucracies, which is added impetus to forfeit.

Some people have said that sometimes you need to keep calling until you get a kind person who can 1) understand and 2) help you. Well, I agree with the first half: you need to keep calling, and that in itself is exhausting. But finding a kind person, actually, means nothing: the kindest person I spoke to when calling on behalf of a family member gave me incorrect information. She was very nice about it, but the net result was that she wasted as much of my time as the nastier ones.

I have sorted things out on my end, and I think, on balance, it is true that if you persist you can eventually do the same. I sincerely hope my new acquaintance can eventually sort her problems out. But persistence is hard when you have a condition that already qualified for long-term disability and you're thisclose to suicidal depression. 

It's one more symptom of a broken system, and one more reason we need systemic change.

Deb in the City

What if I don't want to Do It Right? (Day 11)

This week, I've had the time to delve into my math studies in earnest. It was a little rough getting back into it as there had been an almost year-long hiatus, but once I reacquainted myself with it, I remembered why I wanted to do it in the first place: it's fun.

Part of what made this week's math (nth-Order Linear Homogeneous Differential Equations with Constant Coefficients, in case you were wondering) enjoyable was...factoring. You know how everyone complains about the quadratic formula, i.e.

x= (-b +/- (b^2 - 4ac)^1/2)/2a ?

After playing with 6th order equations and trying to factor them, the quadratic formula looks like a relative luxury (which of course is only available for 2nd order equations). It will not help you (at first) with something like:

x^6-5x^4+16x^3+36x^2-16x-32=0

So you've got to go in and play with groupings, guess at what value of x might make the equation zero out, and you're going to go down a couple of rabbit holes for a little bit until you do, finally, factor down to a quadratic equation, which is going to be a necessity when you find yourself dealing with complex (a combination of real and imaginary) numbers. And it's tedious, but then you remember that it is the tedium that makes it fun. At no point did I wish that there was an equation similar to the quadratic for, say, 4th-level equations. 

This kind of work hit a sweet spot for me: it required me to pull on skills I already have but use them in a different way, but wasn't so unfamiliar that I could only touch the perimeter of the problem. It was solvable, but it was a challenge, and it's exactly the kind of thing I'm happy to lose myself in for a couple of hours. (But as I told my husband several times, really, don't worry, I can stop any time I want.)

This is work that I find enjoyable, in no small part because I don't have a deadline attached to it, except what I assign to myself. I'm not getting paid to do it by someone who wants me to solve thousands of these equations in a day. I don't have to be productive, I don't have to be efficient; I am doing it for its own sake. I am doing it because it's fun, and making the work go faster would not make it more fun, but less.

This freedom followed me into Korean language study as well. (Yes, I'm using Duolingo right now, just like everyone else.) I kick myself for what I don't know and always get upset when I don't have something memorized, or I have it memorized for the wrong reason. It's so hard for me to Do It Right, and this is probably the primary reason why I have shied away from formal language study my entire life. 

But yesterday as I was playing with conjugations and reminding myself of vocabulary, completely not the way you're supposed to, I had a little epiphany: I was also having fun playing with the language, and even if that owl and its little mob of animated characters didn't approve, I was also, bit by bit, learning something. I might not ever be fluent, and I might always need subtitles on K-dramas and K-movies, but oh well. I can play with words for their own sake--just as I can play with numbers for their own sake--and it's okay if I don't "master" it. I can learn for its own sake--and seriously, what parlor tricks would anyone want to see me perform with math or Korean at this point anyway?

For many things, there is no correct way; in many cases, there are multiple means by which we can achieve a goal--but maybe a limited number of them will we enjoy. It bothers me now to think of all the years I didn't play with certain subjects because I wasn't going to do it Just So, causing my very brain to miss out on activity that can keep it healthy, and my soul (if I have one) to miss out on things that could make it soar. Well...ugh.

I'll let people with more time on their hands engage in pedagogical debates; I've got some math, Korean, and chemistry to get to.

Deb in the City

An Alternative to Performance Anxiety (Day 9)

I've talked about Performance before, and hope I made clear it wasn't my original thinking but something I think about a lot. I've lately seen people talk more about Impostor Syndrome. I have suffered from it myself, but I am now starting to think of it more as a flavor of Performance Anxiety. Really, the wonder is that there are people who don't suffer from it.

When European civilizations were dominated by a religious paradigm, the ideal performance was Goodness, because that was how we got into heaven. (The Calvinists and Puritans of New England had thoughts on the matter as well.) Protestants also laid special emphasis on Productivity, which is something that never really went away. As of The Enlightenment, the preferred performance was Happiness, which was seen as a guarantor of Success. And since the 20th century, there has been a growing clamor for the performance of Intelligence, in no small part because it is linked to personal and national Productivity. 

That's a lot right there, but of course that's never been all of it. Many of us also need to perform Beauty and/or Being Sexy, and not just women. All of us up until very recently were also firmly limited in how we performed Gender: you'd better pick a lane, and you'd better stay in it. This is to say nothing of requirements based on (perceived) heritage, and it seems deviating from those brings with it the most damnation [see: White Trash and the Uppity Black Person (I don't want to write or say the alternative words)].

Imagine having to do all those things at the same time--oh, throw in your career, region, family, and religion--without even the alleged respite of code-switching. Impostor Syndrome/Performance Anxiety seems like the outcome to hope for, because otherwise it sounds like something that can lead to madness. (I mean, you try being Happy while doing all of that required reading for Intelligence and stumbling upon horrific facts and phenomenon.)

I never feel like I fit in anywhere--even among fellow outcasts (they can be really snobby sometimes). How could I? How could anyone?

But I can feel moments without the anxiety of having to look over my shoulder that someone is judging me for Doing It Right, and it's not just with my family. It is when I am able to embrace my true, full identity.

I. Am. A. Dork. Once I realized that, once I remind myself of it, the world is a much fuller place.

What is my version of a Dork? Really, you have to think of the venerable Chrissy Snow from Three's Company. I felt like I was looking in a mirror when I watched her: she always missed the mark (after the first season, at least), was the butt of half the jokes, but was perfectly content in her own little world. Same.

Yep, the blonde

I am uncoordinated and was the last one picked for dodge ball, but I am a great dancer because I know how to move my shoulders and hips without bringing everything else with me. I am so awkward in social situations--sometimes even one-on-one--but I try really hard not to torture the other person with uncomfortable silences. My musical tastes change all the time. I'm a dreamy idealist unless I'm a bitter cynic. I'm skeptical of what people say unless it's one of those times where I can trust their intent. I'm impatient, except when I can sit with something or someone for hours at a time. I try my best to do the right thing but screw up enough times that I never can forget my mistakes. 

This is a Dork. It may also be the definition of a Human Being who's not on stage, but if there's no difference, I'll stick with Dork.

Deb in the City 

Farewell, Richard Cory

My brother-in-law, a generous, successful person whom everyone enjoyed, died the Thursday before Thanksgiving in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. He had everything people are told they should want, but it wasn't enough.

Maybe we need to redefine success and re-examine what we're supposed to want.

I have many things I could say, but perhaps it isn't my place to say them. I can say, however, that if something looks too good to be true, it is. 

Have uncomfortable conversations. Be vulnerable, even if it means you're going to be shot down and hurt sometimes. Be messy, and blink a few times when you're told to be perfect. A life filled with angst and doubt is better than a perfect portrait. 

‐--

Richard Cory

'Whenever Richard Cory went down town,

We people on the pavement looked at him:

He was a gentleman from sole to crown,

Clean favored, and imperially slim.

'And he was always quietly arrayed,

And he was always human when he talked;

But still he fluttered pulses when he said,

"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

'And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—

And admirably schooled in every grace:

In fine, we thought that he was everything

To make us wish that we were in his place.

'So on we worked, and waited for the light,

And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;

And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,

Went home and put a bullet through his head.'

- Edward Arlington Robinson

‐--

Goodbye, JB

Deb in the City