Train for life

It amazes me how the educational system continues to stuff pupils' heads with expired theories and names of rivers they will never even mention again, yet it fails to teach kids basic skills they will so desperately need in life.

How to manage rejection.

How to stay focused.

How to keep going after having failed a hundred times.

Life’s a bitch and then you die?

Everyone is miserable at work. We're all frowning, and snapping, and cursing. That gives me some relief. So it's not just me, I'm not crazy. And finally, I can stop faking engagement (not that anyone seemed to care about it anyway).

Compassion is so rare

In the time when needing is shameful and anything but perfect is a turnoff, compassion as an essential interpersonal skill has become dramatically neglected. Socially desirable interactions revolve exclusively around the positive, no matter what people want, think or feel. How are you is a formality and any other answer than fine makes the interlocutor uncomfortable. And we cannot afford putting others in a weird spot in this pleasure dominated age, so we hide or split into two Selves, the popular one and the other.

We meet, we talk, but we say nothing.

We spend tremendous amounts of time in the same schools, neighborhoods and workplaces, yet we know nothing about each other.

In a place with seven billion of us, it’s never been so hard to really talk to someone.

What can I say. People bring out stuff in us.

I had the most intense moment just now. My knees are still shaky. I was in the supermarket and for a second I thought I saw John. You don’t know John, but I know him and I’m sure he remembers me. John and I go waaay back. We have history. As my heart began to race, I took a second, courageous but what I hope to have been a discreet peek at the suspiciously looking man in the dairy section. I was relieved to see I was mistaken. John had presumably other business to attend this late Tuesday evening than choosing yoghurt.

And now I am compelled to tell you about John and I.

‘I can’t or won’t do it, but I’ll teach you if you pay me’

Though it may seem like it, the personal development business is not for everyone.

I once met a coach who dreaded coaching. Very few things in this world bored him more than a client during a coaching session. Another coach I knew was attempting to sell his services to corporations, even though he had never worked for one in his life and had only a vague idea about how large international companies operate (obviously, he attributed his poor sales to corporate ill will, narrow-mindedness and envy). A third coach I remember spoke passionately about how employees should think, feel and act. As an employee himself, he was miserable and ineffective.

Less flower, more power

On Friday I rushed to Vama Veche hungry for sunshine, good music and a horizon line uninterrupted by buildings. I had been fantasizing all week about chocolate pancakes (bye bye diet, so long calories count), swimming, drinking beer on the beach, laying on the sand at night and gazing for hours at the star-soaked sky. I was prepared for that, but nothing had announced the lessons of courage and tolerance I came back home with.

For all you non-Romanian readers, Vama Veche is an iconic summer destination on the Romanian seaside, supposedly the summer capital of all hippies, rockers, unfulfilled artists of all kinds and any other sensitive, creative souls that resiliently distance themselves - some more than others - from the modern society and all its obvious flaws. It should be noted that while this was true for a few years in the 90s, more recently the village has been taken over by the heartless, improvised business men who charge Bucharest prices in the their cotton colorful disguises. In any case, Vama Veche remains one of the few local seaside options for people young at heart, or body (if you know the other resorts available, you understand).

But I digress, this is not a touristic review.

Vama Veche hosted this weekend a folk festival creatively named…. hooold for it… Folk You! So a lot of folk (you’d figure) and rock bands were invited to participate. In an interesting experiment, artists from completely different genres were also asked to contribute, probably in an attempt to point out that values, authenticity and passion are way higher than any hair style or instrument. An experiment or demonstration, as you wish, that failed terribly on Saturday evening.

Puya is a hip-hop artist that gradually made a name for himself in a place and at a time where speaking in rhymes about political and social issues was (is?) completely unsexy. His background in a well-known but controversial rap group apparently made him very unpopular with crowds like the one in Vama Veche. The hostility this particular audience felt became quickly apparent when Puya took the stage this weekend. Boos and swear words were pouring. A compact group of long-haired, pierced, tattooed, shirtless men were standing frozen in front of the stage, with their hands raised. As I approached them, I realized they were all giving Puya the middle finger. The rapper continued his show; the public got angrier, the shouting got louder. Puya and his crew became open targets for plastic bottles thrown forcefully at them. Puya continued unfazed, and kept dropping verses while making feints to avoid projectiles. He noticed, at a certain point, that the public in Vama Veche is more about the power than the flower, and I could not help but laugh despite the tragic circumstances.

For the first time in my life, I was scared to applaud an artist, but this weekend in Vama Veche I cheered for Puya looking over my shoulder. I cried looking at the screaming men and women who did not take five minutes to listen before attacking. Puya eventually interrupted the show and left the stage, the only wise thing to do in that situation. I tried to go backstage and tell him he did the most inspirational show I had seen in a long time, but no one was allowed there. So I’m telling him here, now.

I was impressed with the courage to stand in front of thousands of furious, irrational, drunk people and risk your safety to make a point. Not any point, but a valuable one.

I admired the inner strength and deep confidence in his work one must have to take so much rejection, yet continue to perform.

I applauded the professionalism of not missing a single beat, not one word in those awful circumstances.

As of Saturday night, I am a fan.

So Puya left and several hours later Vama Veche returned to being the iconic summer residence of flower-power devotees, you know, those peaceful, tolerant people who would rather make love instead of war. Still, somehow, I could not wait to get back home.

The less fun side of fun

I have recently discovered Breaking Bad, and I would like to share some thoughts and concerns with you.

Breaking Bad is a popular TV series that puts on screen the life of a chemistry teacher turned criminal. It is not the first of its kind; Weeds and Dexter for example go by a similar storyline. All three shows are very well written and played; they are imaginative, captivating and therefore quite successful. Nevertheless, I can’t help but wonder, is this type of shows healthy for the public?

Here are just three things that upset me about these shows.

Firstly, in all these shows the starting point on the road to all wrongdoing appears to be out of the main character’s control. Nancy Botwin’s husband drops dead one morning, making her a widow struggling to make ends meet; Dexter is severely traumatized as a young child, and Walter White learns he has inoperable, 3rd stage cancer. Now, the fact is, we all go through all sorts of difficulties in life, some hitting us out of the blue. What we do in those situations, don’t you get confused about that, is entirely under our control. Most of us choose (and I cannot emphasize the word ‘choose’ hard enough) to overcome life’s challenges in legitimate ways. I would much rather watch the real story of a regular housewife turned entrepreneur because she became all of the sudden the sole provider for her family, but I just don’t know of any show about that. Why didn’t Nancy work a regular job for several years before deciding to deal weed instead? (and I expect an answer other than ‘Because it’s too damn hard to wake up early everyday and work your butt off for at least 8 hours per day in exchange for just enough money to get by’). Why didn’t Mr. White get a second opinion and treatment before his little career change? Before crying for Dexter remember that Oprah was abused as a child, and she managed to break through that horrible experience and went on to became one of the most successful people on the planet.

Secondly, the motivation for wrongdoing seems positive, making it harder for the audience to keep a zero-tolerance attitude in front of the antisocial behaviors of the main characters. Even Dexter, plainly a very sick gentleman who kills and cuts his victims into pieces manages to get a sympathy vote, since, you know, he only butchers proven offenders (!!). I chew on my popcorn thinking it might be wise for the producers to remind the public more often that sick childhood aside and all, Dexter remains a very bad guy, period.

Thirdly, moral principles are not a big issue with Nancy, Dexter and Walter. While Dexter is a psychopath and is expected to function by a different set of psychological rules, one would expect Nancy Botwin and Walter White to have a harder time adjusting to their new social role. But, infuriatingly enough, they don’t. They are a bit sick at first, but nothing that a beer and a good night sleep can’t fix. They don’t get recurrent nightmares. They don’t obsess about the consequences of their actions. They don’t overeat. None of them fears God. You know what they do instead? They move on, and most disturbingly of all, they start enjoying aspects of their new life.

So? Is life all white and black? No. Are sometimes good people caught in really bad situations? Yes. Would I want my children to watch these series? No. After all, playing ball outside remains much healthier.