Birthday Thoughts

I recently turned the big sixty-five, and there is possibly no other anniversary more important for a resident of the United States. As an official elderly person, I realize I have plenty left to say, but it isn’t “get off my lawn!” or even “today’s music is terrible.” No, there are too many topics of far greater substance. Some of them are personal, some are collective.

My overall sentiment is that I have exceeded my expiration date. There is a certain degree of envy for those who have already passed, and thereby relieved of continued suffering, which includes watching others suffer, species going extinct, the brutality of imperialism, White Christian Nationalism, global capitalism, religious wars and terrorism, and climate change. I would rather not continue bearing witness, thank you.

If I do not find a way out of my current town of residence, surrounded by people mostly older than I am, more sickly, arguably more unhappy, and clinging desperately to “the good old days,” and a culture that no longer serves us well, then I will surely die sooner rather than later. I thrive when surrounded by younger generations with energy and creativity. Few people here have any respect for the natural world.

Turning the magic age of Medicare eligibility is not the reward you might imagine, either. One of the shocking revelations is that Medicare is definitely NOT free healthcare. Parts A and B cost me about $200 per month. Friends have told me that they have that taken out of their Social Security benefits. Because they raised the official retirement age to sixty-seven, I am not yet receiving that income. I would be left with little after the Medicare payment anyway.

Oh, and I still have to find a “Medigap” plan, through a private insurance provider, to cover what Medicare does not. Naturally, that still won’t cover dental, vision, or hearing. I did secure prescription drug coverage, but will I meet the deductible?

What concerns me most is my mental health. At best, I am not nearly as productive as I should be. I loathe writing, now. It isn’t that I don’t have something to say. I simply don’t have the energy and desire to execute the keystrokes to put it down. I may go back to longhand and then transcribe it, like I used to do.

My mental state does not even entertain the idea of engaging with anyone in my community, in person. I see my in-laws on the regular, for dinner out almost every Saturday. I attend meetings or events of the local artist group my partner belongs to, maybe three or four times a year. That’s it, pretty much. Oh, the homecoming game at my partner’s high school.

The most awful notion, right now, is the idea that I need to put my life in danger in defense of vulnerable people, at a time when I am the most vulnerable myself. I’m the physically weakest I have ever been, have even shrunken in stature. I do take long walks regularly, and perform a handful of upper body exercises twice per week, but that is not enough. The rage that once fueled me to protest vigorously, has subsided greatly, though my partner might tell you otherwise. I feel ashamed of my physical cowardice, when I could not be more aligned with those who need protection.

Finances are yet another worry. Overseas travel is highly unlikely. I regret terribly that I did not visit other countries when I was younger. I have been neglectful of too many friends here in the states because I cannot be everywhere at once.

The funny thing is, I can easily envision a better world for everyone, for every species, in fact. It involves the abandonment of global capitalism, corporate control of infrastructure, pursuit of continued colonialism and empire, and instead embracing a borderless landscape. We need a “ruralopolis,” a seamless network of smaller cities, with agricultural corridors in an otherwise sparsely developed environment. International commerce would be a rare, but guaranteed treat. Currency would be something nearly intangible, almost unnecessary. We would reach consensus quickly concerning what we truly need and want. Most of those items would not be products.

Am I optimistic? No, not currently, but apparently I do have hope, and that vision, to keep me going. I do, after all, want to live long enough to see the Indigenous take back control of what is rightfully theirs.

State of Myself Address

I know better than to use a search engine to clarify my mental state, but of course I did. I don’t believe that my condition is dire, but I am a bit concerned. At risk of oversharing, I am putting forth an analysis of my current state. This is not to extort sympathy, or solicit advice, but hopefully evoke a sense of solidarity.

I did muster some enthusiasm today for a live interview with an NPR program and podcast in Utah, This Green Earth, talking about wasps.

Let me say up front that this is all on me. I own it. Neither you, nor anyone else who knows me, nor any institution, is responsible for my lack of will to do actions necessary to make myself feel better, and/or engage in acts to counter what is happening in our society at large. It is unclear to me, in fact, whether this is a permanent change to my character, or a period of dormancy before I become an ally and agitator again.

According to that search engine that begins with the letter “G,” I may have “passive suicidal ideation.” It is true that some days, or even fleeting moments on an otherwise “good” day, I experience the sentiment of not wanting to live, but not wanting to die, either. I am not, however, having thoughts of self-harm. I simply do not desire to exist, and I can tell you exactly why.

The major reason for my malaise is that I am tired of seeing other people, other species, and the planet itself, suffer at the hands of powerful, cruel, and ignorant human beings. I am utterly fatigued by what I am witnessing. I am also paralyzed with fear that my assets, or even my identity, will be seized at some point, leaving myself and my partner in poverty, prison, or worse. I am normally rather generous and charitable. No more. Not since personal data has been compromised.

Furthermore, advances in technology have eroded my motivation to create, to educate, and advocate. My work is but a drop of genuine humanity in a sea of AI imposters. I still have plenty to say, but no impetus or energy to put it on paper or online. Everything has ground to a halt.

While I consider myself an introvert, I am now bordering on being a recluse. I rarely go out in public, and almost never engage with strangers. I am living in a town where I have zero interest in getting to know anyone else. This is ironic, because I recall that when I moved to Tucson, Arizona at the beginning of the 2000s, it became obvious to me that most people there, while friendly enough, already had their circle of friends, and were not interested in expanding it. I now think this is the norm for any town that is essentially a retirement community.

I vowed to never be one of those people who would shut themselves off from new relationships, but I understand now. You can only trust the friends you already have. Mine live nowhere near me. I have close friends all over the world, some of whom I know only through social media and/or who are colleagues in entomology and natural history. It is painful to know I may never meet them, or see them again.

Physically, I have lost nearly ten pounds in the last two or three months, and I have not been trying. I do not think I am eating less, to any obvious degree, anyway. I try to walk regularly, but the weather has been rainy and, when dry, quite windy. Seasonal allergies to grass pollen make outdoor activities a miserable prospect currently. There are really no truly wild places anywhere within walking distance of our house, anyway.

The distrust I have for other people now unfortunately extends to therapists, psychologists, and others who could “help” me out of my funk. I am not even sure if my health plan covers that anyway, or what the copay would be. On the bright side, I no longer drink alcohol (last time was October 7, 2024), and have never used drugs. Still too much caffeine, perhaps, and sugar and fats, but those are still sources of happiness, along with sleep, blissful sleep. I live for those pleasures, my partner, and the Facebook reels of Taylor Tomlinson and Elle Cordova. That’s about it.

Hey, I didn’t promise I would have answers on how to cope. Rest assured, if I do find a way out, I will share that, too. Please be safe, friends.

Blogging and Booking Onward

Well, that was some year. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I feel a little like a trapdoor spider cautiously peering out from under its lid to see if it is safe to come out for a bit. As I write this the U.S. capitol is under siege from disgruntled supporters of our outgoing president. In other, unrelated(?) news, I’ve scheduled my second colonoscopy in five years.

It is my hope that all of you are healthy, still reasonably sane, and have not experienced any unanticipated losses of family, friends, and colleagues as a result of the global coronavirus pandemic, or any other tragedy for that matter. Maybe you found the experience helpful in creating a new trajectory for your career, or an opportunity to learn some new skill, or indulge in a long-neglected hobby. I wish nothing but positive things for all of you.

The quarantines, lockdowns, and other restrictions allowed me the perfect circumstance to write not one, but two book manuscripts in 2020. Wasps: The Astonishing Diversity of a Misunderstood Insect, published by Princeton University Press, is already available for pre-order in the U.S. and Canada, and will be in stock for regular orders come late February. The landscape of the publishing industry is one of legal and geographical territoriality, however, and we still need publishers for Wasps in the UK and Europe, Asia, Australia, and other continents. Please comment if you can suggest a publisher, or are affiliated with one. Thank you.

Meanwhile, the other book is still in production and I am not at liberty to discuss it for now. It is also entomology-related, though.

Media appearances and promotions for the wasp book are already being scheduled, and I will post relevant announcements and such on my other blog, Bug Eric. I anticipate making regular posts about wasps the entire year, and Sense of Misplaced may take a backseat to that intention, we shall see.

The other big news from our household is that we will be moving from our current location in Colorado to Leavenworth, Kansas. Not because we are going to prison! The town is where my wife’s parents live, and we want to be close to them in their golden years. I will miss the mountain views and seemingly eternal sunshine here, but there is much to be said for being at the boundary of the Great Plains and eastern deciduous forests. We will also have an honest-to-goodness house, with a yard, something we do not enjoy at our current townhouse and its HOA.

Between book projects, I will need to find other work. I am hoping to find some clients I can write for online, as well as insect identification contracts. I love sleuthing the identities of various arthropods, especially in the interest of scientific research projects at the ecosystem level. Collaboration in general is something I look forward to engaging in more often.

Thank you for your patience this last year, I hope I haven’t lost you as a loyal follower during the book projects. Please do not be shy about asking what you would like to see from this blog in the coming year. I welcome suggestions and helpful criticism.

The Innocents and the Bigots

Recent experiences in social media have led me to the conclusion that we tend toward a very narrow window in assessing each other’s intentions, treating all communication as black and white, good guys and bad guys. We all have our blind spots, and/or are emotionally damaged. In fact, emotional damage has a profound effect on how we perceive the world, other people, other belief systems, and how we see ourselves. Inflicting more damage, even if unintentionally, does nothing to improve matters.

My interactions with diverse individuals and social categories of our population reveals that unless I am a clone of that particular person or an individual within that category, I probably have no place commenting on their circumstance or struggles. Attempting to embrace and validate their experience becomes an exercise in futility or worse if I take the conversation public. I then have no control over the input of others.

One of the unfortunate consequences of having a social network that spans the socio-economic-political-religious spectrum is that you are going to be called out as a bigot if you “protect” anyone else perceived as a bigot by those with differing experiences and views. The assumption is that everyone is already cemented in their views and not open to any additional information. We assume they know full well they are misogynistic, racist, homophobic, transphobic, God-denying haters, and not that they are simply uninformed or uneducated. They must be professional trolls.

There is a difference between an annihilist who desires to obliterate everything and everyone “different,” and someone who is simply comfortable with their own identity but uncomfortable with the new normal or having difficulty comprehending the territory. There is no way we can possibly put ourselves into the minds and bodies of others if we are not ourselves Black, homosexual, transgendered, or otherwise a “minority.”

It is my belief that there are many innocent people being labelled as bigots simply because they lack full understanding of the issues at hand. If you do not know where the mines are, you are eventually going to step on one. If you do not recognize the triggers, you will pull one at some point. When someone talks about “dog whistles” to the bigot camp, it may be that you do not hear yourself blowing one. The wrong intent is assumed. Groups that are trying to assert their long-suppressed rights, who are understandably angry at being marginalized and abused, if not murdered, begin to interpret every attempt at understanding, or every question pertaining to the historical “norm” as somehow a threat to be met with hostility, assigned to the domain of true bigots.

Me? I am the product of an overprotective mother, and an angry father on alternate weekends. It has taken me decades to undo the damage and I am still not a finished product. The truth is that we have no idea what anyone’s personal history is, what horrific experiences or sheltered lifestyles have shaped their views. It is impossible to know this unless they fully disclose personal information that they may feel leaves them vulnerable to ridicule and persecution themselves.

This blog is where I often articulate publicly the struggles I am having privately, in my own head, striving to be a more understanding, humble, and loving human being. Others choose to do that through social media where they make posts, or comment on the posts of others. Increasingly this is asking for abuse rather than clarification, understanding and patience. Boom! You are an instant a$$hole if you use the wrong words or admit your current frustrations or misunderstandings. Zero leeway, no empathy, nothing positive.

God forbid that you defend the wrong person, too. You are then a bigot for defending a bigot, guilt by association. Whatever happened to assuming the best about people, or at least having an open mind? Your experience with a person may be drastically different than mine. I am likely to keep both of you as friends until it is demonstrated by repeated behavior that you are not worthy of my emotional and intellectual investment. I can decide for myself who to keep in my circle, and I reserve the right to recall people I have kicked out, if they agree I am worth having back in theirs.

Perhaps that is our common ground, then, that we are all flawed; and all too eager to turn others into villains to advance our cause, make ourselves feel better, morally superior, and justified in our values and beliefs. That is a terrible way to receive validation, at someone else’s expense. We can do better. We can start by admitting we are incomplete, utter amateurs in the interpretation of the experiences of others. We can listen more, not reserve judgment but abandon it completely for tolerance, if not acceptance.

Can we hate bigotry without categorizing any one individual based on one conversation or comment thread? The scientific method demands reproducible results. We might apply that to our relationships. One bad event? Maybe the benefit of the doubt is in order. Repeated instances that reflect bad character? Now you have cause to re-evaluate the relationship. Each of us has a different threshold, and a single violent action should immediately end further interaction, but there is a fine line between cautious optimism and giving up on someone as a lost cause.

Farewells and Goodbyes

This has been a hard week emotionally. I just returned from a memorial service where I said a permanent goodbye to a sixteen year-old student and friend who I knew for all too short a duration. Earlier in the week I said a (hopefully) temporary farewell to another young lady I have grown fond of and learned so much from. The grief and sadness is a little easier the older I get because I have learned to accept the choices of others, even when that means I am deprived of their regular company.

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Myself, Kaya, and Heidi

Kaya came to one of the Mile High Bug Club events at Cheyenne Mountain State Park about three years ago. She got my attention immediately because she had driven down from beyond the Denver area just to hang out with a bunch of "bug nerds" and look at moths and other insects drawn to the blacklights during the night.

As we got to talking, I learned that she, too, is an only child, with divorced parents, and eclectic interests. The more I got to know her over the years the more in awe I became of her intellect, adventurous spirit, and easy-going nature. She will be on to a new job now, in a far-off city, but I look forward to staying connected, and seeing her again someday should we agree on a place to seek new and fascinating insects.

It occurs to me that while I have genuine affection for Kaya, she embodies qualities I wish I had when I was her age: confidence, mostly, but an even richer analytical mind, a fearless approach to new experiences, trust in others, endless curiosity, and a sense of freedom. Yes, that romantic notion of just going wherever your heart and soul take you. Dream on, live fully, my friend.

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My late friend Erin

I met Erin Starkey, her brother Brad, and their mother in August of 2012 when we both turned out for a gathering of entomologists and insect photographers at a research station in southern Arizona. Imagine the surprise and delight to learn that we all lived in Colorado Springs. We got together again a handful of times, once for Erin's birthday if I recall correctly, and I shared books and insect specimens with her. I saw her last on my own birthday, last January.

Little did I know that she was equally enamored with all animal life, rabbits especially, and was a volunteer with our local Humane Society. I had no idea she was also artistically inclined, with a talent for songwriting, acting and directing, drawing, even animation. She was incredibly empathetic to the poverty-stricken, volunteering at shelters and soup-kitchens.

Unfortunately, I also did not know that she suffered from mental illness, and the spirit-sapping lows that come with that. On September 5, the heaviness got too much to bear and she took her life.

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She wasn't wanting to leave us, of course, she was attempting to leave herself. At least that part of herself that conjured demons of emotional misery, dominating every part of her psyche. As if that dimension of your soul could be shed like a snakeskin, killed with the equivalent of a silver bullet....but it always takes everything else down with it. Some people try and wash that part of their mind away by drinking. Others smoke, snort, shoot up, or otherwise exorcise one dragon with another. Some people try and outrun their own ominous shadow by literally running away.

The empty, unsatisfying, and self-destructive remedies abound, all of them equally useless, a mere temporary fix that might get you to tomorrow, but still leave you with no future visible to you on your horizon. You have choices only in what Devils to bargain with, what form of suffering is the least painful.

"You could choose to be happy if you wanted to..."

No, that is not how depression works. That is not how anxiety works. That is not how obsessive-compulsive works. That's not how any of this works. As long as you insist that it is "all in your mind," or imply that one has control over their state of mind, you are doing a horrible disservice to those cursed with mental illness. Stop being so damn condescending and free your own mind to contemplate the possibility that others can be "wired" differently than you, you healthy, sunshiny son-of-a-....

Listen, we all have our deficits, our ills, our weaknesses, our genetic uniqueness. I guarantee that you know people with mental illness whether you are cognizant or not. The manifestation of madness is not always what we have been taught that it is. Your job is not to assume, not to dismiss, not to pity, not to stigmatize, but merely empathize.

Firing Blanks, Comic Relief, and Other News

Writers sometimes get into a funk where they churn out bad product. That has been the case for me, recently, and I have aborted or discarded my most recent attempts. Meanwhile, I am still thinking, creating, and dealing with personal matters.

© Skyword.com

When the world is full of bad news and emotional stress, I find that I become annoyed more by the little things, and take out my frustrations on matters of little importance, like television commercials. Conversely, I can be too eager to put in my two cents on something like the Mueller report, for which I have little information to be making any assertions. So there you have two posts that you will not be seeing any time soon.

The "thought cud" I am chewing on now relates to how the structure of economies mirrors that of ecosystems, and those aspects that differ between the two. Also on my mind is the notion that there is no such thing as a naturally occurring pest. That has book potential, would help inch me out of typecasting as a "bug writer," and stimulate some serious conversations about how we treat other species and each other.

On a lighter note, I have registered for another stand-up comedy workshop, this one in Colorado Springs, this summer. It has been almost twenty years since I last tried this, in Tucson. The results can be seen on YouTube:

I now have enough new material that I can pick and choose what works and what does not, and now it will come down to arranging and polishing. Comedy demands excellence in writing, so it is a great exercise for me as a writer, too. I would rather not perform it, but it is worth remembering that if you do not perform your own material, then you are not finishing the job, and it might never see the light of day otherwise. Write for someone else, and you risk that something gets lost in translation.

Income tax preparation is still staring me in the face, too, complicated by the transfer of my late father's estate into my name, the many changes for the worse in the tax code, and a relatively dismal year in earnings. Filing extensions might be my best friend this year.

The greatest recent stress should be a great joy, but it gives me angst instead. We bought a house....in Leavenworth, Kansas. Not the "big house," but I still worry that it will seem like incarceration once we move there, probably in a year or two. My wife's parents live in Leavenworth, and we want to be closer to be able to see them happily into their golden years. This I am fine with. My in-laws are wonderful people. The other factor in our decision is that housing prices in Colorado Springs are increasing exponentially. There is no way that we could afford an upgrade out of our current townhouse in the....neglected, shall we say, part of town.

© Zillow.com
Our new and future house

Leavenworth is church, prisons, and fort, pretty much in that order. Churches form the social foundation of this small town. Prisons are responsible for whatever constitutes their tourist economy. Fort Leavenworth furnishes much of the population and drives the business sector. These are three aspects of life I do not like. Religion is a human institution fraught with the same problems as business and government. Prisons symbolize the mass incarceration of minorities. While I support our troops, I rarely agree with the missions they are deployed to, and almost never with military policy and the wasteful Department of Defense budget.

© Wikipedia.org
Downtown Leavenworth, Kansas

Talk about a sense of misplaced, I fear I would feel completely alone. My wife has spearheaded the house hunt and put in the majority of work in the whole transaction process. I admire and appreciate her resourcefulness and resolve. She is not dragging me kicking and screaming through this, but more like heaving a limp body, heavy with resignation that this is going to be his destiny, like it or not. Ideally, I would rather live in southern California, or maybe one of the Mid-Atlantic states. It isn't the beaches, it is the vibrancy of people, the off-the-scale creative communities that draw my dreams there. It is the progressive nature of politics, the vastly greater appreciation of the natural world.

Now? I just finished sorting insect specimens from Miami for the Yard Futures project. Next up is....Los Angeles. Ah, what might have been.

Nearing the End

I write this as my father lays dying several states away. The hospice care workers tell us that they would be surprised if he lasts until the end of the week. You do not need to know how he got here. You do need to know how I got here, to the point of wishing no suffering on my parent, but not wishing to see him, either.

My father is over ninety-two years old. How he has survived to this point is a mystery, given his alcoholism and Type A personality. Maybe just an angry personality. He was never satisfied with his life throughout his marriage to my mother. After the death of his second wife, his life began to deteriorate. He is not able to function well on his own. That is one trait for which I still take after him, much to my dismay.

Dad and I on July 25, 1966

The things I learned from my father I have had to steadily unlearn. Anger used to be my ruling emotion, too. He demonstrated that rage is how you get your way, how you assert yourself, how you express your pain, but it really just makes people hate and fear you. Dad never learned about empowerment, just power. I would cower as a child during one of his outbursts. Rarely were they directed at me, but threatening my mother has the same effect. Doing damage to property creates an atmosphere of constant anxiety, if only because every day you see the hole in the closet door, the hole in the screen door, or some broken object. He drank, too, of course, and so when I became of age and struck out on my own, that is how I began coping with emotional pain and insecurity, despite the fact I have never really enjoyed alcohol.

Here we are, miles apart, and I am told that I should hurry to see him. Why? I have spent the majority of my life doing what other people have told me I should do, and resenting them for their "advice." No more. They do not deserve my animosity, for they have a right to their sentiments. I have a right to make decisions on my own, though, and I have concluded that it is in my best interest to await his passing from a distance. I could justify a case for either course of action. I could claim that I would rather not remember him on his deathbed, barely conscious let alone coherent, perhaps not even recognizing me. On the other hand I could secretly enjoy seeing him in a position of utter physical helplessness, his power over me vanquished at last.

The last time I spoke with my father was over the telephone, many months ago now. He had made a habit of calling me to tell me goodbye, that he was happy with the life he led and was now ready to surrender. This particular conversation took a different turn when he once again started making derogatory remarks about my mother. I do not hold either of my parents in high esteem, but my mother made untold sacrifices to get me to adulthood, and despite her shortcomings as a parent, I deeply respect her ability to succeed at that with limited resources as a single mother. I told my father that he needed to stop his defamatory tirade. Twice, at least. Because of his near deafness, he could not understand what I was asking. Ultimately, I hung up on him.

How does one honor their parents when they never honored each other? Thankfully, I am learning what real family life is all about through visits with my in-laws. My wife's parents are the polar opposite of my own. Sure, they have their moments, sigh and raise their voices in exasperation when they have to repeat something because the other one can't hear. They overcome their physical limitations through determination and sheer discipline, adhering to exercise regimens that would tax most teenagers. My mother-in-law swims daily, and gets in something like 100 miles each year. I would have drowned before a quarter of one mile. My father-in-law walks seven miles a morning. Pretty sure. All of this is because they recognize they need to do it for each other, their kids, their grandchildren. They share a devotion to God through religion, but never admonish me for not being so devout myself. This is in spite of the fact that their other sons-in-law are both pastors.

I honestly look forward to being myself full-time in the judgment-free zone. That is what my father's death will be: liberation for him from his failing body and mind, liberation for me from my parents' expectations and as a source of disagreement over my future. I will make no apologies for my reality. You did not live it, and I have no siblings to bear witness. Likewise, I have no control over your relationship to me, or to anyone else.

Free yourself from bad relationships, bad habits, and rewire your mind, through whatever channels help you. That would be my advice to others. But really, who am I to talk. I am still a work in progress, but it is finally my own mind and soul in charge.

Gratitude

I struggle with gratitude. It should not be a problem. There are plenty of friends and strangers who suffer more and never complain. In fact, they often offer words of gratitude in place of sharing their misery. Bear with me if you will, though, as there are reasons gratitude is difficult for many people to express.

Those who express frustration and despair at their financial, social, or physical circumstances are often shamed for it. Constructive criticism, if even warranted, has been replaced with indignation and hateful remarks. Civility is no longer the order of the day. Even well-meaning friends often couch their sympathy in religious, condescending tones that still imply that you more or less get what you deserve. If only you were more grateful, more positive, or more....something other than who you are, you would be happy as you are.

All of us are constantly bombarded with examples of material comfort and excess by the news and entertainment media, as well as advertising aimed at ever-wealthier consumers. We invariably either allow ourselves to be persuaded that material wealth is something we should aspire to, or we become despondent over our realization that we are in debt for things we already have. We compare ourselves to others and become depressed over our "failure" to provide for ourselves. It does not matter how unrealistic our views of ourselves and others, it is a nearly automatic response. Our work ethic erodes as we see ourselves as devalued, or at least undervalued, cogs in a machine that makes other people comfortable.

Meanwhile, we are still cognizant of friends and strangers who are worse off. The Facebook couple who were in a wreck that totaled their vehicle. The friend on Twitter fighting cancer with physical, mental, and emotional strength you cannot comprehend. The town erased by a tornado that you saw on the evening news. "Minorities" who struggle daily against intense public hatred, bigotry and discrimination based on attributes determined by genetics. You are grateful for your White privilege, your gender privilege, your "normal" lifestyle, but also ashamed you have not done more with it. Gratitude for your own condition seems somehow empty or false in the face of that.

A good many people were raised with the idea that one should suffer in silence, that it is not your place to disclose "personal" trials and tragedies. Exposing your vulnerabilities was inviting someone to take advantage of your condition. It was also considered poor taste to flaunt your good fortune. Modesty and humility were virtues that garnered respect. How times have changed. It is important to share emotions, even negative ones, because it helps ease stress and also opens the doors to treatment for depression and other psychological illnesses. You cannot receive professional help if no one knows you need it and you won't admit it. Unfortunately, we no longer have the same sentiments toward snobbery and irresponsible affluence as we did back in the day.

Personally, I have no desire for wealth. I would rather have fewer material possessions, in fact. Were I to want to become wealthier, it would be to help others a lot less fortunate. It pains me at least as much to be unable to donate to causes I believe in as it does to be scraping the bottom of my bank account to meet my own financial obligations. I do wish my wife and I could travel more, learning more about other cultures, other nations, other organisms we share the planet with. That is what life should be about, rather than status and luxury.

I will be the first to admit that I need to express gratitude more often, but you cannot coerce someone into gratitude. One way I am guaranteed to remember and express my "blessings" is when I see someone else setting the example by sharing what they are grateful for. Leading by example, being the change you wish to see in the world. Those credos are popular and longstanding for a reason.

God Without Religion

It has been a long, agonizing road to get to this point where I can be even remotely comfortable discussing matters of personal spirituality. In my experience, whatever social pressures I may have faced to drink alcohol, do drugs, have sex, or get married pale by comparison to the frequent and intense attempts to convert me to one form of Christianity or another.

Several years ago it suddenly dawned on me that God and the Church are not the same thing. It was then that I began to lose my hostility toward the concept of a Higher Power. My scientific friends and colleagues may be disappointed to learn that at minimum I allow for the possibility of God, that I have not rejected the idea outright as a certified atheist. Am I rationalizing my own beliefs to placate both camps? Perhaps, but I expect to offend many with the following outline of my objections to Christianity as I know it. I also reserve the right to revisit each of the topics more in depth in later posts to this blog.

The church is a human institution

The church is a creation of human society, and so is vulnerable to all the problems that any human enterprise faces: Corruption, greed, lust for power, and sexual abuse to name but a few such perils. Time and again we have witnessed the abuse of power by men of the cloth who hijack the Lord for their own personal gain.

God is defined in masculine terms

Not every person has a good experience or perception of their own human father, so interpreting God as a man will inspire inappropriate fear, resentment, perhaps even hatred in those individuals estranged from their own male parent (or any other male in a position of power who has abused that power).

The Bible and hymns use a language of war

Christians claim to be a peaceful group, but the language of the Bible and hymns is anything but peaceful. Vanquishing the enemy is the overriding message, and if that means spilling blood, so be it. The God I believe in is not hostile in the least.

The church assumes that human beings are “special.”

I took “Lutheran 101” at our church and was disappointed (but not surprised) to find the belief is that only human beings will go to heaven, not any animals or other organisms, because only people have souls. Well, first of all, humans are animals. I don’t know how one proves we have souls and other species don’t. Setting ourselves apart from the rest of nature is futile at best, and highly destructive at worst.

Emphasis on the hereafter at the expense of the here-and-now

The overriding concern of Christianity is to get as many souls to heaven as possible, and because the apocalypse guarantees instant judgment, many want to hasten the second coming. There is no incentive to work toward world peace in the meantime. Indeed, the greater the conflict, the more potential for heavenly intervention.

God is judgmental (but forgiving)

On the one hand we are taught that God sits in judgement of us, while on the other God is endlessly forgiving. Which is it? I prefer the forgiving God, not only out of self-interest but out of the belief that there is at least something redeemable about everyone. It is natural to want eternal salvation for those "like us" and eternal damnation for those we perceive as the antithesis of what we hold sacred, but I suspect it is a lot more complicated than that.

The church attempts to legislate morality through political avenues

Here in the United States, our Constitution is firmly established on the idea of a separation of church and state. This is no longer the case, and while there are certainly moral ideals we should be aspiring to, the form that religious lobbying has taken is one of intolerance and exclusionism rather than compromise and inclusiveness.

The church considers science to be an enemy of faith

My personal belief is that God created life through the process of evolution. This statement may upset as many of my scientific friends as my church friends, but it underscores my fervent desire to see science and religion work together to conserve and protect creation, no matter how it came to be.

Lack of requirements for sacrifice and commitment

One of my childhood Jewish friends honored me by inviting me to his Bar Mitzvah back in the day. Now that was truly impressive. He had studied and learned an entire language (Hebrew) for his faith, and during this ceremony stood and recited passages from the Torah at length. This demanded intellectual commitment, substantial time to study, and physical stamina. Where is that kind of expectation in Christianity?

Proselytizing

Not once to my knowledge have I ever been approached, let alone lectured to, by a Buddhist, Hindu, Wiccan, or other non-Christian believer. However, there have been plenty of times when I have encountered Christians eager to convert me to their denomination. This is no way to win friends, by threatening them with eternal damnation if they do not subscribe to a particular belief system.

I have come to the conclusion that religion is too often a barrier to achieving a personal relationship with God. There is good reason that so many of our most thoughtful human beings have stressed the need for solitude and communion with nature to restore one’s faith, rejuvenate one’s spirit, and reach a better understanding of creation.

Please understand that I respect your own ideologies, and that I conduct my personal relationships on a case-by-case basis. How you live your life speaks volumes to me, and we would not be friends if I did not accept who you are in your entirety. I do expect the same courtesy in return.

Religion and I do share one thing in common, of course. We both want God to be Who or What we think He/She or It really is. We want, Above all, to be right.

Success and Failure

Earlier this year I reached a decision that might be considered a failure, but my conclusion remains that it was for the best. We are collectively too self-critical, and what I want to do in this post is share how I have learned to re-frame experiences and recapture self-esteem and motivation.

The Project

Back in 2014, I signed a contract to write a field guide to U.S. spiders for an academic publisher. This sounded great at the time, but soon became overwhelming to me. I found it difficult to even begin outlining the book, and I suddenly felt inadequate in my knowledge and organizational skills. My editor was so "hands-off" as to be essentially absent, and I am not a self-motivated individual. I need deadlines. These and other reasons led me to cancel the contract.

I felt most disappointed for those who knew I had this project going and who were looking forward to my "slant" on the subject. I felt I had failed them, much more than failing myself. There is also the problem of paying back the advance. Fortunately, the publisher is being most generous with terms of re-payment. Meanwhile, I have been able to cultivate a couple new clients for smaller projects that are less daunting in scope.

Books I've had a hand in producing

Take Stock

One of the first things I did after this life-altering decision was to lay out all the other books I have had a hand (or at least a finger) in producing. I was surprised at the number, and I even forgot about one book to which I'd contributed an image; and another book to which I contributed a couple chapters but was so expensive I couldn't afford my own copy. This might seem like an exercise in egotism, but not so. It helped me to realize that I have a lot to be proud of already, and that successes can happen again.

Define "Failure"

Another thing I did was to ask myself "is this decision to terminate the contract really a failure?" My spouse might agree that it was, at least financially, but the stress relief alone was worth it to me. Recognizing my limits and my lack of motivation was actually something of a success, though I wish I had realized that sooner. Still, one does not always realize whether a project is a good fit or not until one is immersed in it. There are no "good guys" or "bad guys" in this scenario, just different methods of working. My editor at the university press is a nice man, we just did not have compatible approaches to the project. We parted ways amicably, and it appears I may have found him a much more qualified author to execute the project.

Moving On

Making up for lost income is always a great motivator, but given that my subject niche is so narrow, and markets for it evaporating almost weekly, I have to get really creative. I also have to be persistent, negotiable on payment, and dependable in delivering what I agree to. I may have to self-publish book-length projects from now on because traditional publishers are so reluctant to risk taking on new authors. Fortunately, thanks to advances in technology, and the evolution of social media and crowdfunding, self-publishing is now easier; and the quality of self-published books can equal or even exceed that of the big houses.

Don't Apologize

I advise against apologizing unnecessarily for decisions that might disappoint third parties. You do not owe anyone except yourself (and your family if you have one). You don't even owe friends and consumers an explanation. What you owe yourself is forgiveness, a positive outlook for the future, and a renewed commitment to your own personal goals. Set standards. Decide what you will and will not compromise on with your clients. Treat them fairly, but treat yourself fairly, too. Do not be afraid to say "no," especially if your instincts are sounding alarm bells. You have to protect yourself in a marketplace rife with thieves and immoral degenerates. Do your homework on clients before you approach them, if possible, to avoid the bad eggs.

End of Advice

Whatever your own occupation, vocation, or art, I hope you never feel like a failure. What really matters, of course, is our character. That is what governs all of your relationships, be they professional or personal. Strive to accept who you are, and better those "weaknesses." Some days you'll have setbacks, but how you interpret them determines your success tomorrow. Good luck.