Wow, has it really been almost a week since I posted reason #7? Whatever happened to that whole 'one reason per day' thing? Which brings us to $40G reason #8!
My whole life, I've had this habit of taking on or, to be most accurate, creating insanely huge tasks for myself. Occasionally they work out great (e.g. ditching the whole professoring thing and starting a career in student services), most times they don't even get started (e.g. composing a requiem mass), and in more cases than I like to admit, I get super excited about them, get rolling on them, and then give up (e.g. pick any of about a dozen in-progress home projects), or, my personal favorite, come up with yet another big idea and start the whole process over again so in no time at all, I find myself overextended and burnt out to a crisp. It's as if my personal mantra is something like: "Anything that can be done ought to be overdone." Or, maybe, "Are you kidding? Of course I wanna supersize that!"
Check it out: Here I am, smack dab in the middle of yet another impossible venture that I created for myself: raising $40G for HIV/AIDS. I've got about 5 ideas for fundraisers in my mind; a list of two dozen folks I want to invite personally to make a larger-than-typical donation (You know who you are, so how about saving me the trouble and doing me a solid by clicking here and just donating already?); a tandem that needs some serious TLC; and, oh yeah, a full-time job and a smokin' hot wife. And what do I do? I take on yet another fairly-not-really-possible activity: trying to blog a short piece about why I'm doing all this in the first place. Oh, wait, not just one piece, but FORTY of them! In forty days!
When I think about it, there's a lot that goes into getting stuck out here as often as I do. Some of the reasons that come up most often when I'm wondering how the hell I got here AGAIN in the first place:
1) Something about using big, long term projects that require thinking about the future as a distraction from the discomfort I feel in the present moment.
2) Wanting to be EXTRAordinary instead of just ordinary as a way of:
a) setting myself apart from others;
b) attracting positive, supportive attention and reinforcement;
c) mirroring my dad's behavior (yes, I realize he's been coming up a lot lately):, and/or
d) something else that might be totally obvious to you that I'm just not getting right now.
3) Intentionally, but subconsciously, setting myself up for failure.
4) Wanting to feel kind of out of control.
5) [Email me your reason!]
Back in May when I was thinking about actually taking on this $40G thing, I was certain that I'd get to that point of extreme discomfort where I was tempted to take on something else. And I wanted to be awake enough to see how I'd handle it. And one way I've handled it this time around is by taking on, not a wholly different task, but another, related impossible tasklet: 40 Reasons Why. Oh, Joaquin, we are so disappointed.
Through this year of doing or not-doing the impossible, I'm hoping that I'll gain a better understanding of why it's so important to me to create unrealistic goals for myself, and what would it be like to have 'just' realistic goals in the first place? But it's weird how that works, isn't it? If my goal were $18G, I'd be there already. However, I'm pretty sure that part of the reason I'm at $18G right now is that I'm trying to raise $40G. If my goal were 'just' $18G, I bet I wouldn't be there right now.
So, yeah, I'm trying to limit myself to just one impossible task this year - $40G - and sticking with it this whole year, not getting distracted, and not giving up, and being happy with whatever number I finish at.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
40G Reason No. 7: Yoda was a punk
Yoda. Everyone's favorite Jedi Master. And, in my book at least, the source of some of the best movie fight scenes ever, world without end, forever and ever, amen. And remember he does all that fighting with only three digits on his hands and feet AND some other guy's hand jammed up his butt. Four out of five dentists agree, when it comes to tearing it up against the Dark Side, Yoda just can't be beat. Except I guess he was ...
Anyhow, Yoda's probably most famous for his quote, "Do or do not. There is no try." Unfortunately, like a lot of boys growing up in the US, I internalized Yoda's oversimplified outlook on life, as well as a lot of other similar cultural messages from actual people, that promoted a narrow binary, on/off, yes/no, fail/succeed. happy/sad, kill or be killed perspective that is elegantly summarized by this image. As far as I'm concerned, that's just not a good way to be. In Joaquin World, it's not "do or do not," it's "trial and error." And sometimes a whole lot of trials and a whole lot of errors before something that feels like progress is made. Failure IS always an option. And, for me at least, recognizing and appreciating the possibility of failure makes it easier to make plans and strategize to minimize the chances of it happening. But while that seems pretty obvious right now as I'm writing, it's not always so easy to make it a reality in my non-blogging life. Which is where the $40G comes in.
Frankly, every time I give myself some time to think about it, raising $40G in a year seems totally impossible. Check it out: so far I've raised over twelve times more than the minimum required to ride in the 2011 NCAC. That's more than three times as much money as I've ever raised in my life and it's the most money raised by a single person in the history of the event. And yet I'm not even halfway there. And I feel like I'm running out of ideas, energy, and the goodwill of others. After a few more turns down this mental death spiral I get to: I'LL NEVER MAKE IT! GAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
As sadomasochistic as it may sound, getting myself stirred up into such a frenzy like that every few days is kind of the point of this $40G thing. One of at least 40, anyway. Because every time that happens I get to also practice thinking stuff like: "That's 100% true, dude. You might not make it to $40G. But that's just fine. You can quit at any time and, while it'll be a little embarrassing, it won't really be a problem in the grand scheme of things. And you will still have raised an F-load of cash for a great cause." And that gives me great comfort. In fact, by my last count, I've quit trying to raise $40G at least five times already. But, so far at least, it didn't take long for me to decide to un-quit and keep on trying, coming up with new ideas, contacting donors, yadda yadda yadda. And, oddly enough, giving my self permission to quit, and even quitting for awhile, is making it easier and easier to stick with it.
My hope is that having so many opportunities to practice turning "Do or do not" into "Try, err sometimes, then try again" in this $40G microcosm will translate into making it easier to practice that same mental flip in all the other areas of my life.
Anyhow, Yoda's probably most famous for his quote, "Do or do not. There is no try." Unfortunately, like a lot of boys growing up in the US, I internalized Yoda's oversimplified outlook on life, as well as a lot of other similar cultural messages from actual people, that promoted a narrow binary, on/off, yes/no, fail/succeed. happy/sad, kill or be killed perspective that is elegantly summarized by this image. As far as I'm concerned, that's just not a good way to be. In Joaquin World, it's not "do or do not," it's "trial and error." And sometimes a whole lot of trials and a whole lot of errors before something that feels like progress is made. Failure IS always an option. And, for me at least, recognizing and appreciating the possibility of failure makes it easier to make plans and strategize to minimize the chances of it happening. But while that seems pretty obvious right now as I'm writing, it's not always so easy to make it a reality in my non-blogging life. Which is where the $40G comes in.
Frankly, every time I give myself some time to think about it, raising $40G in a year seems totally impossible. Check it out: so far I've raised over twelve times more than the minimum required to ride in the 2011 NCAC. That's more than three times as much money as I've ever raised in my life and it's the most money raised by a single person in the history of the event. And yet I'm not even halfway there. And I feel like I'm running out of ideas, energy, and the goodwill of others. After a few more turns down this mental death spiral I get to: I'LL NEVER MAKE IT! GAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
As sadomasochistic as it may sound, getting myself stirred up into such a frenzy like that every few days is kind of the point of this $40G thing. One of at least 40, anyway. Because every time that happens I get to also practice thinking stuff like: "That's 100% true, dude. You might not make it to $40G. But that's just fine. You can quit at any time and, while it'll be a little embarrassing, it won't really be a problem in the grand scheme of things. And you will still have raised an F-load of cash for a great cause." And that gives me great comfort. In fact, by my last count, I've quit trying to raise $40G at least five times already. But, so far at least, it didn't take long for me to decide to un-quit and keep on trying, coming up with new ideas, contacting donors, yadda yadda yadda. And, oddly enough, giving my self permission to quit, and even quitting for awhile, is making it easier and easier to stick with it.
My hope is that having so many opportunities to practice turning "Do or do not" into "Try, err sometimes, then try again" in this $40G microcosm will translate into making it easier to practice that same mental flip in all the other areas of my life.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
40 Reasons Why - Reason #6: Normative Male Alexithymia
Like most families, whenever the Feliciano Clan gets together there's usually a period of telling the same favorite stories from childhood over and over again. If you listen closely, and especially if you listen closely with my ears, you'll notice that pretty much every story that features me ends with: "...and then Joaquin started crying!" Cue the laughter.
Growing up, I was the emotional kid and a bigtime crier. Sad crying, happy crying, angry crying, getting-beaned-by-a-pitch crying, and everyone's favorite: I-have-no-F-ing-idea-why crying. You name it and I was probably crying about it And whether it was through being made fun of or, even better, being punished, for doing it, I learned very early on that crying and other displays of really strong emotion were Not Quite The Thing. So like pretty much every other Young American Male, I learned it was really important to take it like a man and quit crying like a little girl. Or you'd just be making things worse for yourself
That phenomenon is so prevalent in the US that there's even a fancy name for it: Normative Male Alexithymia. GENIUS ALERT: When I laid this term on my wife, without missing a beat she no shit, said: "Alexithymia. Hmmm...'a' means without; 'lexi' means 'words;' and ' thymia' means 'feelings.' So alexithymia must be an inability to express emotion." Gotta love that woman! So yeah, NMA is the learned condition of being unable to recognize or describe one's feelings. And if you're a dude who grew up in the US you'ev almost definitely got it, too. But it's not totally our fault. By not being expected or allowed to show strong emotion, most dudes in the US just don't ever learn how. Actually, that's not totally true. The Man does give us two emotions that we're allowed to express: anger and violence. But I don't even think that second one is an emotion.
So like most guys in the US, I grew up ashamed and embarassed at having this super emotional side of me that I had to keep hidden and that had a habit of popping out - as anger and violence - at the least convenient times. But as I got older I started recognizing that this lack of emotion was seriously getting in the way of my own personal life and my life with Anno. But despite recognizing that there was a problem, I felt like I had no idea how to make things better.
Fast forward to 2002, when I started road cycling. Two significant things, relative to this whole emotion thing, occurred in that first year: My father died and I did my first multi-day HIV/AIDS ride. When my dad died, I was initially horrified about how unfeeling I felt about the whole thing outside of the officially sanctioned times when it's ok for men to cry (e.g. upon first hearing the news; at 2am in the first week after death; during the eulogy if you're delivering it; in Top Gun during the scene when Maverick is in the ocean cradling Goose's dead body). However, a strange thing happened when I started getting abck onto my bike after the funeral. During almost every ride the summer after he died, all I would have to do was think of him and, BAM!, I'd be bawling, sometimes so bad that I'd have to pull over because I couldn't see through the tears. Yeah, pretty wild and disconcerting. But just at first. After awhile I kind of got into it and started riding a lot just to get back to that place where all I could do was get slammed by a big wall of feeling. 'Cuz I felt a lot better afterwards. It felt like the only way I could access all of that grieving stuff was from the seat of my bicycle. It had something to do with the solitude, the easy repetitive motion of turning over the pedals, and, mostly, getting myself so exhausted that I wasn't able to keep that little emotional critter inside of me so tightly packaged away.
The next year I rode the AIDS/LifeCycle from SF to LA and that was when things kicked into emotional overdrive. That was a trip, literally. Seven days of riding my brains out to exhaustion while being surrounded by gobs and gobs of on-your-jersey-sleeve searing personal tragedy and triumph and everything in between. And, gods help me, it felt awesome! Just realizing that, no, I was not in fact incapable of experiencing or showing emotion, I was just seriously out of practice. And that I had discovered this activity and this community where it was not only okay to show emotion, it was literally impossible not to.
Now that I'm looking at turning 40, the situation is: Yes, I am getting better at accessing and living with and celebrating this emotional side of myself. But, damnit, do I really need to ride my bike so far, so hard, and so long just to get there? Wouldn't it be nice if Stoic and Rational Joaquin were able to just chill with Emotional Joaquin without needing a few hours in the Pain Cave beforehand?
Through taking on this $40G project, my hope, which happily is turning out to be true, is that this year long fundraising effort will be filled with tons and tons of opportunities to spend some time in almost every seat of the Emotional Rollercoaster that's just plain old being a mature, caring, and loving human being. And challenge myself to stay connected through the whole thing and celebrate feeling good as well as feeling shitty about how things are going without worrying too much about how I feel about how I'm feeling or how it looks or sounds or reads to others.
Growing up, I was the emotional kid and a bigtime crier. Sad crying, happy crying, angry crying, getting-beaned-by-a-pitch crying, and everyone's favorite: I-have-no-F-ing-idea-why crying. You name it and I was probably crying about it And whether it was through being made fun of or, even better, being punished, for doing it, I learned very early on that crying and other displays of really strong emotion were Not Quite The Thing. So like pretty much every other Young American Male, I learned it was really important to take it like a man and quit crying like a little girl. Or you'd just be making things worse for yourself
That phenomenon is so prevalent in the US that there's even a fancy name for it: Normative Male Alexithymia. GENIUS ALERT: When I laid this term on my wife, without missing a beat she no shit, said: "Alexithymia. Hmmm...'a' means without; 'lexi' means 'words;' and ' thymia' means 'feelings.' So alexithymia must be an inability to express emotion." Gotta love that woman! So yeah, NMA is the learned condition of being unable to recognize or describe one's feelings. And if you're a dude who grew up in the US you'ev almost definitely got it, too. But it's not totally our fault. By not being expected or allowed to show strong emotion, most dudes in the US just don't ever learn how. Actually, that's not totally true. The Man does give us two emotions that we're allowed to express: anger and violence. But I don't even think that second one is an emotion.
So like most guys in the US, I grew up ashamed and embarassed at having this super emotional side of me that I had to keep hidden and that had a habit of popping out - as anger and violence - at the least convenient times. But as I got older I started recognizing that this lack of emotion was seriously getting in the way of my own personal life and my life with Anno. But despite recognizing that there was a problem, I felt like I had no idea how to make things better.
Fast forward to 2002, when I started road cycling. Two significant things, relative to this whole emotion thing, occurred in that first year: My father died and I did my first multi-day HIV/AIDS ride. When my dad died, I was initially horrified about how unfeeling I felt about the whole thing outside of the officially sanctioned times when it's ok for men to cry (e.g. upon first hearing the news; at 2am in the first week after death; during the eulogy if you're delivering it; in Top Gun during the scene when Maverick is in the ocean cradling Goose's dead body). However, a strange thing happened when I started getting abck onto my bike after the funeral. During almost every ride the summer after he died, all I would have to do was think of him and, BAM!, I'd be bawling, sometimes so bad that I'd have to pull over because I couldn't see through the tears. Yeah, pretty wild and disconcerting. But just at first. After awhile I kind of got into it and started riding a lot just to get back to that place where all I could do was get slammed by a big wall of feeling. 'Cuz I felt a lot better afterwards. It felt like the only way I could access all of that grieving stuff was from the seat of my bicycle. It had something to do with the solitude, the easy repetitive motion of turning over the pedals, and, mostly, getting myself so exhausted that I wasn't able to keep that little emotional critter inside of me so tightly packaged away.
The next year I rode the AIDS/LifeCycle from SF to LA and that was when things kicked into emotional overdrive. That was a trip, literally. Seven days of riding my brains out to exhaustion while being surrounded by gobs and gobs of on-your-jersey-sleeve searing personal tragedy and triumph and everything in between. And, gods help me, it felt awesome! Just realizing that, no, I was not in fact incapable of experiencing or showing emotion, I was just seriously out of practice. And that I had discovered this activity and this community where it was not only okay to show emotion, it was literally impossible not to.
Now that I'm looking at turning 40, the situation is: Yes, I am getting better at accessing and living with and celebrating this emotional side of myself. But, damnit, do I really need to ride my bike so far, so hard, and so long just to get there? Wouldn't it be nice if Stoic and Rational Joaquin were able to just chill with Emotional Joaquin without needing a few hours in the Pain Cave beforehand?
Through taking on this $40G project, my hope, which happily is turning out to be true, is that this year long fundraising effort will be filled with tons and tons of opportunities to spend some time in almost every seat of the Emotional Rollercoaster that's just plain old being a mature, caring, and loving human being. And challenge myself to stay connected through the whole thing and celebrate feeling good as well as feeling shitty about how things are going without worrying too much about how I feel about how I'm feeling or how it looks or sounds or reads to others.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Reason #5: Because Lance isn't HIV+ (as far as I know)
Lance Armstrong's comeback from testicular cancer to win the Tour de France more times than anyone ever thought possible is one of the most motivational, feel-good stories of the past twenty years. And then, as if that weren't already enough, he's used his cycling to raise dozens, maybe hundreds, of millions of dollars for cancer related services. The man's face and name and yellow rubber bracelets are some of the most recognizable, iconic images of the 21st century. In fact, I heard from a friend of a friend that Chuck Norris wears a special bracelet that reads, "WWLD?"
Which makes me wonder: How much money would Lance have been able to raise if the diagnosis weren't cancer, but HIV? Of the people and companies that stood by him when it looked like his racing days were over, how many would have still been there if he had announced he was HIV+ as the result of unprotected sex or sharing needles? Nobody can say for sure, but my spidey sense tells me that the answer is something along the lines of, "a whole lot less."
Although some cancers are correlated with specific risk factors, for the most part cancer is perceived as a disease that could strike anyone at anytime. You don't have to do anything to get cancer and there's not a whole lot you can do to avoid it. Consequently, there's very little stigma attached to being cancer+. Now contrast that to the history and common perception of HIV and AIDS in the US. Yeah, pretty different.
In part, it's thinking about stuff like that that motivates me to be such an ardent HIV/AIDS activist. The fact that people who contract HIV tend to be some of the most marginalized, least powerful, and therefore least supported members of our community really, really torques me off. I mean, come on, why does it matter who it is that's suffering? Suffering is suffering, dude. For me, this imbalance of regard and care for the HIV+ and at-risk-of-contracting-HIV community is especially maddening because unlike with cancer, we are 100% certain about how HIV is spread and it's 100% preventable. So with just a little more effort from The Man we really could have a very significant effect on reducing HIV's impact in our communities.
There is something about this unfairness of regard and treatment and funding for everything HIV as well as the lingering stigma attached to being HIV+ that obviously resonates very strongly with me. But I always feel inadequate to the task of trying to characterize it accurately to others or even myself. The best I can do is point to everything I do now and have done for the NorCal AIDS Cycle and the AIDS LifeCycle before that and say that all of that work and training is an attempt to somehow understand and soothe these intense feelings of anger and injustice that well up inside of me anytime I think about HIV and AIDS.
Which makes me wonder: How much money would Lance have been able to raise if the diagnosis weren't cancer, but HIV? Of the people and companies that stood by him when it looked like his racing days were over, how many would have still been there if he had announced he was HIV+ as the result of unprotected sex or sharing needles? Nobody can say for sure, but my spidey sense tells me that the answer is something along the lines of, "a whole lot less."
Although some cancers are correlated with specific risk factors, for the most part cancer is perceived as a disease that could strike anyone at anytime. You don't have to do anything to get cancer and there's not a whole lot you can do to avoid it. Consequently, there's very little stigma attached to being cancer+. Now contrast that to the history and common perception of HIV and AIDS in the US. Yeah, pretty different.
In part, it's thinking about stuff like that that motivates me to be such an ardent HIV/AIDS activist. The fact that people who contract HIV tend to be some of the most marginalized, least powerful, and therefore least supported members of our community really, really torques me off. I mean, come on, why does it matter who it is that's suffering? Suffering is suffering, dude. For me, this imbalance of regard and care for the HIV+ and at-risk-of-contracting-HIV community is especially maddening because unlike with cancer, we are 100% certain about how HIV is spread and it's 100% preventable. So with just a little more effort from The Man we really could have a very significant effect on reducing HIV's impact in our communities.
There is something about this unfairness of regard and treatment and funding for everything HIV as well as the lingering stigma attached to being HIV+ that obviously resonates very strongly with me. But I always feel inadequate to the task of trying to characterize it accurately to others or even myself. The best I can do is point to everything I do now and have done for the NorCal AIDS Cycle and the AIDS LifeCycle before that and say that all of that work and training is an attempt to somehow understand and soothe these intense feelings of anger and injustice that well up inside of me anytime I think about HIV and AIDS.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
40 Reasons Why: Reason #4 - Men on a mission!
For today's reason for why I'm raising $40G for HIV and riding the event itself on a tandem instead of on my single bike, I'm providing some photos of me and Jerry on this morning's NorCal AIDS Cycle training ride. I'll let you add in the reason.
Friday, November 5, 2010
40 Reasons Why: Reason #3 - Getting better at 'Thanks!'
40 Reasons Why: Day #3, Reason #3 - Getting better at 'Thanks!'
Confession time! And what better place to confess a deep, dark secret than in this private, intimate setting with just you and my 8.2e12 closest internet friends, right? Here 'tis: I am absolutely rotten at saying, 'thank you.' How rotten? This rotten: Back in '89 my folks threw a joint graduation party for my older brother (college) and me (high school). It was attended by tons of school and family friends, some who knew me since pretty much the time I was conceived, and I finished the day with a metric buttload of loot and $$$. Guess how many thank you notes got sent out from me to all of these generous people. That's right: ZERO! To give you some perspective on how significant that is: If you lined up all those thank you notes end to end, they would circle the earth exactly zero times. No, I'm not really proud of that.
Since then, expressing thanks hasn't ever come very easy to me. In my [weak-ass] defense, there were a lot of significant circumstances that led to zero thank you notes getting written after that party. But now that I'm at the starting blocks of my 5th decade, it seems like it's time to understand and get over whatever it is that makes it hard to express simple gratitude and thanks. I mean, come on, already! What takes less effort, yet leaves such good feelings, as a heartfelt "thank you?" It's right up there with, "I love you;" "You been working out?' and; "You wanna share these french fries?"
Which is where raising $40G for HIV comes in. In my past fundraising endeavors, the average individual donation size has consistently been about $40. So in $40G there's 1000 potential opportunities for me to say, write, email, and blog a little slice of gratitude. And don't forget all of the fundraising event venues, prize donors, riding partners, encouraging emails and phone calls, and friend-of-a-friend connections that will be/are part of raising all that cash. All told, that's a gajillion opportunities to be grateful and share those feelings of gratitude and understand what's made it so challenging in the first place and, ideally, make it easier to say thanks in the future.
And on that note, this past Monday's fundraiser at Sophia's Thai Kitchen raised $1000! So when it hits my account we'll be at about $17,500. Thank you ALL so much for that!
Confession time! And what better place to confess a deep, dark secret than in this private, intimate setting with just you and my 8.2e12 closest internet friends, right? Here 'tis: I am absolutely rotten at saying, 'thank you.' How rotten? This rotten: Back in '89 my folks threw a joint graduation party for my older brother (college) and me (high school). It was attended by tons of school and family friends, some who knew me since pretty much the time I was conceived, and I finished the day with a metric buttload of loot and $$$. Guess how many thank you notes got sent out from me to all of these generous people. That's right: ZERO! To give you some perspective on how significant that is: If you lined up all those thank you notes end to end, they would circle the earth exactly zero times. No, I'm not really proud of that.
Since then, expressing thanks hasn't ever come very easy to me. In my [weak-ass] defense, there were a lot of significant circumstances that led to zero thank you notes getting written after that party. But now that I'm at the starting blocks of my 5th decade, it seems like it's time to understand and get over whatever it is that makes it hard to express simple gratitude and thanks. I mean, come on, already! What takes less effort, yet leaves such good feelings, as a heartfelt "thank you?" It's right up there with, "I love you;" "You been working out?' and; "You wanna share these french fries?"
Which is where raising $40G for HIV comes in. In my past fundraising endeavors, the average individual donation size has consistently been about $40. So in $40G there's 1000 potential opportunities for me to say, write, email, and blog a little slice of gratitude. And don't forget all of the fundraising event venues, prize donors, riding partners, encouraging emails and phone calls, and friend-of-a-friend connections that will be/are part of raising all that cash. All told, that's a gajillion opportunities to be grateful and share those feelings of gratitude and understand what's made it so challenging in the first place and, ideally, make it easier to say thanks in the future.
And on that note, this past Monday's fundraiser at Sophia's Thai Kitchen raised $1000! So when it hits my account we'll be at about $17,500. Thank you ALL so much for that!
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
40 Reasons Why: Reason #2 - We're a long way from the street
40 Reasons Why: Reason #2 - We're a long way from the street
A little over a year ago, on Monday August 31st, 2009 in fact, I was laid off from my job with the UC Office of the President. Let's see...how am I supposed to phrase that? Oh, yeah: "Due to budget constraints the decision was made to temporarily cease operations at the Center while other, more cost effective ways to offer the program in these difficult economic times were developed."
The following morning, for literally the very first time since 1975 when I started nursery school at Mrs. Degenaro's -- NOTE: I'm sure that wasn't the name of the place, but that's what we called it. And I have no idea if I spelled her name correctly, 'cuz I couldn't read back then, either -- nobody was expecting me to be anywhere on that day or any day in the future. Up until that morning, I hadn't quite realized how much of my self worth was tied up into stuff like having a job, having professional responsibilities, just plain old having a profession, bringing home the bacon every day, and feeling like I had a place where I belonged where I and my work were valued. Nobody actually cut off my nuts, but it sure felt emasculating. If you don't belive me, try it sometime. I promise, you won't like it.
Of all the many wonderful things my very wonderful wife said to me during that time, the phrase that stuck out most was: "We are a long way from the street, Joaquin" Even though it felt like we were on the brink of financial disaster, we were lucky enough to have a ton of resources to fall back on if I wasn't able to find work right away: a generous severance package, including health benefits, from UCOP; some rainy day savings; a massive network of friends and professional contacts; two moms more than willing to help out; likewise siblings and extended family; and let's not forget our youth, our health, and our enterprising spirits.
Through the whole process of job searching and interviewing, "We're a long way from the street" became my mantra. Maybe not as fun as: "Sit back, relax, have a homebrew," but a lot easier on the waist line. Yeah, there were plenty of times when the mantra didn't help me get to sleep at night, but it sure did help to beat back the demons during my waking life.
Luckily, I found work very quickly. But even though we were never in danger of losing our house, our standard of living, or any other comforts we've gotten for ourselves, the experience and emotions of having been laid off, cast adrift on the pink slip sea, if you will, has stayed very close to the surface for me and continues to affect my every day life. Like getting engaged, the death of my father, 9/11, and the passage of Prop 8, it's become a defining moment in my life.
And that mantra, "we're a long way from the street," is something I think about almost every day, too. Except now it also makes me realize how many other people are NOT a long way from the street as a result of having been unemployed or having public services yanked out from under them due to budgetary cuts. One of my friends on the cycling team who works on the state budget said it best back in 2008: "Joaquin, people are going to start DYING as a result of this budget we're putting together."
People are not only on the street because of this economic downturn, they're out on the streets dying there. The tragedy is that with just a little extra funding, and maybe a shift in priorities here or there, they'd be off the street, getting better, earning a living. So this $40G thing, it's partly a reminder to me of how excruciatingly lucky I am to have such a great support system that helps keep the street further away from me than for most. And it's also an attempt to acknowledge that, while I view myself as a pretty capable guy, a lot of it is just plain old stupid, unfair luck and circumstance that puts me here and others out on the street. Raising $40G is my attempt to provide at least some relief where Lady Luck and The Man have fallen short.
A little over a year ago, on Monday August 31st, 2009 in fact, I was laid off from my job with the UC Office of the President. Let's see...how am I supposed to phrase that? Oh, yeah: "Due to budget constraints the decision was made to temporarily cease operations at the Center while other, more cost effective ways to offer the program in these difficult economic times were developed."
The following morning, for literally the very first time since 1975 when I started nursery school at Mrs. Degenaro's -- NOTE: I'm sure that wasn't the name of the place, but that's what we called it. And I have no idea if I spelled her name correctly, 'cuz I couldn't read back then, either -- nobody was expecting me to be anywhere on that day or any day in the future. Up until that morning, I hadn't quite realized how much of my self worth was tied up into stuff like having a job, having professional responsibilities, just plain old having a profession, bringing home the bacon every day, and feeling like I had a place where I belonged where I and my work were valued. Nobody actually cut off my nuts, but it sure felt emasculating. If you don't belive me, try it sometime. I promise, you won't like it.
Of all the many wonderful things my very wonderful wife said to me during that time, the phrase that stuck out most was: "We are a long way from the street, Joaquin" Even though it felt like we were on the brink of financial disaster, we were lucky enough to have a ton of resources to fall back on if I wasn't able to find work right away: a generous severance package, including health benefits, from UCOP; some rainy day savings; a massive network of friends and professional contacts; two moms more than willing to help out; likewise siblings and extended family; and let's not forget our youth, our health, and our enterprising spirits.
Through the whole process of job searching and interviewing, "We're a long way from the street" became my mantra. Maybe not as fun as: "Sit back, relax, have a homebrew," but a lot easier on the waist line. Yeah, there were plenty of times when the mantra didn't help me get to sleep at night, but it sure did help to beat back the demons during my waking life.
Luckily, I found work very quickly. But even though we were never in danger of losing our house, our standard of living, or any other comforts we've gotten for ourselves, the experience and emotions of having been laid off, cast adrift on the pink slip sea, if you will, has stayed very close to the surface for me and continues to affect my every day life. Like getting engaged, the death of my father, 9/11, and the passage of Prop 8, it's become a defining moment in my life.
And that mantra, "we're a long way from the street," is something I think about almost every day, too. Except now it also makes me realize how many other people are NOT a long way from the street as a result of having been unemployed or having public services yanked out from under them due to budgetary cuts. One of my friends on the cycling team who works on the state budget said it best back in 2008: "Joaquin, people are going to start DYING as a result of this budget we're putting together."
People are not only on the street because of this economic downturn, they're out on the streets dying there. The tragedy is that with just a little extra funding, and maybe a shift in priorities here or there, they'd be off the street, getting better, earning a living. So this $40G thing, it's partly a reminder to me of how excruciatingly lucky I am to have such a great support system that helps keep the street further away from me than for most. And it's also an attempt to acknowledge that, while I view myself as a pretty capable guy, a lot of it is just plain old stupid, unfair luck and circumstance that puts me here and others out on the street. Raising $40G is my attempt to provide at least some relief where Lady Luck and The Man have fallen short.
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