During the 1950's a social psycholgist, Abraham Maslow, discovered why no one can achieve lasting happiness. You may recall reading about his theory "The Hierarchy of Needs" in college. The theory says that all humans in all societies seem to share the same basic urges. We must eat, we desire security, we lust, and we need the esteem of our fellow villagers.
People who do not follow these pattern are deemed to be sick, and they are labeled Sociopaths and Psychopaths. But for most of us, we are doomed to be driven by these predictable levels of Need.
Maslow created a chart that listed the Needs in hierarchical order with food being near the bottom and respect near the top. He asserted that when a person is at the "Need Food" level, all energy and focus is directed to satisfy that need. Once the physiological needs are met, the human tendency is toward satisfaction of psychological needs, such as the need for love, acceptance, respect. At each level, the brief moment of satisfaction is soon replaced by a nagging and persistent desire to get to the next level.
Our work lives are spent as metaphors for this model. In the beginning, we just want a job to pay the bills. Then we start bitching about the working conditions. Then we start thinking about how to keep from losing the good job we have found. Then we seek promotion. We want a nicer office, a more attractive secretary, more vacation time, free water. No sooner do we get our office with a door than we notice that some people have bigger offices and better furniture. Because we lust, because we envy, we spend our entire working lives never being truly satisfied.
Here is the problem: there is no upper end on the need scale. In apparent fear of running out of paper big enough to display a chart of all the needs humans can aspire to, Maslow copped-out by labelling the uppermost level with the term "Self actualization." He defined it as "becoming everything you are capable of being..."
No one can ever attain self actualization because there will always be... something more to desire. It's human nature. And it's the reason why no one is very happy for very long.
That's just the way it is. Cowboy up.
9/30/2003
9/22/2003
Lazy Days
As I begin to pick the last of the tomatoes and clean out the clutter in the garden, I am still in the "looking for work" mode, although not with my usual furious intensity. The job scene is pretty quiet. I have made inquiries at all of the companies on the 100 best places to work list that are within a 15 minute commute (both of them). My skill set as a senior (ie, high paid) business systems analyst is not very much prized in an economy that is not authorizing new projects or ventures. I am not worried, though.
The general improvement in the stock market is evident in favorable 401K mutual fund statements that are showing marked improvements since March of this year. If no devastating event occurs to ruin the gains, we are pleased with this. It is further encouragement that things will get better. Business cycles happen. Employment is inevitible. So, I enjoy the leisure that the current status affords me for as long as the fates decree.
I was once leery of retirement, wondering "what would I do all day?" I have no such thoughts these days. There is precious little time in the day, and much to do. The biggest risk for me is not getting anything done, since it is so easy to defer tasks to tomorrow. I schedule most of my gotta-do's (things that require me to go out of the house, like food shopping and dump runs) for weekdays, when I have the least amount of competition from others (traffic congestion and lines). I putter around on the weekends, or we get in the car and go somewhere. We never have enough time for all the things we want to do and places we want to go. Not a bad life, except the fact that the grandkids are in Calif.
The general improvement in the stock market is evident in favorable 401K mutual fund statements that are showing marked improvements since March of this year. If no devastating event occurs to ruin the gains, we are pleased with this. It is further encouragement that things will get better. Business cycles happen. Employment is inevitible. So, I enjoy the leisure that the current status affords me for as long as the fates decree.
I was once leery of retirement, wondering "what would I do all day?" I have no such thoughts these days. There is precious little time in the day, and much to do. The biggest risk for me is not getting anything done, since it is so easy to defer tasks to tomorrow. I schedule most of my gotta-do's (things that require me to go out of the house, like food shopping and dump runs) for weekdays, when I have the least amount of competition from others (traffic congestion and lines). I putter around on the weekends, or we get in the car and go somewhere. We never have enough time for all the things we want to do and places we want to go. Not a bad life, except the fact that the grandkids are in Calif.
9/14/2003
What I did this Summer: Jetsam Memoirs
Autumn approaches. The air is crisp and clear. The sky is studded with puffy clouds and it's good to be alive, and outside, with long sleeves. A time for reflection, to nourish that seed of inner peace that has taken root in the fecund humus of the soul.
Yesterday, I planted a row of hardy chrysanthemums on the north border with the Murphys. I built a berm out of compost from the back yard. It took about twenty wheelbarrows full of rich dark organic material. I had several large, aged piles of rotted grass clippings, vegetable peelings, assorted prunings and leaves. The back is kept mostly natural so pine needles and leaves are never raked, but left to decay naturally. This produces a layer several inches thick of the black gold called "leaf mold". I mined several barrels of fluffy, pure compost to mix in the gardens, thus assuring another bountiful harvest next year.
At the end of the day, sitting with an icy Harpoon IPA, I am struck by the alarming brevity of days and the sudden realization that summer has passed with the velocity of a clattering freight train. One moment you are thinking "Jesus! This is eternal." Then, without warning, a thunderous silence. You find yourself squinting at the blinking tail light of a caboose retreating into the dark distance.
The summer was well spent. It started in May, when the leadership at the Hellhole decided to make a decision. The CMT (Crack Management Team) felt that they had to do something to fix the company. The choices were: 1) to reduce the number of costly offsite executive planning meetings, 2) to pump up an impotent sales force, or 3) to lance the festering boil of a bloated workforce.
Previous decisions had included Instituting a new Dress Code, Changing the Company Logo, Reorganizing and Redefining Mission Statement (and confusing nearly everyone), Eliminating free water, Hiring more lawyers, Downgrading support for the biggest customer (because they wanted to be less dependent on the cash cow), Forcing the implementation of a less effective systems (which annoyed the biggest customer even more), and instituting a simplified but incomprehensible set of performance goals.
The results of these initiatives were gratifying for the HR department. Not only did they have more interesting work overseeing the new goals and org chart modifications, but they could busy themselves getting new stationery and business cards with the new logo.
Unfortunately, none of these decisions resulted in increased revenue. The CMT fretted about the bad economic situation, and decided that they needed to go down to Naples Florida, which was the only place that they could think clearly (not to mention the excellent golfing, fishing and other accommodations). They would have to make some hard choices.
The CMT had no use for the wisdom of gurus like Tom Peters who says "You cannot shrink your way to greatness." They felt that the time-honored way to save a sinking boat is to throw things overboard. "Jetsam" is defined as cargo or equipment that is tossed intentionally (as opposed to "flotsam" - the stuff that is ejected into the water as the ship sinks).
Funny, they didn't lay off any senior execs, even though these are the ones who led the ship into the shoals of fiscal wreckage. We marvel at their ability to blame failure on external factors, but fully ready to take full credit for any successes, no matter how accidental.
So, my fellow jetsam and I have had ample opportunity to reflect on the nature of work. And to explore other professions - gardening, multi-level-marketing, thoroughbred handicapper, piano player in a sporting house, freelance writing, fisherman, van driver, house painter, gigilo, you name it. Some of the jetsam engaged in furious job hunting, and some of them did find successful landfall. I have sown some seeds and made some calls. As a no-limits person, I feel that one of these fine crisp days, the phone will ring with the perfect opportunity. (I just hope I am not out back sitting by the verdant garden, snoozing on the chaise lounge when the phone rings.)
Yesterday as I sat, admiring the new compost berm, my wife came home after a hard day at the office . She inspected my work and declared with a scowl, "It looks like a grave."
Yesterday, I planted a row of hardy chrysanthemums on the north border with the Murphys. I built a berm out of compost from the back yard. It took about twenty wheelbarrows full of rich dark organic material. I had several large, aged piles of rotted grass clippings, vegetable peelings, assorted prunings and leaves. The back is kept mostly natural so pine needles and leaves are never raked, but left to decay naturally. This produces a layer several inches thick of the black gold called "leaf mold". I mined several barrels of fluffy, pure compost to mix in the gardens, thus assuring another bountiful harvest next year.
At the end of the day, sitting with an icy Harpoon IPA, I am struck by the alarming brevity of days and the sudden realization that summer has passed with the velocity of a clattering freight train. One moment you are thinking "Jesus! This is eternal." Then, without warning, a thunderous silence. You find yourself squinting at the blinking tail light of a caboose retreating into the dark distance.
The summer was well spent. It started in May, when the leadership at the Hellhole decided to make a decision. The CMT (Crack Management Team) felt that they had to do something to fix the company. The choices were: 1) to reduce the number of costly offsite executive planning meetings, 2) to pump up an impotent sales force, or 3) to lance the festering boil of a bloated workforce.
Previous decisions had included Instituting a new Dress Code, Changing the Company Logo, Reorganizing and Redefining Mission Statement (and confusing nearly everyone), Eliminating free water, Hiring more lawyers, Downgrading support for the biggest customer (because they wanted to be less dependent on the cash cow), Forcing the implementation of a less effective systems (which annoyed the biggest customer even more), and instituting a simplified but incomprehensible set of performance goals.
The results of these initiatives were gratifying for the HR department. Not only did they have more interesting work overseeing the new goals and org chart modifications, but they could busy themselves getting new stationery and business cards with the new logo.
Unfortunately, none of these decisions resulted in increased revenue. The CMT fretted about the bad economic situation, and decided that they needed to go down to Naples Florida, which was the only place that they could think clearly (not to mention the excellent golfing, fishing and other accommodations). They would have to make some hard choices.
The CMT had no use for the wisdom of gurus like Tom Peters who says "You cannot shrink your way to greatness." They felt that the time-honored way to save a sinking boat is to throw things overboard. "Jetsam" is defined as cargo or equipment that is tossed intentionally (as opposed to "flotsam" - the stuff that is ejected into the water as the ship sinks).
Funny, they didn't lay off any senior execs, even though these are the ones who led the ship into the shoals of fiscal wreckage. We marvel at their ability to blame failure on external factors, but fully ready to take full credit for any successes, no matter how accidental.
So, my fellow jetsam and I have had ample opportunity to reflect on the nature of work. And to explore other professions - gardening, multi-level-marketing, thoroughbred handicapper, piano player in a sporting house, freelance writing, fisherman, van driver, house painter, gigilo, you name it. Some of the jetsam engaged in furious job hunting, and some of them did find successful landfall. I have sown some seeds and made some calls. As a no-limits person, I feel that one of these fine crisp days, the phone will ring with the perfect opportunity. (I just hope I am not out back sitting by the verdant garden, snoozing on the chaise lounge when the phone rings.)
Yesterday as I sat, admiring the new compost berm, my wife came home after a hard day at the office . She inspected my work and declared with a scowl, "It looks like a grave."
9/08/2003
Another Road Not Taken
In my eternal quest to discover how I should spend the rest of my life, I have made another choice. I have decided NOT to become a professional gambler. Recent evidence has demonstrated with virtual certainty that in games of chance, if I did not have bad luck, I would have no luck at all. I know that sounds like a line stolen from a blues song, but it is true.
The recent venture to Suffolk Downs (where Seabiscuit was first spotted by his legendary trainer) yielded a big flat negative gain. None of my cleverly worked out 'systems' - designed to select high-paying winners - was successful. I would have done better to go with interesting names (eg 35-1 longshot named "Trailer Trash" - which paid about $75.00. I, of course, bet on another horse, named something like "She-can-win".)
Also, last week I donated a tidy portion of my unemployment check to the Native American Fund, aka Mohegan Sun. (Hey, here's an idea for the Jesse Jackson gang, looking for economic justice - lobby for permits to open Casinos. That's where you can confiscate some serious reparations.)
Anyhow, gambling is not for me. I have invested in Lottery tickets, scratch tickets, football pools, and none of them has paid me back. Roulette, video poker, slot machines all have failed to return anything since that big ($1,000) hit three years ago when I got a royal straight flush on video poker. I'm sure I have given every penny back to those murderous savages.
No, my future is in commerce. Thus, I will redouble my efforts to obtain a traditional job at outrageous wages. Like a surfer, waiting for the perfect wave, I scan the horizon patiently, searching for that perfect opportunity, hoping there are no maneating sharks in the water to chew on my ambitions.
The recent venture to Suffolk Downs (where Seabiscuit was first spotted by his legendary trainer) yielded a big flat negative gain. None of my cleverly worked out 'systems' - designed to select high-paying winners - was successful. I would have done better to go with interesting names (eg 35-1 longshot named "Trailer Trash" - which paid about $75.00. I, of course, bet on another horse, named something like "She-can-win".)
Also, last week I donated a tidy portion of my unemployment check to the Native American Fund, aka Mohegan Sun. (Hey, here's an idea for the Jesse Jackson gang, looking for economic justice - lobby for permits to open Casinos. That's where you can confiscate some serious reparations.)
Anyhow, gambling is not for me. I have invested in Lottery tickets, scratch tickets, football pools, and none of them has paid me back. Roulette, video poker, slot machines all have failed to return anything since that big ($1,000) hit three years ago when I got a royal straight flush on video poker. I'm sure I have given every penny back to those murderous savages.
No, my future is in commerce. Thus, I will redouble my efforts to obtain a traditional job at outrageous wages. Like a surfer, waiting for the perfect wave, I scan the horizon patiently, searching for that perfect opportunity, hoping there are no maneating sharks in the water to chew on my ambitions.
9/03/2003
Labor Day Musings
So, I'm reading in the Globe today that the Police in NewHaven CT arrested Jesse Jackson and 14 striking Yale employees for blocking traffic.
This raises at least two burning questions:
1) What do these people who work for a living have in common with Jesse Jackson? He's never had a real job in his life. It seems to this blog that his principle shtick is to wander freely around America stirring up racial tensions, and, then standing tall in support for the poor oppressed. How does he get paid? Does he travel by public transportation? Why should he worry about having an arrest record? He will probably not have to answer "Yes" to the "Have-you-ever-been-arrested?" question on a job application. Unlike the poor striking workers, who will most likely be forced-out of their current jobs for not being team players. Strikers risk the inevitable conclusion that the organization can run without them. But can they count on Jesse Jackson for a letter of reference. Sorry, the photo op is over. Time to move on to fry new fish.
2) And what is it about blocking traffic to get attention? Surely, this is the most moronically negative attention-getting stunt I can imagine. There is a theory (advanced by biblical scholar, Mel Brooks) that there were actually more than ten commandments, but the others were lost when Moses dropped one of the tablets. I imagine that one of the lost dictates would go something like" "Thou shalt not knowingly impede the flow of traffic." How does a group expect to get sympathy by causing traffic tie-ups? To me, this is not "civil disobedience". This is "Terrorism". Isn't terrorism defined as: inflicting pain on innocent bystanders? It is, in fact, a cowardly act, since the real foes are not directly challenged.
If it were up to me, the traffic blocking arrestees would be remanded to Camp Gitmo in Cuba for serious interrogation and perhaps torture until they admit their heinous crimes. No trial, just a lifetime of sitting around waiting for the line to move.
This raises at least two burning questions:
1) What do these people who work for a living have in common with Jesse Jackson? He's never had a real job in his life. It seems to this blog that his principle shtick is to wander freely around America stirring up racial tensions, and, then standing tall in support for the poor oppressed. How does he get paid? Does he travel by public transportation? Why should he worry about having an arrest record? He will probably not have to answer "Yes" to the "Have-you-ever-been-arrested?" question on a job application. Unlike the poor striking workers, who will most likely be forced-out of their current jobs for not being team players. Strikers risk the inevitable conclusion that the organization can run without them. But can they count on Jesse Jackson for a letter of reference. Sorry, the photo op is over. Time to move on to fry new fish.
2) And what is it about blocking traffic to get attention? Surely, this is the most moronically negative attention-getting stunt I can imagine. There is a theory (advanced by biblical scholar, Mel Brooks) that there were actually more than ten commandments, but the others were lost when Moses dropped one of the tablets. I imagine that one of the lost dictates would go something like" "Thou shalt not knowingly impede the flow of traffic." How does a group expect to get sympathy by causing traffic tie-ups? To me, this is not "civil disobedience". This is "Terrorism". Isn't terrorism defined as: inflicting pain on innocent bystanders? It is, in fact, a cowardly act, since the real foes are not directly challenged.
If it were up to me, the traffic blocking arrestees would be remanded to Camp Gitmo in Cuba for serious interrogation and perhaps torture until they admit their heinous crimes. No trial, just a lifetime of sitting around waiting for the line to move.
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