The art of perception

I’m on a “definitions” kick, of late—it’s too easily to get pensive with nwdragon away and the majority of home remodeling projects I can complete on my own—well, completed.

It’s interesting how perceptions are built. I’ve been in my current position for four years now—the longest I’ve ever been in one job. In that time, as with all places, people come and people go. But it’s amazing how people can depart your life or your workplace, yet still leave their stamp on your day-to-day activities.

I work in an administrative capacity, and am one of the few full-time, hourly employees at the largest software corporation in the world. Here’s where perception begins: there’s a strong perception at this company that people in my position aren’t quite as bright, as driven, or simply “as good” as others there.

As an admin, the majority of my work exists to support other people. I currently support two managers—they’d probably be called General Managers or Directors at other companies—plus a team that has ranged from 30-60 people at one time or another.
Many, many people perceive that since I am in a support capacity, I should drop whatever I am doing, and immediately address their needs, as though we had reverted back to medieval times and I’m a local serf.. There are some people I do actually do this for—my managers…or people who treat me like an equal. My perception is that this is an entirely fair reaction on my part.

To continue, many people at this corporation exercise the right to work from home when they have a sick child, or work being done they need to be present for. During the holidays, we experience a phenomenon called “blue flu” where lots of people take vacation—since no one is around, there’s little to nothing for us “support” people to do—so we also elect to work from home, if possible. Unfortunately, perception kicks in again—we’re hourly, so evidently that means if we’re not onsite, under the watchful eyes of our managers, we couldn’t possibly be working. Never mind that literally thousands of other people at our company work remotely each day—we’re somehow not trustworthy enough.

Perception can lead you into all sorts of grey areas. There has been a rise in employee theft of software. Perception: benefits are being cut and the company isn’t rewarding performance like it used to, so theft makes up the difference. Outside our little world, there’s a larger scale war of beliefs and differences. Perception that one way is the right way (my morals should be your morals), that everyone has equal opportunity when they don’t (children going to private school vs. No Child Left Behind Schools) and that my way of thinking is the right way of thinking (while I like to think of myself as a bright person, I concede that there are many things I am not an authority on, and therefore have a l great deal to learn). The difference between the first two, and the last one I that I perceive there is more than one way of thinking.
The world would be a better place if more people came to that realization, ithink—but then, that’s just my perception

Definition of self, or what makes me “me”

As nwdragon’s career progresses, and mine sits at “off” on the gas burner, we contemplate all number of potential changes to ourselves, our work, and our living situation. This exercise has led me to think more deeply about what I want to do, who I want to be, and who I am. Troubling topics, all. ;-)

I don’t feel I handle change well—there are perhaps few people who truly thrive on it. As I grow older, par for the course, I handle big change even less well. I think I’m traumatized from our less than pleasant trek to Fremont, CA, in 1997. Yes, it was quite a while ago. Perhaps others would move past their experience. I have not, simple as that.

Both of us were genuinely, expansively unhappy during our Mid-Cal hiatus. Many things contributed to that state: crappy jobs, horrible commutes, ridiculously expensive living conditions, unfriendly neighbors within the apartment community. No friends, no 30-minute drive family members. You can see there would be a lot to overcome.

In Seattle, we have a home—not a house. We have poured ourselves into it since purchasing in 1999. We’ve done drywall, texture-painted, installed Pergo, and painted almost every room. Our hands have touched every room at one point or another, and, in conjunction with many things, this makes this place a home, rather than just a house.
It’s a 10 minute drive to a big body of water. We are surrounded with green living things.
Our cats—all three—are fat and lazy and a joy to come home to every day.

I have a job that I am at peace with about 50% of the time—the other 50%, it’s not my boss, or my work, but rather the attitude of the corporation itself that frustrates and irritates me. I am involved in an exciting industry, and I work with many wonderful people—I’ve also somehow gained a reputation for being a go-to person, and get occasional random call like yesterday’s where someone from MSNBC needed my help.

I drive a black Saturn VUE, and I love it. And herein is where the definition of self starts inquiring. I had to take my car in to get the horn serviced (don’t ask), and I was given a blue Neon as a loaner. Argh.
As I drove it home yesterday, I felt a sense of unreality—my personal perception shifted. My husband has never been in this car. It has no sense of him, and no history of us. I didn’t have my garage door opener—nothing for the house--or my work parking sticker—nothing for work. And it occurred to me, here I was, seemingly a completely different person just by dint of what car I had ended up in. All signs of my past and present erased with a simple rent-a-wreck.

How odd that something so trivial could so alter my sense of self.

The disturbingly gratifying nature of evil

I would be concerned that I spend too much time following the lives of Buffy and Angel…but then I read my fellow bloggers, and all is well.

Faith. Glory. Lilah. Holtz. Faith was unabashedly dark, the other three, unequivocally evil. They did as they pleased, to the tune of agonizing emotional, physical and mental pain inflicted upon others. They had fun, fun, fun (and no one took the T-Bird away).

Frighteningly, there’s an obvious appeal to evil. Evil means never having to apologize. Kill your minion? There’s a line of eager volunteers out the door who can’t wait for you to wring their necks. Not only will they grovel at your feet, they’ll worship you for making them do it. Shades of the Mansons, Jonestown, Heaven’s Gate. Beat them down, shred their personalities, their psyche, their selves—then build them back in your image.

What about signing away your soul to eternal darkness? There’s reassurance there, really—you always know where you’ll stand. Extreme job security. I guess even a certainty of an afterlife, of sorts; so what if you’re slaving away in a Hell dimension for all eternity? You got to lie, cheat, steal, connive—oh, and have naughty “Pretend I’m Fred” sex with the darker Wesley Wyndham Price. Hmm—wonder if Lilah got that into her contract before she signed…

And then there’s Holtz. Granted Holtz had some evil, evil things done to him. Angel ate his entire family, after all. But to hold a grudge basically beyond the grave, to plot to take another being’s child, raise it in the worst of all hells, and breed unmitigated loathing and hatred for its parent?

Glory was a god—as a deity, one might imagine her difficulty in comprehending her actions were anything but sublime.

Lilah was a backstabbing lawyer at Wolfram and Hart. Most people would require nothing beyond “lawyer” to explain her actions.

Holtz is some psychiatrist’s case work for life.

But these three, they reveled in their doings. While they were cutting the heart out of their enemies (and whoever else was around at the time) they experienced no remorse. No second thoughts. No concern about what others might think, what others might do, or what would happen tomorrow.

How gratifying...

"It's a moo point".

It's like a cow's opinion.. it doesn't matta.
--Joey, on Friends

Favorite weird dream of all time (makes my husband give me "the look")

You know, the "oh my god, what have you been smoking and why didn't you share?" look...

I'm standing in a meadow--typical cheesy "love" scene, where they're wildflower, and a blue sky straight out of photocopy. I see my husband across the field, and--yes, in slow motion--we begin to run towards each other. Bound...bound...bound...

The distance between us narrows, and we finally are about to leap joyously into each other's arms. I reach out and touch Marc, and...

He explodes.

Hey, this is a rated G dream. When I say "explode", I don't mean in a first person shooter, graphic violence, rater "M" for mature way. So I have three words for you.

"Balloons" and "pink bunnies".

Marc explodes into thousands and thousands of bobbing pink bunny balloons. They bear a slight resemblance in shape to the Energizer Bunny, but no drums, no sandals, no sunglasses. The balloons bounce lighly over the meadow like waves of pink water.

I had a friend who had a dream interpretation book--bunnies came back as having something to do with fertility. Hmm. This is not a topic I believe I'm currently interested in.

As far as the bunny symbolism goes, god, it's a good thing I'm not Anya from Buffy.

Weird Dream #487--a segue from our more moody musings

I'm dressed in this spectacular midnight blue dress with (tasteful) sequins and embroidery--sleeveless, with long, full skirts--it's got the over-the-top elegance that makes me think I'm going to a costume ball as Night. I'm finishing the final touches on my ensemble when my escort rushes in to tell me we're running late, and we dash out. The whole thing has the flavor of the 40s--the men in the crowd we travel with are all in evening attire with black ties and white cashmere scarves.

We arrive in a train station, and they're ripping in and out with barely enough time for people to load and unload--it has more the feel of a subway station populated with steam engines.

I realize suddenly my hair is falling down out of its styling and so I rush towards the back of the station to try and put it back up--I have long, long hair again, and it's in this elaborate upsweep of combs and jewelry. A moment later I realize that my fellow travelers are boarding one of the trains--I try and dart back through the crowd, but the wooden doors slide shut before I can reach them, and none of my companions even look twice before they are whisked away. I board the next train hoping it will take me to their destination, but when I debark, I'm in a massive, techno-Tokyo city setting, with neon, and noise and no one who speaks any English. My tiny handbag contains no cash, so I manage to find an ATM, but I can't understand the instructions. It spits a receipt back out at me that says "FEE: 10,000", but no money, and now I'm wondering exactly what kind of currency conversion factor is at work here--a moot point, given I don't even know what country I'm in.

Now gee,that's not any sort of dream dealing with the fear of being left behind is it?

Good and evil--we're a little rusty on the subject

How does one define good and evil?
Good and evil. Unlike in Buffy and Angel, these terms are very, very hard to define—we don’t have the bumpy forehead ID technique readily available—although we are quite good at singling out people when they look or act different.

Our world has no one definition for these terms—or rather, if there is one definition, it belongs to only one person, or a rarefied group of people who share a code of beliefs and ideas. That could be alright, if a single, narrow viewpoint hadn’t resulted in a few major conflicts over the years. Small things, you know, like the Crusades. The Holocaust. Jonestown.

You might think, to define good and evil, you should start by trying to see both sides of a situation. At work, when someone is less than polite, or makes what I consider a ridiculous request—I need a conference room for 500 with AV two days from now, and oh yeah, make spin some straw into gold while you’re at it—I try to imagine what might be going through their minds. Maybe they’re having a bad day. Maybe it’s trickle down—their boss is asking them to do this, or their boss’s boss, and they are stressed about not being able to fulfill their commitment. Same with the people who cut me off in traffic, attempt to brush through me as though I didn’t exist, or park so close to me in a lot I have to squeeze through the passenger door to drive away.

In imagining the potential scenarios leading up to these admittedly less than horrific acts of human cruelty, I tread water, firmly resolving that, outside of these petty acts, these people are good, friendly, nice, compassionate—take your pick of adjectives. Suddenly, I have discovered the greater good.

But then I read the paper, or check out news online, and there are some people I just can’t empathize with. The teenagers who put a Husky “out of its misery” by shooting it to death with a bow and arrow. Wanna-be suitors in India, who, in retribution for having their affections spurned, throw boiling oil or chemicals on the girls they were infatuated with. Executives who strip their employees of benefits in the name of shareholder value, leaving them barely able to eke out a living and buy the very products they create. There are no consequences for these actions, or when there are, they’re minor, laughable. My instinct to try and understand—their actions, the lack of punishment-- kicks in, and I feel pulled under—once, twice…going down a third time. A sudden rush of desire to move to Canada hits me…or the fervent wish to be like Buffy, super powers and all…except the bad guys I fight don’t have the bumpy forehead. Their ugliness is all inside.

Humanity can be better than this, I think, and I tread water.

But not until we all have the same definition for good and evil.