It's a cliche that money doesn't buy happiness. But I'm starting with a cliche. Too bad. I chose a career that means I'll never make a lot of money. That's OK. That's my choice, and I don't regret it. I still have a happy, fulfilled life with friends, travel, great books, and my necessities more than met. Of course a bit more money would make some things easier, but that's always the case. And I don't think anyone, anywhere should have to live in abject poverty, unable to obtain food, health care, or a roof over their head. There's no real reason that should be the case given how much wealth exists in the world - in New York City alone. There is also the fact that really wealthy people just tend to be less interesting overall. Yes, that's a generalization. But it's my experience. That's right. I'm saying too much money makes people boring. Just read the travel section of the New York Times for an example. There is a disproportionate emphasis on luxury travel. Some of it is to really cool destinations. But why would anyone want to go to Myanmar, for example, just to hang out on a private yacht the whole time? It sounds dull (and possibly exploitative, which is another issue). I had tons of fun in Europe last year staying in hostels and locally owned hotels, eating local cuisine, and seeing cultural and geographical sites.
For about a year, I dated a guy who could afford to do pretty much whatever he wanted. He would fly to another city or even country for a weekend just for a rock concert. He owned most of the products Apple put out (and when I mentioned needing a new battery for my 2006 MacBook, his response was "why don't you just get a new computer?"). He would take me out to dinners that cost approximately my monthly rent. We went to restaurants where they just brought foie gras to the table as an in-between-course snack. A trip to Las Vegas involved a 1200 dollar (for two people) helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon. The views were fabulous. I got motion sickness and threw up. I never asked to go to any of these places, and I certainly couldn't pay for them. It wasn't that I didn't have qualms about the lifestyle I got to enjoy when I was with him, and it wasn't why I was dating him (that would be because we had a great first date where it turned out we read the same SF novels, to our mutual surprise and delight). I just pushed all my qualms aside. I didn't really realize the league I was playing in until a few dates in, when I got a glimpse of how much the wine he ordered cost at the restaurant where we were eating. But I liked him, and I felt it wasn't my place to critique - and I was enjoying myself, in spite of feeling like a bit of a fraud when waiters behaved like the servants on Downton Abbey and acted as though we were the upstairs folks. I always, deep down, knew there was something wrong about it. That I couldn't drink 300 dollar wine one day and walk past the homeless guy in my neighborhood the next and really be OK with that. Every year I assign my students to read Peter Singer's controversial New York Times piece, The Singer Solution to World Poverty, in which Singer passionately, and controversially argues that not donating a significant percentage of one's income to charity renders one culpable for the millions of children dying of easily treatable diseases in the developing world. There are problems with Singer's rhetoric that I and the students discuss, but over the years I've come to agree with the nugget of his argument. And it nagged at me as I ate those beautiful, luxurious dinners and drank that ridiculously expensive wine. And then there was the simple fact that I always had just as much fun, if not more, going to a movie and hitting a diner or pub afterwards. Eventually, it became clearer to me that we didn't share all of the same values, though I don't think he was a bad person. We had our first fight about the Chicago teachers' strike. I'll not go into the details - it's probably easy to infer the positions we had on it. And even as I realized this stuff, I still liked him - and maybe I was getting a little hooked on the lifestyle.
But he really had no concept of certain things, and I think that's partly due to not really comprehending a need to worry about money or a need to budget and plan. And this seeped into other aspects of his character - a general carelessness or neglect about a need to take responsibility for things he'd said or offered to do. He offered to give me his old MacBook a couple of times (it was newer than mine). After refusing a few times, I eventually accepted, but it never happened. Not a huge deal, really. He didn't owe it to me. But why offer? And what if I'd counted on it? (I eventually learned never to count on offers like that - he'd make them frequently.) And then he'd just forget when we had plans, which was a bigger deal. Or he'd forget to tell me he couldn't make our date after all, and I'd be stuck home on Saturday night, unable to find new plans at the last minute because he didn't tell me in time. Eventually, he moved away for a better job and I didn't think long distance would be a good idea. I think in some ways I had a lucky escape. Because I don't want to start to value things like 300 dollar wine. And the other thing - we never seemed to talk about those SF novels or any of the cool stuff we had seemed to have in common. It was always about the food or the wine or ... I don't even recall really. He was always saying how money wasn't really important. And I don't think he'd always had it (he was a bit cagey about his childhood), but he certainly didn't seem to know how to live without it when I knew him.
And maybe it's not really so much that money makes people boring, but that it causes amnesia. Because it's so easy to turn a blind eye to those who have nothing when one is eating a $200 dollar five course tasting menu and getting drunk on champagne and lighting and being treated like royalty. I certainly was in some danger of forgetting, though I always returned to the real world at the end of the evening. I also told myself if I ended up with this guy, I would do some good with whatever I gained from it. But it's never really enough, is it? Giving to charity and forgetting about it? That doesn't make anyone a better person. It just eases a prickling conscience a bit, or serves as a nice tax write-off. But it also helps the amnesia along. I have respect for those people with means who actually go out into the world and do things hands on. When there are homeless people sitting outside when I'm on the way home from the Michelin star restaurant, it makes it hard to forget. And I'm not saying I have the solution to this dilemma, but I think some redistribution of wealth is probably necessary for us to live in a moral world (I can say that. I'm not running for office).
On a less extreme level, I've even noticed my friends who are making comfortable salaries of their own for the first time in their lives starting to forget. I had a friend suggest that my lifestyle was less than grown-up because I couldn't afford to do certain things - I can't splurge on Broadway tickets or trips to Hawaii. Not right now at least. A couple of years ago, this person couldn't either. Amnesia.
Finally - I really don't resent anyone for living a comfortable life, and I certainly enjoy buying things I don't need from time to time. I just think more people should be able to have the things they do need. And that it's easy to forget not only what it's like not to live that life, but that one also can get into a rut and become just a little bit dull as a result.
(I guess I have two theses here, which is not great writing, but hopefully my point was clear).
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Monday, June 17, 2013
Why I love Hiking
I really miss hiking this summer. It drives me crazy that it's not an option for me right now. It's not that I'd call myself an expert hiker or even that I go all the time, but it's something I really like to do. I've gone on hiking vacations. I'm planning to go on more in the future. But this summer, because of the stupid sprained ankle (see elsewhere on this blog), I can't just take off and go to the Palisades or Ramapo Forest for a day, let alone plan anything further away. (The ankle is mostly better, but not totally yet, and it's just not worth the risk.) So for now I'm stuck not hiking.
I never thought of myself as remotely athletic until I discovered that I liked hiking. Team sports were never my thing. In elementary school, I played softball for three years, mostly because my friends were all doing it - which is usually the worst reason to do anything, but softball is a relatively innocent pastime. I was terrible, as I was at most sports. I spent almost all of my time standing in the outfield, drawing pictures in the dirt with my shoe. So even when something occasionally did come my way, I was usually unprepared. Once, I caught a fly ball because it landed in my glove. I didn't tell anyone that I hadn't been remotely expecting it! I wasn't great at hitting the ball, either. I would hit occasionally, probably by pure accident. Once I hit it really hard. It went flying out over the field, and I went running, elated, toward first base. Halfway there, I promptly fell flat on my face into the dirt. I cried, and they let me stay on first base, though I think I was technically out. I think I was around 7 or 8 at the time. In spite of my dragging them down, my team came in first place in our little league division the first year I played, and I still have the big trophy they gave to everyone, but I assure you it was not earned on my part.
They say that playing sports is supposed to be good for girls - that it helps them build confidence and practice things like cooperation and teamwork, and healthy competition. I would say that is true for some girls. For those not naturally athletic, who actually dread participating in team sports, being part of a team can be a nightmare. My first year playing softball was OK, despite my lack of natural ability. A bunch of my friends were on the team, and no one was seriously competitive yet. I did have moments of fun sitting on the bench with my schoolmates and going to Dairy Queen for ice cream after the game, or hitting the candy stand right before. But after that, my experiences on team sports were almost entirely negative. I was *always* picked last for things in gym class. Even things I didn't necessarily suck at, like kickball. It hurt. And I think now, if I'd been signed up for extracurricular things I may have done well at, like drawing or writing or language classes, I would have gotten that confidence boost that they say playing sports gives kids, and girls especially. As it was, team sports made an already shy kid even more self-conscious. It also didn't help that my gym teacher didn't like me. But - once we were told to run and walk a bunch of laps around the gym, and though I wasn't the fastest, I was one of the only students to complete the task. It was one of the only times I remember that teacher complimenting me on anything. But I didn't know walking was a viable sport back then.
In middle school, though, something good happened. I finally overcame my fear of deep water and learned to be a half-decent swimmer. I was so excited to pass my deep water test in seventh grade. My gym teachers - two women who team-taught - didn't emphasize competition so much as developing fitness skills and learning proper techniques for whatever athletic pursuit we were trying. It's not a coincidence that I actually got good at certain things during those years. We did things like aerobics and jump-rope and climbing exercises. We learned how to stretch and breathe properly. I don't think we ever played a team sport. It was great! I still didn't love gym class, but I didn't mind it and sometimes I even enjoyed it. I even got involved in a temporary program that aimed to get girls interested in golf. I didn't especially excel at it, but it wasn't traumatizing, and I still know how to at least hold a golf club.
In high school, though, things regressed. My gym teacher was older than dirt. He had taught my dad at the same school decades before. He would have us do things that meant he didn't have to do much of anything but stand around and watch. I remember being forced to play volleyball, and classmates actually getting angry because I (admittedly) sucked at it. Fortunately, subsequent gym teachers were even less interested. My friend and I would go into the weight room and play Connect Four. Occasionally we played table tennis, which I kind of enjoyed. As long as we were doing something and stayed out of their way, we got A's. My senior year, I rather stupidly joined the team for the girl's "powder puff" football game (I can't even believe how offensive that name is, but we didn't think much about it at the time). We played one game, juniors versus seniors, during homecoming week. I probably shouldn't even count this as athletic involvement. It wasn't, really. It was a lot of running around, and once I fell during practice and got the wind completely knocked out of me. Our "coach," who was a social studies teacher, was angry when we lost and said he wasn't going to coach the following year because he didn't like losing. Nice.
So that was my life in sports for a long time. My college didn't have a phys ed requirement, and I certainly didn't miss it. But slowly, over the next couple of years, I discovered walking. I didn't think of it as a sport. It started out, probably, in just going on long walks around campus with a friend or two. The following year, when I studied in Rome, I would find myself walking around the city, semi-aimlessly, for hours and hours at a time. And then in 2001, I spent a month on an island off the west coast of Ireland. I was doing archaeological field work (looong story), but part of the program I was on involved excursions to archaeological sites around the island. So that was the first time I did real hiking. I loved it. It didn't even matter where we were headed. The fresh air, the boggy ground, occasionally getting rained on, and feeling every step in my legs at the end of the day over a pint of cider (I hadn't yet developed a taste for Guinness) - it felt good. Not to mention, the scenery was beyond breathtaking. Even so, I didn't do much more hiking after that for a few years, other than taking long walks in the park and around NYC. That changed in 2008, when I ended up going to the English Lake District for a conference. I went on some of the hiking excursions, and even took myself on a solo one, where I got lost and caught in the rain, and had a fantastic time.
Two years later, I planned one of the best trips of my life. A college friend and I hiked Scotland's West Highland Way - 96 miles over six days. It was tough, and we spent one entire day getting rained on, but by the end we felt so proud of ourselves! Since then, I've taken up hiking locally, mostly to trails I can reach by public transportation. Last summer, I scaled my first real mountain, Switzerland's Mt. Pilatus, at 7,000 feet. It's not massive as mountains go, but it felt like an accomplishment for me!
So why hiking? I like it because it's not a competition, though it is possible to set goals and strive to meet them. (And I actually do have something of a competitive nature that only comes out on occasion - but because I'm so terrible at team sports, it doesn't do well there). When I do meet a goal, it really does feel like I've done something worthwhile. My body is sore but happy. My head is clear. I get the confidence boost I never got from playing softball. It's a nice way to spend a day with a friend or two as well, if they're into it. I also love taking pictures, and so I often combine hiking and photography, though this only works when it's not raining (the Lake District killed my camera). It's also a great way to get to know new places. My memories of Switzerland, Scotland, Ireland, and the Côte d'Azur are all richer from having walked there and having dealt with the landscape for good or ill. I even feel I know NYC and the surrounding area better for having walked through it. There are moments when I'm hiking up a steep hill and I'm absolutely miserable. I ask myself why I do it. What sane person puts herself through such torment? But when I reach the summit, I know why. And I know I'll be back for more.
I never thought of myself as remotely athletic until I discovered that I liked hiking. Team sports were never my thing. In elementary school, I played softball for three years, mostly because my friends were all doing it - which is usually the worst reason to do anything, but softball is a relatively innocent pastime. I was terrible, as I was at most sports. I spent almost all of my time standing in the outfield, drawing pictures in the dirt with my shoe. So even when something occasionally did come my way, I was usually unprepared. Once, I caught a fly ball because it landed in my glove. I didn't tell anyone that I hadn't been remotely expecting it! I wasn't great at hitting the ball, either. I would hit occasionally, probably by pure accident. Once I hit it really hard. It went flying out over the field, and I went running, elated, toward first base. Halfway there, I promptly fell flat on my face into the dirt. I cried, and they let me stay on first base, though I think I was technically out. I think I was around 7 or 8 at the time. In spite of my dragging them down, my team came in first place in our little league division the first year I played, and I still have the big trophy they gave to everyone, but I assure you it was not earned on my part.
They say that playing sports is supposed to be good for girls - that it helps them build confidence and practice things like cooperation and teamwork, and healthy competition. I would say that is true for some girls. For those not naturally athletic, who actually dread participating in team sports, being part of a team can be a nightmare. My first year playing softball was OK, despite my lack of natural ability. A bunch of my friends were on the team, and no one was seriously competitive yet. I did have moments of fun sitting on the bench with my schoolmates and going to Dairy Queen for ice cream after the game, or hitting the candy stand right before. But after that, my experiences on team sports were almost entirely negative. I was *always* picked last for things in gym class. Even things I didn't necessarily suck at, like kickball. It hurt. And I think now, if I'd been signed up for extracurricular things I may have done well at, like drawing or writing or language classes, I would have gotten that confidence boost that they say playing sports gives kids, and girls especially. As it was, team sports made an already shy kid even more self-conscious. It also didn't help that my gym teacher didn't like me. But - once we were told to run and walk a bunch of laps around the gym, and though I wasn't the fastest, I was one of the only students to complete the task. It was one of the only times I remember that teacher complimenting me on anything. But I didn't know walking was a viable sport back then.
In middle school, though, something good happened. I finally overcame my fear of deep water and learned to be a half-decent swimmer. I was so excited to pass my deep water test in seventh grade. My gym teachers - two women who team-taught - didn't emphasize competition so much as developing fitness skills and learning proper techniques for whatever athletic pursuit we were trying. It's not a coincidence that I actually got good at certain things during those years. We did things like aerobics and jump-rope and climbing exercises. We learned how to stretch and breathe properly. I don't think we ever played a team sport. It was great! I still didn't love gym class, but I didn't mind it and sometimes I even enjoyed it. I even got involved in a temporary program that aimed to get girls interested in golf. I didn't especially excel at it, but it wasn't traumatizing, and I still know how to at least hold a golf club.
In high school, though, things regressed. My gym teacher was older than dirt. He had taught my dad at the same school decades before. He would have us do things that meant he didn't have to do much of anything but stand around and watch. I remember being forced to play volleyball, and classmates actually getting angry because I (admittedly) sucked at it. Fortunately, subsequent gym teachers were even less interested. My friend and I would go into the weight room and play Connect Four. Occasionally we played table tennis, which I kind of enjoyed. As long as we were doing something and stayed out of their way, we got A's. My senior year, I rather stupidly joined the team for the girl's "powder puff" football game (I can't even believe how offensive that name is, but we didn't think much about it at the time). We played one game, juniors versus seniors, during homecoming week. I probably shouldn't even count this as athletic involvement. It wasn't, really. It was a lot of running around, and once I fell during practice and got the wind completely knocked out of me. Our "coach," who was a social studies teacher, was angry when we lost and said he wasn't going to coach the following year because he didn't like losing. Nice.
So that was my life in sports for a long time. My college didn't have a phys ed requirement, and I certainly didn't miss it. But slowly, over the next couple of years, I discovered walking. I didn't think of it as a sport. It started out, probably, in just going on long walks around campus with a friend or two. The following year, when I studied in Rome, I would find myself walking around the city, semi-aimlessly, for hours and hours at a time. And then in 2001, I spent a month on an island off the west coast of Ireland. I was doing archaeological field work (looong story), but part of the program I was on involved excursions to archaeological sites around the island. So that was the first time I did real hiking. I loved it. It didn't even matter where we were headed. The fresh air, the boggy ground, occasionally getting rained on, and feeling every step in my legs at the end of the day over a pint of cider (I hadn't yet developed a taste for Guinness) - it felt good. Not to mention, the scenery was beyond breathtaking. Even so, I didn't do much more hiking after that for a few years, other than taking long walks in the park and around NYC. That changed in 2008, when I ended up going to the English Lake District for a conference. I went on some of the hiking excursions, and even took myself on a solo one, where I got lost and caught in the rain, and had a fantastic time.
Two years later, I planned one of the best trips of my life. A college friend and I hiked Scotland's West Highland Way - 96 miles over six days. It was tough, and we spent one entire day getting rained on, but by the end we felt so proud of ourselves! Since then, I've taken up hiking locally, mostly to trails I can reach by public transportation. Last summer, I scaled my first real mountain, Switzerland's Mt. Pilatus, at 7,000 feet. It's not massive as mountains go, but it felt like an accomplishment for me!
So why hiking? I like it because it's not a competition, though it is possible to set goals and strive to meet them. (And I actually do have something of a competitive nature that only comes out on occasion - but because I'm so terrible at team sports, it doesn't do well there). When I do meet a goal, it really does feel like I've done something worthwhile. My body is sore but happy. My head is clear. I get the confidence boost I never got from playing softball. It's a nice way to spend a day with a friend or two as well, if they're into it. I also love taking pictures, and so I often combine hiking and photography, though this only works when it's not raining (the Lake District killed my camera). It's also a great way to get to know new places. My memories of Switzerland, Scotland, Ireland, and the Côte d'Azur are all richer from having walked there and having dealt with the landscape for good or ill. I even feel I know NYC and the surrounding area better for having walked through it. There are moments when I'm hiking up a steep hill and I'm absolutely miserable. I ask myself why I do it. What sane person puts herself through such torment? But when I reach the summit, I know why. And I know I'll be back for more.
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