because I want to.

I wasn't quite certain if it was mid-life crisis, a bad attitude, or PMS. But I spent the last couple of months with a gnawing irritation and cynicism about Marketing, a rather unfortunate development considering my role as a marketing consultant. Creeping into my psyche was a feeling that marketing had reached new levels of perversion, manipulating the unsuspecting minds of a population that has been through quite enough, thank you. I couldn't watch a commercial without visualizing the behind-the-glass banter of the focus groups. I started to see innocent consumers as the mice that we marketers experiment with, seeing which cheese would compel the mouse of interest to find its way through the maze. And frankly, I was feeling a little dirty about it all.

Typically when I am bothered by something, I just need some time to identify exactly what is causing the heartburn. If I can articulate it, even if the situation itself has not changed, I feel differently toward it. So I let the feeling simmer a while until its source decides to willingly emerge. The revelation of root cause has historically come at the oddest moments, and this one was no different. I had to run at night, in a downpour, with a barefoot guy, in order to understand my newly loathsome view of Marketing.

Enter Chris McDougall. He wrote a book called Born to Run, which I admittedly still haven't read. But we discussed his theory at length, one he developed while living with a primitive tribe in Mexico, on a quest to better understand runner injuries. In a nutshell, he believes that humans are born and built to run. That running was, in early times, not only a survival imperative (hunting), it was a source of freedom and enjoyment (if you watch children at play you will understand). At some point in our "evolution" (sarcastic quotations) we manufactured and perpetuated a "proper running form" (which is actually improper), built a cottage-industry of experts, generated an unimaginable volume of supposedly skill-enhancing products, and a mentality that distance running is physiologically selective and inherently causes suffering. If you set aside all of these man-made (and dare I say Capitalist) beliefs, you realize that running is non-discriminating, quite liberating, that we naturally know how to do it, and that the traditional shoe technology may be doing more biomechanical harm than good.

So where is the ah-ha moment, you ask.

Well, being a person who likes to be properly equipped for my sporting hobbies, and after hearing Chris start a thousand sentences with "You don't really need...", I looked down at my gear and realized that I had spent a fair amount of money on things that I had Wanted, but was able to justify those purchases as Need. To be clear, I didn't regret the purchases. I was just feeling gullible and embarrassed by the fact that Marketing had successfully coached me on what to tell myself.

This means two things: 1) that at some point in our recent past, it became socially wrong to "Want". When was the last time you said "I want..." without feeling a twinge of guilt? And 2) that marketers have realized a purchase is much more likely if you can convince someone that they Need it instead. That Wanting is emotional and Needing is rational. That want-driven, emotional expenditures are irresponsible, so any need-based, rational arguments should be pulled to the forefront of communication.

This was indeed the hidden source of my irritation, because it feels deliberate and devious. Knowing that consumers of all socio-economic strata are reprioritizing expenditures, paring back on or foregoing purchases, many more Marketers are taking Want products and repositioning them as Need products. (Froot Loops will boost your immunity and help protect you against N1H1?) Don't even get me started on the fear marketing. That is another blog entry entirely.

So I say, why not be honest and call it what it is? What is so fundamentally wrong with Wanting?

My first instinct is to suggest that Want in the US culture is strongly associated with over-indulgence. "I really want ice cream right now" conjures the image of a couch, and a large spoon scraping the sides of an already-devoured quart. "I want a nice house" takes one mentally to McMansion-like images. "I want larger breasts"...well, you get the picture. My guess is that Wanting, in some other cultures, may be more naturally related to simple pleasures and modest indulgences. Not at all shameful.

In consideration of this Want vs Need dilemma, it occurred to me also that, in my personal relationships, I have always tried to achieve Want over Need. To me, Want in a relationship is healthier than Need. "I want to be with him" as opposed to "I need to be with him" (and visa versa, to be wanted is perhaps a greater compliment). I equate Want in this context with Choice, and Need to be a tragic absence thereof.

So my challenge as a marketer (yes, I stopped looking at massage therapy schools and careers at Barnes & Noble)...as a Marketer, the task is twofold:

1) I feel newly obligated to examine the truth of the product and of the brand in this context, and to leverage the beautiful honesty of the purpose and role they play in the consumer's life.

2) I want to closely observe this notion of Want in the US culture and especially how it evolves through economic change. I believe there is nothing wrong with wanting, it's all about the images it conjures.

My challenge on a personal level is to live without any of the products that pissed me off with their advertising.

The Art of Floating.

I recently returned from a lake vacation. There was no cell phone coverage, no internet access, no Netflix, and no work to be done. There was only the peacefulness of the lake and the company of friends to be savored.

A favorite passtime during getaways at the lake is "going for a float". It is the simple joy of suspending yourself in the water by some preferred means, drink in hand if you so choose (or weather requires), and talking about nothing. Or everything. Or not talking at all (recommended during Dusk Float). While The Float can be a social activity (or rather inactivity), it is also a very personal pursuit, and each participant respects the individual needs of his fellow floaters. If you happen to be a Lone Floater, you need only to make sure your mental meanderings don't put you physically adrift, i.e. into shallow muck or boat traffic. And for the love of god tie yourself to the dock if you have a drinking problem.

There are only three Rules of Float Etiquette that currently come to mind:

1) if you leave the water and reenter, it is considered discourtious to cannonball back into the mix

2) be careful not to spill, drink dry, or contaminate your Fellow Floaters' beverage. In the event one of these emergencies should occur, it is your responsibility to get out and replace it (see Rule #1).

3) ALWAYS paddle away when you feel the need to relieve yourself. Warm currents should not be suspect.

The actual methods of achieving Ultimate Bouyancy are varied. Some people are just 'noodle people'. They can't get enough of the styrofoam wraparound and demonstrate their playful inventiveness by entertwining noodles and bodyparts. (Male tip: using the noodle as a light saber in an imaginary swordfight on the dock will not make you more attractive to women.) Some people prefer the 'lifejacket diaper', that is, putting a lifejacket on upside down, legs through the armholes, and sitting on it. (Sub-Rule #3.1 - try not to relieve yourself directly on a borrowed lifejacket). Some people use their own god-given girth, flip onto their backs, and stare at the sky. There are the beloved Water Wings, which, unless you are Kelly Ripa, present unfortunate weight limit and armhole size constraints (I've tested this). Finally, there is the 'ski belt', circa 1970, which looks like an actual spare tire. This is the recommended method if you have enough foresight and self-awareness to know you will be getting in and out of the water frequently to reload the beer koozie. Speaking of which, it may in fact be possible to string together your entire koozie collection and make a custom version of the 1970s ski belt. (Liability note: Please do not test this theory if you are unable to swim.)

Today I was reflecting on the vacation and realized that, out of six days of floating, I only used a floatation device once. When it was time to go into the water, I mostly chose to kick around. If you have ever tried it, you know that it is exhausting to hover in the water for an extended period, trying to stay in place and hold a conversation. Hence the obvious preference to find some object to do the work for you so that you can relax and enjoy. Maybe I just thought I would take the opportunity to get some exercise in the midst of the lazy vacation. Maybe I wanted to make it all more challenging. Maybe I wasn't feeling particularly social and needed to be on the move? I honestly don't know the reason.

Purposeful refusal of a floatation device seems in hindsight like classic stupidity. There are plenty of times in life when no floatation is available, so why, when the options are plentiful, would one say No?

In fact, I may have gotten the whole question wrong.

Instead of asking myself "do I want a life preserver or not?", I should have been asking myself "what exactly preserves my life?". In other words, what is it in life that keeps me afloat, keeps me relaxed, engaged in conversation or my own thoughts, and feeling refreshed instead of tired? In this context, I think it is still accurate to say that every person is different in what they choose for bouyancy. Everyone has something in life that they cling to which keeps their head above water. Something that so naturally jives with their specific makeup, it allows them to just be and enjoy without unnecessarily expending so much energy.

The fact that I was out there kicking around, worn out, getting the occasional noseful of lakewater, thinking it will be good for me, is, well, telling.

I am going to spend some time this month thinking about my Ultimate Bouyancy, what I would draw into my core to allow me to be joyously suspended in life, so that I can more effortlessly commune with my surroundings.

Postscript

A privileged (ha ha) handful of you receive my blog posts in email format. If you would rather not to have my mindless drizzle clutter your Inbox, and prefer to visit the blog at your leisure, the link is:

http://chumleysworld.blogspot.com/

Just send me a note saying "take me off your distribution". Trust me, I won't be offended.

Lori

July 4th Resolutions

Independence of thought,
Independence from mind,
The strength to leave others
Opinions behind.

Independence from past,
Bitterness and grudge,
I need grace to forgive,
Accept and not judge.

Indepedence of movement,
And freedom to roam,
The gumption to leave
The comfort of home.

Independence that comes
With a confident smile,
A posture to envy,

A forthright style.

Independence from slant,

A voice with some reach,

Courage to leverage my

Freedom of speech.

Independence to worship

The god that I choose,

and the diligence to show

Daily gratitude.

I will work hard to realize

These things that I vow.
(Why wait til the New Year
It's Independence Day now.)

the stroke.

I don't know at what age children learn the conceptual difference between 'rough' and 'gentle'. I think perhaps Chumley would argue that we are not quite there yet.

My favorite time of day is Oliver's bedtime, which begins around 5:30. The routine is dinner, bath, jammies, milk, and then we snuggle in together. I hold him until he falls asleep, which is entirely because I want to. If I were to just put Oliver in his crib and say goodnight, he would stand up and cry in protest, but within ten minutes he would be on his knees, facedown and asleep. (In yoga this is called 'child's pose', and the first time I saw him sleep like this, I did the ole "ahhh, that's why...".) No, I lay with him for purely selfish reasons. I get to make him giggle. I get to stare at his face up close. I get to hold his warm, dinosaur-clad body and smell his freshly-bathed skin. I get to witness his progression from awake, to drowsy, to trying-to-stay-awake, to...asleep. Then I stare at him some more.

Once we are curled up together, I press Play on a very relaxing bedtime CD. Chumley is always the first to succumb, and I know this because he rolls onto his side, often with one leg in the air, farts, and then snores like he's just had twelve shots of Jaeger and a cigar. Oliver gets heavier as he relaxes into me, and I feel myself melt into the mattress. I lay nose to nose with Oliver, eyes closed, listening to him suck his pacifier and feeling his little exhales.

Then 'Whack! Whack! Whack!', a very sobering, rapid-succession, open-handed, smacking against my cheek. (Recall that, embedded in the routine, there is a 'trying-to-stay-awake' part.) Sometimes it's a close-fisted pounding on my chestbone like a CPR resuscitation attempt. Sometimes it's a tiny finger jammed up my nostril in surprise fashion. And sometimes it's an orangutan foot that grazes across my face and plants it's toes deep inside my bottom lip. On a bad day I get all of these painful maneuvers in multiple.

Did I mention my son is big for his age?

Given that bedtime bonding is a contact sport at my house, I've begun to use the tactic I employ when Oliver is playing with Chumley: I take Oliver's hand in mine, and I stroke Chumley gently while repeating "aaah-ooh-aaaah, Chumley, aaah-ooh-aaah". Even though Chumley is tolerant of the abuse (perhaps his, uh, "stature" makes him immune), I want Oliver to understand the proper, loving way to pet an animal. So during the bedtime snuggle, I take Oliver's hand in mine, stroke my face, and say "aaah-ooh-aaah, mommy, aaah-ooh-aaaah".

Tonight when I was putting Oliver to sleep, we did our usual giggling in the dark, he did a "honk honk" on my nose, popped his pacifier in, and reached for my hair. I braced for the impending yank. Instead, he brushed my hair out of my face. Then he started to stroke my face very gently. My 15-month old was running the tips of his fingers very softly from my eyelids to my chin and back again. My eyes welled with tears. I felt the most powerful love for him, so proud of him that he was able to demonstrate such gentleness. It was one of those moments that makes you forget the rest of the world exists.

For me this was a lesson in contrasts. That we unfortunately only truly feel the immense power of something beautiful because we have also experienced the ugly. It is why when I exit the 405, irritated and angry, and turn the corner to see the sun setting on the ocean, I am immediately transported. Why the cleanliness of the air in the Pacific Northwest is burned in my olfactory memory. Why the gentleness of a handstroke is like the caressing of your heart. The next time I am in the midst of something tragic or frustrating or sad, I will remind myself that the loveliness of life will only be more pronounced as a result.

Friends. The New Status.

When I was young, I looked enviously upon my sister's group of girlfriends. They were a tight group of five with very different personalities and talents. I suspect what bonded them was an ability to laugh at themselves as well as a mutual appreciation for what each brought to this unique constellation. They rallied like mama bears when one of the pack had a broken heart, they shared details of all the requisite "firsts", and, not surprisingly, they are still the closest of friends. Despite geographic distance, they've embraced each other through bachelorette parties, divorces, children, lack of children, job dilemmas, and life successes. Somehow, even at a very young age, I knew that this closeness of friendship was something special to behold.

I, on the other hand, tended to have friends in many different groups. I had cheerleader friends, stoner friends, goth friends, nerdy friends, and jock friends. Unfortunately these friends never convened under one roof, so I floated between my eclectic circle, spending a little time with each, nurturing deep acquaintences as opposed to everlasting friendships. I cannot remember ever having had an enduring "best friend", and to this day, even with many wonderful people in my life, this level of friendship still eludes me.

Which brings me to the point of all this.

I am the first to say that I love social networking, because I am a lazy communicator. I am admittedly quite bad at keeping in touch. (If you are reading this blog, you know me well enough to confirm this.) Sites like LinkedIn and Facebook allow me to easily keep track of people I care about and visa versa. But lately I have been seeing people with, very literally, THOUSANDS of friends. Really? Friends? I currently have 665 people in my Outlook Contacts and I can probably delete about 95% of them because they are distant and outdated contacts from three jobs ago. (That reminds me, I need to do that.) So if I have 665 people in my contacts, and only about 65 of them are "valid", how is it that some people have thousands of supposedly valid "friends"?

If it used to be aspirational to have a handful of eternal friendships in your life, have we (d)-evolved as a society to the point where a competitive volume of 'contacts' is the New Black? Is it now how many you know (or more importantly, know you) that makes you feel on top of your game? Do people click on the "Add As Friend" button, do the arm pump, and make the 'cha-ching' sound?

This seems to be an order of magnitude beyond having a broad collection of good acquaintences, as my life has been, and is about forming a cadre of strangers linked by some random thread. I believe in my heart that having a close-knit posse, like my sister has, must be infinitely more fulfilling than a mere group of solid acquaintences. So the Facebook Trajectory of Friendship would suggest that, beyond the ill-placed pride of a thousand connections, there can really be no true emotional fulfillment at all. So then why is this happening?

Perhaps in the flailing economy, the deflation of confidence and egos, and the lack-luster of luxury items, we are reverting to non-monetary means of showing our status (to others and to ourselves). We feel that our large network somehow makes us an "influencer". We fanticize that all of these people on our long list of Connections log on daily just to see what we are doing or thinking right at this very moment. Yes, we are indeed that important. That interesting. Meanwhile, back in the real world, half the people on our list may not even remember who we are despite that fabulous headshot (or cool party shot) that is posted by our name and profile.

When I was in Russia in the early 90's, I spent most of my time sitting around the kitchen table with people, drinking tea and talking. Sometimes there were just two of us, sometimes eight, squeezed in around the warm pot of water. We talked about everything. I remember thinking about how, when economies are bad and people are struggling, there is a coming together, a certain solidarity, an increased intimacy in the conversation, and a deeper bond that forms among people. So my hope is that what I see on the social networking sites is just a fad of fun distraction from real life, and is not a social trend pointing to the devaluation of true friendship. Russia is looking pretty good right now.

I may be almost 40, but I haven't given up hope that I will someday find my close tribe.

What Defines You.

We have to be careful about what we use to define ourselves.

I used to define myself by work, and more specifically, output. With every crisis averted, problem solved, project completed, and to-do-list item checked off, my self-confidence rose. I was a "get shit done" person.

Then I had a baby.

All of a sudden my high-productivity-self could barely get showered or turn on the dishwasher. A very troubling development and a crushing blow to my sense of self worth. I don't know why "Keep Baby Alive" didn't seem like a large enough item on the to-do-list. In hindsight I really should have been satisfied, proud even, to achieve that on a daily basis, showered or not.

It has taken me an entire year to overcome an obsession with output, and evolve what it is that defines me. A YEAR. Do you realize how much self-flogging can take place in a year? Plenty.

I thankfully emerged with a sense that my greatest skills are to Love and to Understand. I feel things very deeply, and recognize that as a gift. Anyone can get shit done, but how I use my ability to Love and Understand will be what makes a difference in my life and those around me.

My enlightened perspective looks something like this.

• In order to understand deeply, you have to observe. In order to observe, you have to sit still and keep your eyes open. In order to sit still, you have to be willing to do so.
• Big problems are generally not solveable in one go. They may require some trial and error. Making progress is an iterative process that takes patience. Patience requires you to be gentle with others and also with yourself.
• Understanding is a lonesome trait without its partner Discovery. The most satisfying moments are those in which you grasp something new, and see the world more clearly as a result.
• The important things do not have an "end" and cannot be marked as "completed". Things that do, should not cause you to lose sleep. They still have to get done, but recognize them for what they are, and try not to invest emotionally.

So now you understand why you didn't get a photo Christmas card last year. Oh, I have them. Two whole boxes. I even considered drawing bunny ears on us and wishing you a very Merry Easter, but that didn't happen either. Oh well. My kid is thriving and I am clean.