One of my friends is grieving. She's going through a major loss, and although she is very guarded with her emotions, I can see that she is hurting deeply. I wish there were something I could do to take the pain away, but as is usually the case, all I can offer is a sympathetic ear, words of compassion, and an endless supply of hugs. Nothing, and everything.
I hate when people suffer. I've dedicated my working life to doing what I can to minimize suffering, and I try in all my interactions with people to be kind. To not add anything further to the burdens that people already carry. So when I see people acting cruelly, I am overwhelmed by the question "why?". Why do billionaires underpay their employees and not allow them bathroom breaks? Why do teenagers beat up homeless people? Why do jerks go onto Twitter and attack perfectly wonderful personal finance bloggers about their decisions to buy new cars?
Is it just a failure of empathy? A failure to see the humanity of the other person and give a shit about what they're going through? And, if it is, how do people get so broken that they don't care about the pain they cause others?
Showing posts with label My (Usually Unsuccessful) Attempts to be Profound. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My (Usually Unsuccessful) Attempts to be Profound. Show all posts
Friday, February 1, 2019
Thursday, June 14, 2018
Rich People Can Be Sad
When I opened Facebook last Friday morning, the status of one of my friends read "Don't turn on CNN".
In the comment below, it said "Dear God, not Anthony Bourdain."
Dear God, indeed. I am not usually one to get upset about the death of a celebrity, as I'm practical and recognize that there are vastly more important things to worry about right now, but I fucking loved Anthony Bourdain. He was sexy and unapologetic and smart and absolutely obsessed with food. He was the stereotypical entitled white male, and I should have hated him based on my usual patterns, but I didn't. Because although he was rich and had every door in the world open to him, he was also kind. He treated the guests on his show, and the food they served him, with respect. It's possible that he was a total jerk in real life, but his public persona was good.
He also responded to me on Twitter.
I recently called him out for his lack of female representation on The Layover, and he responded with a "Yep". It was the absolute minimum he could have done to acknowledge me, but I was still gleeful about receiving a response from The. Anthony. Bourdain.
And now he's gone.
Within minutes of the news that he had killed himself, people were starting to speculate about the whys of it. And of course, there were people who said things like "What did he have to be depressed about? He had so much money."
Which....seriously?
Don't get me wrong. We all know that there are some very good things about money, starting from its ability to provide us with necessities (food, clothing, shelter) and extending to its ability to fly us to France for fancy pastries. Water is also wet. But while some amount of money is necessary for happiness, no amount of it is enough to buy happiness.
It doesn't fix loneliness.
Or broken brain chemistry.
Or a traumatic past.
It doesn't create love.
Or community.
Or a life purpose.
I have had no money and I have had lots of money in my life, and while I definitely prefer the latter, I also know that money doesn't protect me from being sad.
And we need to stop thinking that it does.
Because even rich people like Anthony Bourdain deserve to be cared for when they're depressed. They deserve forgiveness and understanding for not being able to stay in this often hostile world.
I forgive and understand you Tony. And I will miss the heck out of you.
In the comment below, it said "Dear God, not Anthony Bourdain."
Dear God, indeed. I am not usually one to get upset about the death of a celebrity, as I'm practical and recognize that there are vastly more important things to worry about right now, but I fucking loved Anthony Bourdain. He was sexy and unapologetic and smart and absolutely obsessed with food. He was the stereotypical entitled white male, and I should have hated him based on my usual patterns, but I didn't. Because although he was rich and had every door in the world open to him, he was also kind. He treated the guests on his show, and the food they served him, with respect. It's possible that he was a total jerk in real life, but his public persona was good.
He also responded to me on Twitter.
I recently called him out for his lack of female representation on The Layover, and he responded with a "Yep". It was the absolute minimum he could have done to acknowledge me, but I was still gleeful about receiving a response from The. Anthony. Bourdain.
And now he's gone.
Within minutes of the news that he had killed himself, people were starting to speculate about the whys of it. And of course, there were people who said things like "What did he have to be depressed about? He had so much money."
Which....seriously?
Don't get me wrong. We all know that there are some very good things about money, starting from its ability to provide us with necessities (food, clothing, shelter) and extending to its ability to fly us to France for fancy pastries. Water is also wet. But while some amount of money is necessary for happiness, no amount of it is enough to buy happiness.
It doesn't fix loneliness.
Or broken brain chemistry.
Or a traumatic past.
It doesn't create love.
Or community.
Or a life purpose.
I have had no money and I have had lots of money in my life, and while I definitely prefer the latter, I also know that money doesn't protect me from being sad.
And we need to stop thinking that it does.
Because even rich people like Anthony Bourdain deserve to be cared for when they're depressed. They deserve forgiveness and understanding for not being able to stay in this often hostile world.
I forgive and understand you Tony. And I will miss the heck out of you.
Friday, February 2, 2018
How Do We Talk About Money When We're Rich?
I've noticed something interesting about language in the personal finance community. A lot of the bloggers who have been financially successful have gotten there as a result of being some degree of frugal (from Frugalwoods extreme to Physician on Fire more relative frugality), and as result, even when people have a lot of money, they don't necessarily think of themselves as being rich. Instead, the term "financially independent" is often used to describe net worths that many people would consider enough to make someone "rich".
Does it matter? Is there any difference between describing yourself as financially independent versus rich?
From a totally self-absorbed perspective, I think it does. Even though I am way far away from the net worth of Physician on Fire, I have recently started thinking of myself as rich. I am earning six times the median household income for my city, I'm increasing my net worth at a delightfully high rate, and I can afford to buy pretty much anything that I could possibly want. I am very financially lucky, and I will hopefully continue to be this lucky until I retire at some to-be-determined date in the future. This, to a person who spent all of her life until recently at the lower end of the middle class, is rich.
And for me, there's value in calling myself rich. It helps me control my financial anxiety by reminding myself that I am actually doing really well, even though the part of me that craves security always wants my net worth to be higher. It reminds me to be grateful for what I have, because this level of earning and financial security is not ordinary. It also makes me mindful to not be a jerk to my friends who are not as financially well off, and to invite them over for dinner instead of out to eat at an expensive restaurant.
Personally, I also believe that being rich carries with it some obligations to society. People who are rich have a disproportionate amount of power in society, and I believe we are morally obligated to use some of that power to help shift society towards greater equity. That might mean voting for progressive tax laws that favour lower income earners, even if it costs you directly (i.e. doing the exact opposite of what the POS Republican tax bill just did). Maybe it's advocating for a $15 minimum wage so that people who work full-time can at least come close to supporting themselves and their families with a single job. Maybe it's giving some of your wealth to charities that help marginalized people and strengthen the communities they live in.
When we don't call ourselves rich, it's easy to ignore these obligations. It's easy for someone with a $2 million net worth to say "I'm just an ordinary guy trying to live frugally" while leaving a shitty tip for his underpaid server. But if we acknowledge our own wealth, it at least gets us closer to recognizing that the server needs (and deserves) that money a lot more than we do. And maybe acknowledging our own abundance makes us a little bit more likely to share it with others.
Thoughts?
Does it matter? Is there any difference between describing yourself as financially independent versus rich?
From a totally self-absorbed perspective, I think it does. Even though I am way far away from the net worth of Physician on Fire, I have recently started thinking of myself as rich. I am earning six times the median household income for my city, I'm increasing my net worth at a delightfully high rate, and I can afford to buy pretty much anything that I could possibly want. I am very financially lucky, and I will hopefully continue to be this lucky until I retire at some to-be-determined date in the future. This, to a person who spent all of her life until recently at the lower end of the middle class, is rich.
And for me, there's value in calling myself rich. It helps me control my financial anxiety by reminding myself that I am actually doing really well, even though the part of me that craves security always wants my net worth to be higher. It reminds me to be grateful for what I have, because this level of earning and financial security is not ordinary. It also makes me mindful to not be a jerk to my friends who are not as financially well off, and to invite them over for dinner instead of out to eat at an expensive restaurant.
Personally, I also believe that being rich carries with it some obligations to society. People who are rich have a disproportionate amount of power in society, and I believe we are morally obligated to use some of that power to help shift society towards greater equity. That might mean voting for progressive tax laws that favour lower income earners, even if it costs you directly (i.e. doing the exact opposite of what the POS Republican tax bill just did). Maybe it's advocating for a $15 minimum wage so that people who work full-time can at least come close to supporting themselves and their families with a single job. Maybe it's giving some of your wealth to charities that help marginalized people and strengthen the communities they live in.
When we don't call ourselves rich, it's easy to ignore these obligations. It's easy for someone with a $2 million net worth to say "I'm just an ordinary guy trying to live frugally" while leaving a shitty tip for his underpaid server. But if we acknowledge our own wealth, it at least gets us closer to recognizing that the server needs (and deserves) that money a lot more than we do. And maybe acknowledging our own abundance makes us a little bit more likely to share it with others.
Thoughts?
Tuesday, January 16, 2018
Life as a Highly Sensitive Physician - Part One
A little over a year ago, I stumbled across an article about highly sensitive people. I had never heard the term before, but as I read the article, it resonated very strongly.
Feel more deeply?
Emotionally reactive?
Take longer to make decisions?
Detail oriented?
Cry more easily?
That's me! After reading the article, I went on to do a self quiz, and the answer that came back was basically "You fit this profile so perfectly, why did you even need to take the quiz?"
So yeah. I'm a highly sensitive person. Meaning that I tend to respond very emotionally to things, that I am very sensitive to criticism, and that I can get overwhelmed easily. These were all things that I knew before reading the article (and the subsequent articles/blogs/books on the subject that I have read), but the concept of a highly sensitive person was helpful to me for the way that it presented my individual traits as something bigger, some complete personality type that described me shockingly well.
It also helped me by explaining why some aspects of work were much harder for me than for other people. All through medical training (and into my first years of practice), I would look at the high achievers around me and wonder how it was that they were able to accomplish so much more than I did. How could they work a long day and then come home and raise a family and do research projects? And without hating their lives?
Identifying myself as an HSP has helped me to realize that things exhaust me more than they do other people. I engage deeply with everything I do, and so I use up a lot of energy doing my work. One challenging conversation can deplete a lot of my emotional reserves, so when I have a day with multiple tough patients, it isn't surprising that I have no energy for anything else in the evening. I'm simply done.
This happened to me last week, when I had to tell a long-term patient that he was dying. That interaction was difficult enough, but then it was followed by a number of really tough disclosures about personal trauma from other patients. I did everything I could to be present for my patients and to help them get the resources they needed, but by the end of the day I had nothing left. I spent my evening on my couch binge-watching Top Chef and eating leftovers from the fridge, physically and mentally unable to do anything else.
When I tell stories like this to some of my colleagues, they look at me like I'm crazy. It's not that they're not empathetic or that they don't care about their patients*, it's just that they don't personalize things in the way that I do. They can detach from their patients and move on quickly, whereas I struggle to not be too deeply affected by my patients' stories.
But it's something I'm working on. I have zero desire to burn out early, so I'm constantly looking for ways to do my work well without giving so much of myself.
Which will be a subject for a future post, because for the moment it's time to read a book and recharge for work tomorrow.
*Well....for some of them it is.
Feel more deeply?
Emotionally reactive?
Take longer to make decisions?
Detail oriented?
Cry more easily?
That's me! After reading the article, I went on to do a self quiz, and the answer that came back was basically "You fit this profile so perfectly, why did you even need to take the quiz?"
So yeah. I'm a highly sensitive person. Meaning that I tend to respond very emotionally to things, that I am very sensitive to criticism, and that I can get overwhelmed easily. These were all things that I knew before reading the article (and the subsequent articles/blogs/books on the subject that I have read), but the concept of a highly sensitive person was helpful to me for the way that it presented my individual traits as something bigger, some complete personality type that described me shockingly well.
It also helped me by explaining why some aspects of work were much harder for me than for other people. All through medical training (and into my first years of practice), I would look at the high achievers around me and wonder how it was that they were able to accomplish so much more than I did. How could they work a long day and then come home and raise a family and do research projects? And without hating their lives?
Identifying myself as an HSP has helped me to realize that things exhaust me more than they do other people. I engage deeply with everything I do, and so I use up a lot of energy doing my work. One challenging conversation can deplete a lot of my emotional reserves, so when I have a day with multiple tough patients, it isn't surprising that I have no energy for anything else in the evening. I'm simply done.
This happened to me last week, when I had to tell a long-term patient that he was dying. That interaction was difficult enough, but then it was followed by a number of really tough disclosures about personal trauma from other patients. I did everything I could to be present for my patients and to help them get the resources they needed, but by the end of the day I had nothing left. I spent my evening on my couch binge-watching Top Chef and eating leftovers from the fridge, physically and mentally unable to do anything else.
When I tell stories like this to some of my colleagues, they look at me like I'm crazy. It's not that they're not empathetic or that they don't care about their patients*, it's just that they don't personalize things in the way that I do. They can detach from their patients and move on quickly, whereas I struggle to not be too deeply affected by my patients' stories.
But it's something I'm working on. I have zero desire to burn out early, so I'm constantly looking for ways to do my work well without giving so much of myself.
Which will be a subject for a future post, because for the moment it's time to read a book and recharge for work tomorrow.
*Well....for some of them it is.
Friday, January 12, 2018
Do I Need to Make Resolutions?
Since the end of 2017, I've been thinking a lot about writing a resolutions post. I've been reading everyone else's posts, in which they talk about their goals of saving X dollars or losing Y pounds, and I've been thinking I should do that too. But as I read these posts and think about writing my own, I find myself paralyzed by the fact that I have no idea what to resolve.
My challenge with resolutions is twofold. First, I am not a person to make a resolution for the sake of doing so. If I commit to doing something, it has to be because I believe that doing so is going to make me happier or is somehow going to make me a better person/make the world a better place. Second, I am really, really bad at keeping resolutions. Like my recurrent resolution to exercise. A look at my last post about exercise shows that it starts with a paragraph bemoaning my failures:
"Oh exercise, how I struggle with you. With just a quick look through the blog, it's easy to find multiple posts in which I'm either committing to exercising more or lamenting the fact that I've failed at exercising more (see here, here, here, here, and here for just a few examples). It's not a habit that comes easily to me."
I worry that committing to anything, especially exercise, will inevitably lead to me writing a follow up post in a month or two talking about how miserably I've failed at my commitment. Which makes me ask the question, why do I feel like I need to write a resolution post?
While part of this feeling is just the feeling that I should be doing what everyone else is doing, I think another part of it is a desire to create some sort of...shape in my life. I feel like I'm in a phase in life in which I go to work, pay off debt, save for retirement, learn a few more words of French, and keep repeating ad nauseam. I'm 7-10 years away from hitting FIRE, and I will likely keep working even when I reach FIRE, so this is not going to be a short phase. There is an incredible monotony to this stage, and I wonder if I could somehow break up the monotony with a resolution. 2018 will be the year that I become a true minimalist/ban all shopping/run a marathon...something other than just the year in which I keep going to work every day and slowly trudge forward with life.
Hmmm. This post is turning out much darker than I had expected. Maybe because I'm alone on a Friday night and it's -26C outside and I drank a glass of Malbec before I started writing? Maybe because I got word that a longtime patient of mine died yesterday, and I can't quite believe that he's gone, so the sadness that I haven't yet allowed myself to feel is coming out in other ways?
There is part of me that is longing desperately for a solution to this. To be able to say that I am going to do X in 2018 and everything is going to be perfect. But maybe life doesn't work that way. Maybe it's harder than we all like to pretend it is, and we can't solve everything with a resolutions post.
My challenge with resolutions is twofold. First, I am not a person to make a resolution for the sake of doing so. If I commit to doing something, it has to be because I believe that doing so is going to make me happier or is somehow going to make me a better person/make the world a better place. Second, I am really, really bad at keeping resolutions. Like my recurrent resolution to exercise. A look at my last post about exercise shows that it starts with a paragraph bemoaning my failures:
"Oh exercise, how I struggle with you. With just a quick look through the blog, it's easy to find multiple posts in which I'm either committing to exercising more or lamenting the fact that I've failed at exercising more (see here, here, here, here, and here for just a few examples). It's not a habit that comes easily to me."
I worry that committing to anything, especially exercise, will inevitably lead to me writing a follow up post in a month or two talking about how miserably I've failed at my commitment. Which makes me ask the question, why do I feel like I need to write a resolution post?
While part of this feeling is just the feeling that I should be doing what everyone else is doing, I think another part of it is a desire to create some sort of...shape in my life. I feel like I'm in a phase in life in which I go to work, pay off debt, save for retirement, learn a few more words of French, and keep repeating ad nauseam. I'm 7-10 years away from hitting FIRE, and I will likely keep working even when I reach FIRE, so this is not going to be a short phase. There is an incredible monotony to this stage, and I wonder if I could somehow break up the monotony with a resolution. 2018 will be the year that I become a true minimalist/ban all shopping/run a marathon...something other than just the year in which I keep going to work every day and slowly trudge forward with life.
Hmmm. This post is turning out much darker than I had expected. Maybe because I'm alone on a Friday night and it's -26C outside and I drank a glass of Malbec before I started writing? Maybe because I got word that a longtime patient of mine died yesterday, and I can't quite believe that he's gone, so the sadness that I haven't yet allowed myself to feel is coming out in other ways?
There is part of me that is longing desperately for a solution to this. To be able to say that I am going to do X in 2018 and everything is going to be perfect. But maybe life doesn't work that way. Maybe it's harder than we all like to pretend it is, and we can't solve everything with a resolutions post.
Wednesday, November 29, 2017
More Spoiler Alerts now that I have Watched the First Season of Stranger Things
So in the last episode of Season One of Stranger Things, there is a scene in which the Chief of Police has a flashback to the death of his daughter. She is clearly dying of cancer, and the medical team is running a resuscitation code to try to "bring her back".
Why? Why on earth would any physician run a code on someone with a terminal cancer?
One could argue that it's just television, but my understanding of the US medical system is that it isn't uncommon for people with terminal cancers to have CPR performed on them, to be intubated, and to be admitted to the ICU. Which isn't at all the way things are practiced at the institutions where I trained. Generally, when someone has a clearly terminal illness, the medical team will try to talk with the patient and his/her family to get them to choose a do not resuscitate order. Sometimes the ICU will even refuse to take terminally ill patients.
Which to me seems to be the ethically right decision. CPR is a horribly violent thing to put someone through, and few patients survive it to go on to have a meaningful quality of life. For myself personally, I would only want resuscitation attempted if there was a reasonable chance of me recovering and surviving long-term. If I had a terminal illness* and my heart stopped, I would want to be allowed to die without intervention.
And I don't think this is just my personal preference. In my experience, most patients choose a DNR order when they are properly informed about what an attempted resuscitation entails and how low the survival rates are. A refusal to accept a DNR is generally a result of poor communication from the medical team.
Thoughts? For people in the medical profession, what have you seen in your institution(s)?
*God forbid, knock on wood, throw salt over my shoulder, etc.
Why? Why on earth would any physician run a code on someone with a terminal cancer?
One could argue that it's just television, but my understanding of the US medical system is that it isn't uncommon for people with terminal cancers to have CPR performed on them, to be intubated, and to be admitted to the ICU. Which isn't at all the way things are practiced at the institutions where I trained. Generally, when someone has a clearly terminal illness, the medical team will try to talk with the patient and his/her family to get them to choose a do not resuscitate order. Sometimes the ICU will even refuse to take terminally ill patients.
Which to me seems to be the ethically right decision. CPR is a horribly violent thing to put someone through, and few patients survive it to go on to have a meaningful quality of life. For myself personally, I would only want resuscitation attempted if there was a reasonable chance of me recovering and surviving long-term. If I had a terminal illness* and my heart stopped, I would want to be allowed to die without intervention.
And I don't think this is just my personal preference. In my experience, most patients choose a DNR order when they are properly informed about what an attempted resuscitation entails and how low the survival rates are. A refusal to accept a DNR is generally a result of poor communication from the medical team.
Thoughts? For people in the medical profession, what have you seen in your institution(s)?
*God forbid, knock on wood, throw salt over my shoulder, etc.
Thursday, November 23, 2017
17 Things I'm Thankful For
Happy American Thanksgiving everyone!
Here in Canada, we're working and eating zero turkey. So I'm in no way thankful for that. But I thought I'd do a cheesy post in honour of the American holiday that I'm not celebrating. Because it's NaBloPoMo, and I will take ideas for posts anywhere I can find them.
This year, I'm thankful for:
1. The approaching weekend and the ability to sleep in.
2. Friends who have babies, so that I can cuddle them and give them back.
3. Taking myself out to dinner at a really tasty Ethiopian restaurant. For $13. With leftovers.
4. My best friends, Ben and Jerry, with whom I'll be spending some time after I finish this post.
5. My two hairy beasts, who think the best thing is cuddling with me on the couch.
6. Taking a six-month hiatus from dating, thus postponing the horror of online dating sites.
7. My almost clutter-free apartment.
8. The fact that my mother is usually not as annoying as she was last night.
9. Almost an entire calendar year in the black!
10. My introversion, which makes being alone after a breakup kind of awesome. (Sometimes.)
11. Picking up three more books from my favourite library.
12. Ivan Coyote.
13. My really warm winter coat, which makes Canada even better.
14. Universal healthcare (also something that makes Canada better).
15. A work trip that will take me to Paris in the Spring.
16. Duolingo for helping me learn to say "Une table pour une personne, s'il vous plaît".
17. Wine.
What are you thankful for this year?
Here in Canada, we're working and eating zero turkey. So I'm in no way thankful for that. But I thought I'd do a cheesy post in honour of the American holiday that I'm not celebrating. Because it's NaBloPoMo, and I will take ideas for posts anywhere I can find them.
This year, I'm thankful for:
1. The approaching weekend and the ability to sleep in.
2. Friends who have babies, so that I can cuddle them and give them back.
3. Taking myself out to dinner at a really tasty Ethiopian restaurant. For $13. With leftovers.
4. My best friends, Ben and Jerry, with whom I'll be spending some time after I finish this post.
5. My two hairy beasts, who think the best thing is cuddling with me on the couch.
6. Taking a six-month hiatus from dating, thus postponing the horror of online dating sites.
7. My almost clutter-free apartment.
8. The fact that my mother is usually not as annoying as she was last night.
9. Almost an entire calendar year in the black!
10. My introversion, which makes being alone after a breakup kind of awesome. (Sometimes.)
11. Picking up three more books from my favourite library.
12. Ivan Coyote.
13. My really warm winter coat, which makes Canada even better.
14. Universal healthcare (also something that makes Canada better).
15. A work trip that will take me to Paris in the Spring.
16. Duolingo for helping me learn to say "Une table pour une personne, s'il vous plaît".
17. Wine.
What are you thankful for this year?
Tuesday, November 21, 2017
When Things Are Just Hard
My ex-girlfriend came over this evening to drop off a suitcase she had borrowed* and to pick up some things she had left behind. It was emotional and awful, even though two and a half months have already passed. I wanted to say or do something that would make it better, but there isn't anything to say or do. This is just hard.
Like many things in life are hard. Sometimes there is no fixing separation and loneliness and illness and death. And all you can do is give someone the biggest hug possible and cry.
*Brilliantly, she forgot the suitcase.
Like many things in life are hard. Sometimes there is no fixing separation and loneliness and illness and death. And all you can do is give someone the biggest hug possible and cry.
*Brilliantly, she forgot the suitcase.
Wednesday, November 15, 2017
The Weight of Work
I am caring for a lot of very sick people right now, which isn't typical. Most of my patients have chronic, slowly progressive illnesses, so a lot of the work that I do is just checking in on generally healthy people to make sure that everything is okay. Lately though, things haven't been okay. I have patients going for major procedures, patients in hospital, and patients approaching the end of life.
I know that this isn't about me. The people most affected by this are of course the patients themselves and the people who love them. And yet, this is hard for me too. It is hard to be witness to suffering, particularly when there is nothing in my medical bag of tricks that I can use to change the outcome. I can of course offer comfort and support and symptom control, but dammit, sometimes I just want to fix it. I want life to not be the way it is, with illness and death and all of the other bad things.
So tonight I'm lying low. I've passed on trivia night, and I'm sitting in my sweatpants with a steaming bowl of spaghetti bolognase and a cuddly cat. And I'm grieving all of the things I cannot change.
I know that this isn't about me. The people most affected by this are of course the patients themselves and the people who love them. And yet, this is hard for me too. It is hard to be witness to suffering, particularly when there is nothing in my medical bag of tricks that I can use to change the outcome. I can of course offer comfort and support and symptom control, but dammit, sometimes I just want to fix it. I want life to not be the way it is, with illness and death and all of the other bad things.
So tonight I'm lying low. I've passed on trivia night, and I'm sitting in my sweatpants with a steaming bowl of spaghetti bolognase and a cuddly cat. And I'm grieving all of the things I cannot change.
Sunday, November 5, 2017
Should We Call Out Other Bloggers?
Many months ago, a personal finance blogger wrote a post that included a caricature of a woman that I found to be sexist, racist, classist, and ableist*. Being a good Canadian, I usually have nothing but sweet and polite things to say on people's blogs; however, I was so offended by the post that I couldn't not say something about it. So as politely and constructively as possible, I expressed my thoughts on the post.
It didn't go well. I got the distinct impression that the blogger took zero time to reflect on what I said before attacking me and calling me a racist, because I had assumed the racial background of the person based on the caricature. This was followed immediately by many other people commenting on how I was too "politically correct" and should just "shut my pie hole". It was actually a really upsetting experience for me, because I really like when people like me, and I hadn't intended my comment to be an attack. And it also seemed to have accomplished nothing.
And yet, I would do it again. Because I think we as bloggers have a responsibility to not post sexist/racist/classist/ableist/misogynistic/xenophobic/homophobic/transphobic shit on our blogs. This particular blogger has a big audience and therefore the ability to influence the thoughts and beliefs of a lot of people, and I think that influence shouldn't be used to reinforce outdated and damaging stereotypes.
I was reminded of this event today, when I came across a statement that I found offensive while reading an otherwise really good blog post. The post was talking about someone who was saving money by getting her boyfriend to do repairs around the house, and the writer stated: "I’m guessing she is paying for it in some way..."
Maybe I'm overreacting? But I kind of hate the implication that a woman trades her sexuality for home repairs.
So I called the blogger out on it. The blogger accepted my comment, but hasn't responded, so I'm interested to see how this plays out. Hopefully the blogger will know that my comment was only meant to provoke some self reflection, not to diminish or attack what was otherwise a really good post.
How about you? How do you respond when you read something you find offensive on a blog?
*I'm not going to link to any particular bloggers in this post, because this isn't about publicly criticizing/shaming any particular person, but rather reflecting on what our role is as readers and bloggers. Also, I don't need any pissed off bloggers labeling me a "Nasty woman" and trolling my blog.
It didn't go well. I got the distinct impression that the blogger took zero time to reflect on what I said before attacking me and calling me a racist, because I had assumed the racial background of the person based on the caricature. This was followed immediately by many other people commenting on how I was too "politically correct" and should just "shut my pie hole". It was actually a really upsetting experience for me, because I really like when people like me, and I hadn't intended my comment to be an attack. And it also seemed to have accomplished nothing.
And yet, I would do it again. Because I think we as bloggers have a responsibility to not post sexist/racist/classist/ableist/misogynistic/xenophobic/homophobic/transphobic shit on our blogs. This particular blogger has a big audience and therefore the ability to influence the thoughts and beliefs of a lot of people, and I think that influence shouldn't be used to reinforce outdated and damaging stereotypes.
I was reminded of this event today, when I came across a statement that I found offensive while reading an otherwise really good blog post. The post was talking about someone who was saving money by getting her boyfriend to do repairs around the house, and the writer stated: "I’m guessing she is paying for it in some way..."
Maybe I'm overreacting? But I kind of hate the implication that a woman trades her sexuality for home repairs.
So I called the blogger out on it. The blogger accepted my comment, but hasn't responded, so I'm interested to see how this plays out. Hopefully the blogger will know that my comment was only meant to provoke some self reflection, not to diminish or attack what was otherwise a really good post.
How about you? How do you respond when you read something you find offensive on a blog?
*I'm not going to link to any particular bloggers in this post, because this isn't about publicly criticizing/shaming any particular person, but rather reflecting on what our role is as readers and bloggers. Also, I don't need any pissed off bloggers labeling me a "Nasty woman" and trolling my blog.
Monday, October 9, 2017
My Problem with the Success Narrative
The FIRE community is filled with personal stories that follow a "success narrative". Although each one is unique, they all follow a similar pattern:
1) I started off with no money.
2) As a result of my own hard work/sacrifice/discipline, I have amassed great wealth and achieved financial success.
3) Because I was able to do this, anybody can also do it.
I completely understand the appeal and value of this narrative. For someone who has been financially successful, it's really nice to feel proud of your accomplishments and like you fully deserve all of the success you've enjoyed. For someone who is still on the path to financial success, these stories can be inspiring, helping you overcome the self doubt and frustration that can be barriers to achieving your goals.
So why do I take issue with these stories?
Because they almost universally ignore the role of privilege. Very few people who share their stories acknowledge that they have had advantages in life that have helped them be successful. While the specific privileges vary from person to person, they may include being male, being white, being heterosexual, being cis-gender, being a fluent English speaker, being free of mental/physical disability, growing up in a stable home free of any form of abuse, living in a safe community, having access to a quality education, etc. There are many possible privileges, all of which contribute to the likelihood that someone will be successful in his or her life.
As you're reading this, you may be thinking about the story of someone who overcame a lack of privilege to be successful, and of course there are these stories. Human beings are strong and resilient, and some of us are able to overcome tremendous odds to achieve great things. But these are only individual stories, which ignore the fact that the greater the odds are against a person, the less likely they are to succeed. A white, able-bodied, cis-gender, healthy male is going to have an easier time in life, on average, than a black transgender woman or a white man with serious mental health issues living in the inner city.
So why do I think this is important?
First, because although the success narrative can be very empowering to people who are successful, it can also be very mentally damaging to people who face barriers to success. Imagine you were a single mother of four kids living in a bad school district and working two minimum wage jobs to support your family, and the message that you heard was that your lack of financial success was because you "aren't trying hard enough" or you "just need to be more disciplined". Being told that you're a personal failure isn't helpful when what you're really dealing with is a lack of social support, a dysfunctional educational system, and inadequate wages.
Second, because the success narrative lets people of privilege (such as myself) off the hook. If success is only the result of personal attributes, then we don't have to care about (or do anything about) racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, income inequality, or any of the other systemic processes that serve to keep people of privilege in power and keep other people oppressed. We can sit with our wealth, believing that we're fully entitled to it, and not care at all about the people who are suffering within our very unequal system.
We need to do better. While it's great to celebrate individual successes and be proud of our own accomplishments, we need to also acknowledge the things that have helped us to get to where we are. And thankfully, there are some bloggers who are doing this. Please read the Frugalwoods and She Picks up Pennies and Our Next Life and Cait Flanders for some really good explorations of privilege. And when you're writing your own success narrative, which I look forward to reading, please recognize the role that privilege played in it.
1) I started off with no money.
2) As a result of my own hard work/sacrifice/discipline, I have amassed great wealth and achieved financial success.
3) Because I was able to do this, anybody can also do it.
I completely understand the appeal and value of this narrative. For someone who has been financially successful, it's really nice to feel proud of your accomplishments and like you fully deserve all of the success you've enjoyed. For someone who is still on the path to financial success, these stories can be inspiring, helping you overcome the self doubt and frustration that can be barriers to achieving your goals.
So why do I take issue with these stories?
Because they almost universally ignore the role of privilege. Very few people who share their stories acknowledge that they have had advantages in life that have helped them be successful. While the specific privileges vary from person to person, they may include being male, being white, being heterosexual, being cis-gender, being a fluent English speaker, being free of mental/physical disability, growing up in a stable home free of any form of abuse, living in a safe community, having access to a quality education, etc. There are many possible privileges, all of which contribute to the likelihood that someone will be successful in his or her life.
As you're reading this, you may be thinking about the story of someone who overcame a lack of privilege to be successful, and of course there are these stories. Human beings are strong and resilient, and some of us are able to overcome tremendous odds to achieve great things. But these are only individual stories, which ignore the fact that the greater the odds are against a person, the less likely they are to succeed. A white, able-bodied, cis-gender, healthy male is going to have an easier time in life, on average, than a black transgender woman or a white man with serious mental health issues living in the inner city.
So why do I think this is important?
First, because although the success narrative can be very empowering to people who are successful, it can also be very mentally damaging to people who face barriers to success. Imagine you were a single mother of four kids living in a bad school district and working two minimum wage jobs to support your family, and the message that you heard was that your lack of financial success was because you "aren't trying hard enough" or you "just need to be more disciplined". Being told that you're a personal failure isn't helpful when what you're really dealing with is a lack of social support, a dysfunctional educational system, and inadequate wages.
Second, because the success narrative lets people of privilege (such as myself) off the hook. If success is only the result of personal attributes, then we don't have to care about (or do anything about) racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, income inequality, or any of the other systemic processes that serve to keep people of privilege in power and keep other people oppressed. We can sit with our wealth, believing that we're fully entitled to it, and not care at all about the people who are suffering within our very unequal system.
We need to do better. While it's great to celebrate individual successes and be proud of our own accomplishments, we need to also acknowledge the things that have helped us to get to where we are. And thankfully, there are some bloggers who are doing this. Please read the Frugalwoods and She Picks up Pennies and Our Next Life and Cait Flanders for some really good explorations of privilege. And when you're writing your own success narrative, which I look forward to reading, please recognize the role that privilege played in it.
Wednesday, July 26, 2017
Monochromatic
Given that I took a week of vacation to go to a theatre festival, you won't be surprised to learn that I am a huge fan of theatre. My love of theatre started at the age of 12, when I played the role of Weasel in "The Trial of the Big Bad Wolf"*, and it has grown over the following 28 years thanks to an impressive local theatre scene. I have seasons tickets to the main theatre in my city, I can easily be convinced to see pretty much any play, and the annual theatre festival is my own personal Christmas. Love it!
I also view theatre as something that's pretty important. As a teenager, it took me a long time to understand and accept the fact that I am bisexual, and theatre made the entire process easier. The plays that I went to often featured characters who were grappling with their sexuality, and when I watched them, I felt seen. I may not have been able to tell my parents or even talk to my friends** about what was going on in my life, but I could go to the theatre and see myself reflected in the characters on stage.
Which is why I think it's important for a lot of stories to be told in the theatre, not just those of straight, white, cis-gendered, middle-class, heterosexual people. But when I go to my theatre festival - my beloved, take-a-week-off, favourite-time-of-the-year theatre festival - those are the stories that are getting told. And those are the people telling the stories. Of the 25 plays I've seen to date, with over 50 actors in total, there have been only four non-white actors. Four! The population of my city is over 30% non-white, and yet virtually every actor at the festival is white. And virtually every story is about white people.
I find this really sad, particularly because I view the theatre community as one of the most diverse and accepting groups of people anywhere. If theatre isn't a space that welcomes and encourages the participation of everyone, then what space is?
*Because everything is available online, I found a video of a school performing "The Trial of the Big Bad Wolf", which brought back so many memories. So many memories. So many feels.
**Of course, my friends aren't idiots, and it didn't take too many times of me asking "Hey! Wanna see this random lesbian play with me?" for them to figure it out.
Which is why I think it's important for a lot of stories to be told in the theatre, not just those of straight, white, cis-gendered, middle-class, heterosexual people. But when I go to my theatre festival - my beloved, take-a-week-off, favourite-time-of-the-year theatre festival - those are the stories that are getting told. And those are the people telling the stories. Of the 25 plays I've seen to date, with over 50 actors in total, there have been only four non-white actors. Four! The population of my city is over 30% non-white, and yet virtually every actor at the festival is white. And virtually every story is about white people.
I find this really sad, particularly because I view the theatre community as one of the most diverse and accepting groups of people anywhere. If theatre isn't a space that welcomes and encourages the participation of everyone, then what space is?
*Because everything is available online, I found a video of a school performing "The Trial of the Big Bad Wolf", which brought back so many memories. So many memories. So many feels.
**Of course, my friends aren't idiots, and it didn't take too many times of me asking "Hey! Wanna see this random lesbian play with me?" for them to figure it out.
Wednesday, July 12, 2017
It Wasn't About the Fireworks
As I was writing my most recent blog post, I was under no false illusion that my partner and I were in the right to be trespassing on private property. I didn't even totally disagree with people's comments on the post, even though some of them seemed unnecessarily harsh to this delicate Canadian. And yet, I was angry. I was angry when I wrote the blog post, and angry when I reflected back on it. Almost inexplicably so.
And then it finally occurred to me. What I was feeling really had nothing to do with the woman who yelled at us. Sure, it wasn't the nicest or most neighbourly of things for her to do, but she may have had her reasons for doing it. Maybe her property gets destroyed by drunken yahoos every Canada Day and she's sick and tired of it. What do I know? The real reason that I was so upset about the whole incident was that, to me, it was reflective of a much greater greed that seems to be pervasive in our society.
I believe pretty strongly that personal wealth is partly the result of an individual's hard work, but it is also almost always the result of a tremendous amount of privilege. In my own case, I had to work my ass off for years to become a physician, but I was helped a lot in the process by living in a safe country, by having access to a good public education system, by being born into a stable and supportive family, and by having the physical and intellectual ability to survive medical training*. In other words, I was lucky. And I believe that anyone who is as lucky as I have been should do what they can to share some of their good luck with others.
But unfortunately, a lot of wealthy people don't feel that way. They feel that they're entitled to hoard their wealth, even when they have far more of it than they could use in many lifetimes over. Republicans think it's okay to cut health care coverage for the poor as long as it lowers their own premiums. The Walton family sits on many billions of dollars and gives almost nothing away. And on and on.
It angers and saddens me to no end. Because this "every man for himself" mentality doesn't make for good community or for a good world. And it isn't the way that I want things to be. So sometimes I get frustrated by it all and get mad at people for not wanting me to sit in their field.
(This is not as articulate a post as I would like it to be, but in the interest of getting something out there and getting past this event, I'm going to hit publish. Please feel free to gently and kindly share your thoughts in the comments. This is probably an idea that I'll revisit in the future, hopefully in a more completely thought out way.)
*To give but a few examples. I could add in many more, such as the fact that I grew up middle class, that I'm not a visible minority, that women are more widely accepted in medicine than they were a generation or two ago, etc. You get the idea. Privilege.
And then it finally occurred to me. What I was feeling really had nothing to do with the woman who yelled at us. Sure, it wasn't the nicest or most neighbourly of things for her to do, but she may have had her reasons for doing it. Maybe her property gets destroyed by drunken yahoos every Canada Day and she's sick and tired of it. What do I know? The real reason that I was so upset about the whole incident was that, to me, it was reflective of a much greater greed that seems to be pervasive in our society.
I believe pretty strongly that personal wealth is partly the result of an individual's hard work, but it is also almost always the result of a tremendous amount of privilege. In my own case, I had to work my ass off for years to become a physician, but I was helped a lot in the process by living in a safe country, by having access to a good public education system, by being born into a stable and supportive family, and by having the physical and intellectual ability to survive medical training*. In other words, I was lucky. And I believe that anyone who is as lucky as I have been should do what they can to share some of their good luck with others.
But unfortunately, a lot of wealthy people don't feel that way. They feel that they're entitled to hoard their wealth, even when they have far more of it than they could use in many lifetimes over. Republicans think it's okay to cut health care coverage for the poor as long as it lowers their own premiums. The Walton family sits on many billions of dollars and gives almost nothing away. And on and on.
It angers and saddens me to no end. Because this "every man for himself" mentality doesn't make for good community or for a good world. And it isn't the way that I want things to be. So sometimes I get frustrated by it all and get mad at people for not wanting me to sit in their field.
(This is not as articulate a post as I would like it to be, but in the interest of getting something out there and getting past this event, I'm going to hit publish. Please feel free to gently and kindly share your thoughts in the comments. This is probably an idea that I'll revisit in the future, hopefully in a more completely thought out way.)
*To give but a few examples. I could add in many more, such as the fact that I grew up middle class, that I'm not a visible minority, that women are more widely accepted in medicine than they were a generation or two ago, etc. You get the idea. Privilege.
Friday, April 8, 2016
Values
Tonight I went to a talk about climate change by Naomi Klein, a Canadian writer and activist. Going into it, I was worried that it was going to be a depressing lecture about how the Earth is doomed, complete with photos of polar bears floating adrift on melting icebergs.
Instead, the talk was a call for transformation - from fossil fuel to renewable energy, from a profit-driven economy to a human-centred society, from isolation to community. It was 90 minutes of a left-wing, granola crunchy vision for humanity*, and I loved it. Her talk encompassed everything I believe about how the world should strive to operate, only articulated in a vastly more intelligent and entertaining way than I ever could.
As I listened, I was hopeful that the world might just be capable of realizing the things I believe in: environmental sustainability, racial/gender/sexual equality, empowerment of the poor and the marginalized. And I wondered, what is my role in this? As a physician (and as a queer, able-bodied, white, upper class woman), how do I live out my values and contribute to the society that I want to see? How do I move beyond earning a paycheque and paying off debt to making a lasting change in my community?
I don't quite know yet, nor do I have the energy to really delve into this question late on a Friday night, but it is definitely something to think about. Any ideas?
*Supported by a very solid research base and understanding of economics/politics/world systems.
Instead, the talk was a call for transformation - from fossil fuel to renewable energy, from a profit-driven economy to a human-centred society, from isolation to community. It was 90 minutes of a left-wing, granola crunchy vision for humanity*, and I loved it. Her talk encompassed everything I believe about how the world should strive to operate, only articulated in a vastly more intelligent and entertaining way than I ever could.
As I listened, I was hopeful that the world might just be capable of realizing the things I believe in: environmental sustainability, racial/gender/sexual equality, empowerment of the poor and the marginalized. And I wondered, what is my role in this? As a physician (and as a queer, able-bodied, white, upper class woman), how do I live out my values and contribute to the society that I want to see? How do I move beyond earning a paycheque and paying off debt to making a lasting change in my community?
I don't quite know yet, nor do I have the energy to really delve into this question late on a Friday night, but it is definitely something to think about. Any ideas?
*Supported by a very solid research base and understanding of economics/politics/world systems.
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Paris
For days I have been wanting to write here, to share my thoughts
about the conference I'm attending in San Francisco and to tell you
about the places we've visited and the food we've eaten during the gaps
between sessions. To talk about things that are light and fun and
pleasurable. But I've felt like I can't talk about lightness and
trivialities until I say something to acknowledge the recent attacks on
Paris.
But what can I possibly say?
This is the third attempt that I've made at writing a post, and every attempt has seemed too....earnest? Cheesy? Ignorant? In my attempt to write something meaningful, I've given myself an incurable case of writer's block. And now that it's late, and given that we have tickets to Alcatraz for early tomorrow morning, I'm going to say something quick to simply get it over with.
All that I'm going to say is the one thought that enters my head every time I hear about the attack on Paris and the resultant escalation of the war in Syria: we have to find a better way. As the (purportedly) most intelligent species on Earth, we need to acknowledge that our endless cycles of war are failing. We aren't making the world safer by constantly responding to violence with more violence; we're simply creating more enemies. And destroying the lives of more innocent people, both civilian and military.
We have to find a better way.
---
Because this post isn't nearly as good as I would like it to be, here are the thoughts of some other people that I think are worth sharing:
An American college professor's eight ways to defend against terror nonviolently.
SLukettG's thoughts about the need to recognize the tragedies occurring throughout the world, regardless of the skin colour of the people affected.
Feel free to share any other links that you think are interesting/relevant (as long as they aren't racist or xenophobic) in the comments. Or tell me your thoughts about all of the horrible things that are happening in our broken world.
But what can I possibly say?
This is the third attempt that I've made at writing a post, and every attempt has seemed too....earnest? Cheesy? Ignorant? In my attempt to write something meaningful, I've given myself an incurable case of writer's block. And now that it's late, and given that we have tickets to Alcatraz for early tomorrow morning, I'm going to say something quick to simply get it over with.
All that I'm going to say is the one thought that enters my head every time I hear about the attack on Paris and the resultant escalation of the war in Syria: we have to find a better way. As the (purportedly) most intelligent species on Earth, we need to acknowledge that our endless cycles of war are failing. We aren't making the world safer by constantly responding to violence with more violence; we're simply creating more enemies. And destroying the lives of more innocent people, both civilian and military.
We have to find a better way.
---
Because this post isn't nearly as good as I would like it to be, here are the thoughts of some other people that I think are worth sharing:
An American college professor's eight ways to defend against terror nonviolently.
SLukettG's thoughts about the need to recognize the tragedies occurring throughout the world, regardless of the skin colour of the people affected.
Feel free to share any other links that you think are interesting/relevant (as long as they aren't racist or xenophobic) in the comments. Or tell me your thoughts about all of the horrible things that are happening in our broken world.
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