This City, At This Time

We are down south, but not really in the South.

We are in the big city that is almost another country, but isn’t.

Many, perhaps most, people here speak another language, many languages.

I am high up in a high building.  I can sit and watch the planes come out of the clouds and coast to the airport.

I can watch the boats glide down the bay and wait for the drawbridge to open.

I see the sunset turn the windows blazing red on the tall towers across the bay.

Rows of forty and fifty story steel and glass towers line the water for miles.

All with balconies that almost no one is on, except for me, and a couple of people who sneak out to smoke.

Along the bay these towers are two, three, or four rows deep.

They are building more all over the city; higher ones to peek over the older ones. The noise of construction, the banging, the beeping, the grinding goes on from eight to five, everyday except Sunday.

The money for these buildings comes from all over the world.

The money finds a safe home here. It is safer, at least for now, than it is in Venezuela, Brazil, Peru, Colombia, Mexico, Egypt, Turkey, Russia or China, or any country with oil.

Four blocks away from the bay the houses are one, two or three stories tall.

There are neighborhoods, some are going through transitions as the poor immigrants are being pushed away. Younger, more hopeful, but not yet prosperous people are moving in. 

These neighborhoods are vibrant, with night life going on late.

Cafes overflowing on the streets full of men, drinking and talking, making deals.

Designing businesses, designing designs, writing, playing music.

Flirting with women.

Women too, are now talking, drinking wine, designing, making deals, building businesses

Smiling as the men flirt with them.

The men and women who have come from the other cultures, live in these neighborhoods.  They dress beautifully, they present themselves to the world with a sense of presence and style.

This is a city.  The people have to have a style, a sense of themselves to be a part of it.

But this is not Brooklyn or Boston.  It is warm here.No big coats, sweaters, or flannel shirts,

Bodies are clearly on display, and they look good. Often very good. Certainly to an old man.

Walk around the corner and you have to step over a man sleeping on the sidewalk with his head resting on his backpack.  You won’t step on him because you can smell him a few feet before you see him.

If you pass a dark alley a young man with vacant eyes may step out and ask you, in a voice that you strain to hear, for a couple of dollars, just so he can survive.

He makes you feel uncomfortable and it’s very awkward, as you realize what it must take to ask like this. Even if he is just hustling he can’t be very good at it because he looks so lost and frail, but he still human.  So I give him a couple of dollars realizing that my wife just spend $15 on a glass of wine at the very good, hip restaurant in this transitional neighborhood, and our Uber will arrive in two more minutes to take us back to the tower that overlooks the bay.

In the building by the bay live hundreds of people from hundreds of places, speaking dozens of languages.  Riding the elevator early in the morning you ride down with people going to work. They are dressed in everything including sharp business suits, short dresses and very high heels, fine jeans and fancy tee-shirts, and hospital scrubs.  Everyone is cheerful, everyone is a little more than polite, they are friendly. Many know each other, and like being together.

Half an hour later the elevator is full of people with their dogs. Mostly women with very small dogs.  Many of the dogs are in their own strollers.  One women had four little white dogs in her stroller, all barking in slightly different tones

Later in the day, the old people are doing laps up and back in the pool, many using styrofoam floatations to help them along in their exercise programs.  Inside, in the elevator, as I got on with my three year-old grandson, a man joined us.  He stood about six-foot-five, with broad shoulders and a trim waist. His skin was the color of a frappuccino. He wore expensive business casual. His dreadlocks flowed down below his shoulders.  He spotted at my grandson, who immediately hid behind my legs. The man smiled and said, “Hey, is that Lightening McQueen on those shoes.”  The kid stepped out from behind my leg and spoke in his barely comprehensible english, “Yes, these shoes go very fast.”

Later, as the sun begins to set, it is Happy Hour all over the city. Since it is warm, or hot here, almost everything happens outside.  Families gather on the decks, in their backyards, or together in the neighborhood. They cook old recipes that have come from many different lands and have been modified by each generation that has been here. In the bars, cafes, restaurants, many that line the water ways, the people begin their evenings, sitting, conversing, and laughing. Many gather in family or ethnic groups, but also many in very diverse groups of people who work together, create together or just play together.  This is what helps the city grow, change, and evolve into whatever it needs to be. The world changes from here.

The TVs on the wall show mostly soccer games from Europe or Brazil. There are basketball games of the local team and local colleges.  There is also the news channel, but not the one they watch in Indiana.

On the news channel is our President, raving that he is treated unfairly. He is telling us he is making us safer, and he is the best that there ever was.

The people here who watch him are nervous.  They fear that he will deport their friends for no reason, to countries they have not been since they were six. He will deport these people to make the people living in Arkansas feel safe.  The people in Arkansas, twelve hundred miles away somehow feel threatened by the people in this neighborhood.  They feel that way because the President told them they were dangerous. None of these people look or act dangerous. Well, some of the women might be dangerous, but not in a way that would threaten Little Rock.

Away from the towers of steel, glass and balconies many of the neighborhoods are crumbling.  Many of the streets are full of potholes and with crumbling houses and littered lots.  They have found a way to distract people from the rubble by painting beautiful murals all over the city.

The schools struggle for funds, and face the huge task of having to educate people who speak so many languages, and have so many needs.  I do not live here so I don’t know the politics, but I’m sure it’s complex, and probably doesn’t work that well.

This is a very American city, but it is not typical, because everyone city is unique. This city will grow unless the sea continues to rise and covers it over.  What it will become is not yet clear.  Like every place around the world, it seems as if those who are already doing well will benefit the most.  Those a step away will strive toward to join in the prosperity, with a few making it. The rest will struggle in the shadows of the towers, living lives of increasing difficulty. This is the way it has been since cities first formed.  The castles were on the top of the hill. The garbage and the sewage flowed down. Why should it be different now?

Perhaps because we don’t need slaves and surfs or peasants any more to support the kings, dukes and earls.  We don’t even need kings, dukes and earls any more, although many people seem to pretend to royalty, certainly in their own mind.

Now we have robots. We have Artificial Intelligence, and sophisticated algorithms that can help run all our lives. We even have democracy, so that everyone can be a part of choosing our future.  

At least we made an attempt at it.  

Like this city, it still needs a lot of adjustments.

Winter Sing

In constrast to my last post, I will now report that I have just returned from a delightful experience. Of course, being who I am, I felt the mirror image of what I saw, and that troubled me.

This morning I went to the "Winter Sing Concert"of one of my granddaughters at her nursery school. The singers ranged in age from 3 to 5, and were all smiling, giggling, active beautiful children.  They sang songs of  snowflakes melting on their faces, and other songs of the seasons.  Many of the songs were accentuated with hand gestures or body movements.  Most of the kids were paying attention most of the time.  They were smiling and waving at their parents and grandparents who filled the audience.

The concert was given in small but beautiful auditorium, on a small but beautiful campus, set on a hill overlooking the woods and a lake.   After the songs and dances were over we were taken back to my granddaughter's classroom for little snack and a look at their accomplishments.

My immediate reaction to the classroom was that I was jealous.  I wish I could go to a room just like that for three to six hours a day.  They had almost everything conceivable to encourage anyone to explore, play, create, express feelings, attempt new things, find new ideas, relate to others, work with others, work by yourself. or just sit and stare.  They had separate but overlapping areas for painting, coloring, drawing, music, writing,sculpture, piles of natural objects, piles of building objects, rolls of string, and shelves full of books.  There was room to use all of those things, and to combine as many as you wish.  There were very few rules, very few assignments,  nothing rigid, nothing judgmental, no dogma, no right or wrong. It is just a  fantastic place to come and play and see what you wanted to do and be with people to do it with.  And, the place is surrounded by paths through the woods, big and small sculptures, and fields for games and just running around.

Oh, of course, there was nothing electronic.

It was clear that the kids loved the whole thing.  They liked being there, they like each other, the teachers and the activities.  They ran around, they made pictures, stories, skits, games, and all kind of projects.  They worked alone, in small groups and in big groups. They resolved their differences.  They helped each other, the added on to each other's creations.   No, it wasn't perfect, but it was close.

It is in an environment like this that toddlers turn into children and take that with them when they become people.  They learn how to operate in the world and how to operate the world. They get some idea of how to get long, how to lead, how to follow, and how to go off and do their own thing.  Mostly, they learn that world is fun, fascinating, and that they can contribute.  This becomes part of them.

So, what's wrong with that.

Nothing. There is so little wrong that I wish every child could have that. Really,I wish I could be doing that.

The only thing that bothered me was seeing that 95% of the children were white.  100%  came from families who were at least in the top 5% of wealth. Every child had at least one parent or grandparent there, usually two, three or four.

I don't know all of the children and families, but the ones that I do know are really good people.  The kids are not spoiled, too much.  The families seem to have some sense that they are fortunate, and that they can have these kinds of privileges.  I don't fault them at all.

My realistic hope is that my granddaughter will realize how fortunate she is, and use her special opportunities to do good things that benefit more than just the few people around her.  At least she will see that the world is not really like that, and she should appreciate that she landed in the right spot.  It doesn't make her better or more valuable than any other child, but in some ways gives her a greater responsibility to be a good citizen.

My unrealistic hope is that somehow, our society, which at this moment,  is so crazy, competitive, divided and fearful, will realize that it would be worth it to find a way to give every child a opportunity to begin their lives in such an open, caring, accepting, encouraging and explorative atmosphere.

If we really want America to be the greatest, most innovative, creative, caring, prosperous, society, with a sense of unity and pride, then we should be eager to give everyone this kind of equal opportunity to stretch the limits of their talents and abilities.

The kids I saw today are all marvelous children.  Almost all of them will go on to have happy, secure, prosperous and healthy lives.  Many of the children from this area have gone on to do much more than that, and to use their skills and talents in the wider world.

From my work I know that as 3,4 and 5 year-olds, these kids are no greater or more special than any other kid.  If I could put any child into that room for three to six hours a day, and bring their families there too, 95% of those kids would grow up to be just like these kids, and the country and the world would be much better off for it.

We are, each of us, unique. We are each just as valuable.

Boston Strong ! ? !

I live close to Boston.  I went to college near Boston, where I met my wife.  We left for graduate school, but came back to be near our friends, and be part of the culture that is in Boston, Cambridge and around here.  We raised our kids close to Boston and they are raising their kids here.

There was a parade in Boston yesterday so that people could line the streets and cheer for the Red Sox, who had just won the World Series.  I didn't go to the parade, although I did watch six minutes of it on TV.  I don't go to any of the games, although I did watch many hours of the playoffs on TV.  I went to two Red Sox games this year.  I enjoy baseball.  I played a lot as a kid, and for several more years of softball in my fifties and sixties.

Many writers, analysts, bloggers, pundits, sports people and politicians are talking about how this baseball team was very helpful to the city after the bombings that occurred during the Boston Marathon,  a signature event of the city.  I agree.  This was one of the greatest bonding moments any city could have. Better than anything that could be planned or staged.

First, you have to realize how much sports means to Boston, especially pro sports, especially the Red Sox.  The Sox are like football in Ohio or Alabama. They are more important than surfing is in California or skiing is in Colorado.  We are not that outgoing here in New England, but everyone will comment on the Sox, even if you don't care about baseball.  A strong woman candidate lost an election for Senate because she didn't know who pitched for the Sox.  Even my wife watched the World Series, and dropped her knitting when Jonny Gomes hit that three-run dinger.

Ten years ago, in 2003, when Pedro couldn't finish against the Yankees, so many of my patients were just bummed out for two weeks it was hard to talk about anything else.

So this year, after the bombing, it was clear that the city began to pull together for the Sox,  The Sox who came in last, last year.  It clear that the Sox would show that the city, the region, was not to be denied.  That it could be knocked down, but we get up again, and that we get along, as a team, with each other.

I came to Boston as a student. So many people do.  So did the bombers.  We need students, we value intellect, study, research, innovation, technology, and everyone who does that.  We value everyone from everywhere.  If you walk around MIT, Harvard, BU, BC, Tufts, Northeastern, and the rest of the fifty or sixty colleges and universities that are in and around Boston, you see people from all over the world: China, Africa, Europe, the Middle East, Latin America, Mississippi. They are what makes this an exciting, stimulating, fascinating place to be.  Two angry, discouraged brothers, whose sense of decency went off the rails, are not going to change that.

We, all of us in and around the city wanted a way to show that.  We still cared, we still like and respect each other, we still get along -- differently from the way we did in the 50s, 60s, and 70s, when we didn't get along that well -- and when the Sox kept losing.

The Red Sox helped us to do that.  The players were from about fifteen different US states, as well as  the Dominican Republic, Aruba, Venezuela and Japan. I think two are from New England. We cheered for them, they played for us. Everyone had a good time. There was a big parade.  No one got hurt.

Boston will continue to be vibrant, stimulating and welcoming. Bring you willingness to learn, to collaborate, to build and create.  That includes all ideas from all cultures and backgrounds. Skills of pitching and hitting are also welcome.

A Post about Posting

In some ways it was gratifying to see that my last post struck a nerve and was passed around a bit.  It wasn't quite "viral" but it was read by many more people than usually view my occasional thoughts.

If ever there was gong to be a critical moment in my life as a blogger that could have been it.  I should have followed up immediately with clever, insightful posting on each of the next five days, with the hope that my mumblings would become the "go to" place for psychological insight into the evolving and/or decaying state of our wired, digital, always on, always expressive society.

But I didn't.  I had a cold.  I still have a cough.  It is the holiday week so I only have to work one day of  eleven. Due to my coughing, and everyone else's illness also, we canceled our trip to the Big City, and I stayed home and read old books, old and new magazines, blogs and weird web sites.  I watched things on YouTube, I listened to things on SoundCloud, I almost caught up on my email, I watched really meaningless football and I spend some time with the grandgirls, who had been sick also.

After all of this I have come away thinking that before I say anything else; before I rush to post my brilliant insights out here in the great and ever expanding world of cyberspace, I really ought to have something unique and interesting to say.  Even then I have to make sure that I am putting it out there because I want people to read and comment on it, more than I want to become known for saying it.

Russ Douthat, one of the NYT's more conservative columnists wrote today that people should take the time to read opinions that don't agree with theirs.  They should try to understand that the opposition, no matter which side, may not be just a bunch of brainwashed nutjobs.  While I think that idea has a lot of merit, for me, at this time, I am recommending that I stop reading almost everyone.  The political noise has become deafening.  Everyone has an opinion, many people put them out there, and then even more people write mean, trite comments, dismissing what was said.

There is a constant flow of opinion, information, music, art, good and bad science, family pictures, famous people, naked celebrities, half truths, the other half of truths, ways to be creative, ways to be creative differently, ways to make money, creative ways to make money, ways to spend money, ways to stay healthy, things to eat, how to cook them, how to grow them, where to buy them.  Individually, people post about the parties they are at, the restaurants they go to, the drinks they make, the people they don't like, the pills they take, the things they buy, pictures of their kids, their plants, their private parts, on and on and on and on........

My friends and colleagues are making "apps" as I predicted they should.  One is even making the exact app that I had designed one day last summer.

Everything is in the marketing. My app, which I never actually finished, is no better or worse than her app, but if she can get it our there first and fastest, then maybe, perhaps.....

The good thing about having a cold is that I didn't feel like doing much of anything.  I just let myself stare out the window at the early setting sun and just let my mind wander, without the pressure of doing anything worthwhile, and without trying to keep up with what is going on.

What I seemed to learn from this was that things will keep going on, and on, but that they really don't seem to be going anywhere particularly quickly, except "over the fiscal cliff" which could happen because no one can make anything happen.

So, my job now is to make sure I move back a little, for a while.  I will just sit here, or walk somewhere, or play with one and two year-olds, and give my own mind a chance to clear.

I will finish Moby Dick, (only 1/3 left), listen to some Bach, and I will watch the sunset, and sometimes watch the sun rise.
Perhaps, if I gain some brilliant insight, I will write about it here.  But I don't expect brilliance, and that's OK. It's enough to be alive and getting healthy.

Happy New Year to all!

I hope all of you stay healthy,  find some peace, some prosperity, find some fulfilling activities, and enjoy being with a few people who are important to you.

Greatness has no time for football

If almost everyone was as driven and creative as Steve Jobs no one would make much money.

If everyone THOUGHT they were as creative as Steve Jobs no one would make any money.

It takes drive, passion and focus to be someone like the late Steve Jobs.  Most creative people have great generativity:  they have many, many ideas, some of them are brilliant and many of them are a waste of time.  But what makes those people different than others is that they just keep on going.

I have had patients like that -- if they are not successful, if their ideas don't work, or even if the ideas are good but they can't find a way to get them developed or publicized, then they are diagnosed as bipolar- just someone whose mind is racing.  If one of their ideas work then they become a success; if two hit it then they are geniuses. Steve Jobs had more than two.

I believe (almost) anyone  can do (almost) anything they want if they put their mind, body, time, energy, passion and soul into it.

But they probably won't be able to do much else. I somehow don't think Mr. Jobs went to a lot of Sunday bar-b-ques with is buddies and watched a lot of football.  Everything comes with trade-offs.


or maybe he was a Jets fan.