I spent this Christmas in the Inland Empire. I’ve spent a lot of time there, because Chris’s mom lives in Upland. Most of the time I’ve spent there, the entertainment options have pretty much been going to malls.

But isn’t that what L.A. is supposed to be about? Not the best feature in my opinion, but when in Rome…

In the spirit of the season, on the 26th, I woke up early and bought a paper so we could scope the ads and see what was on sale. I knew we would go shopping because Chris’s family tradition is to return most of the presents recieved the day before.

But I saw the Book Review section, so I had to look. On the last page there was a review: Bohemian Manifesto by Laren Stover. The reviewer tells us, “She wore a ‘yellow thrift-ship hat and a fuchsia jacket I found in a trash can on Christopher Street” to her first job interview.”
It goes on,” ‘Bohmians…create new work and change paradigms.’ When Starbucks and the Gap move into the neighborhood, ‘Bohemians move out.'”

Oh, yeah. Thrift store shopping and treasures from the trash. That’s my background. I write a lot about growing up in Alaska, because Alaska is so weird. But the truth is, we were wierd even for Alaskans. It finally clicked for me. That’s why this guy at work jokes about me being engulfed in clouds of Patchouli (a scent I enjoy, but do not own). It’s the idea of patchouli that surrounds my way of life. Mom and Dad were definitely Bohemians.

I talked this over with Chris. He said, “What does Bohemian mean anyway?”

It’s a way of life. It’s being dedicated to the meaning of things, of ideas as more important than the moment. That the idea, of art, of social activism, or something, is more important than living the life of a philistine.

In fact, avoiding the life of the cushy bourgeouis philistine type of life is quite possibly the idea that a boho is trying to follow. Being open-minded and ready for new experiences that life has to offer…That’s basic bohemianism.

Chris; “What’s wrong with a middle class life?”

Me; “Chris, I’ve told you this before. It’s exactly that kind of question that almost make me leave you when we were first getting to know each other.”

Chris walked into my life, with his wonderbread dedication to name brand foods-it must be Coke, it must be Nabisco, it must be Kraft, or it is unacceptable.

He loves Disney.
He loves beef.

He will not eat at a Thai food restaurant, an Indian restaurant or any other type of ethnic food. When we eat out, it’s three choices: Italian, Mexican, or American cuisine.

All of which are basically American foods.

He wanted to go to Hawaii, not Europe.

These are against the grain of my bohemian lifestyle, my upbringing. My father and I used to peruse the foreign food section at the grocery store, marvelling at all the interesting foods and languages written on the packages.

I have never aspired to go to Hawaii. Hawaii is not old enough.

“Don’t you want to see architecture and art and history in Europe? I’ve never wanted to go to Hawaii.”

He answered: “But it’s pretty. You will like the flowers.”

And you know what? he was right. It was pretty.

But having to buy BRAND NAMES for him still rubs me the wrong way. Corporate clones! I don’t want to have anything to do with that!

It was a huge struggle. I seriously considered that we might have nothing in common. If our very philosophical basis was opposed, then we were doomed.

He challenged me: “Why are we so different?”

Saying that he liked Kraft and Nabisco seemed not enough of a reason.

I wrestled. Would I be giving up my ideals to be with this man? What kind of open minded student of life would I be if I were tied to bourgeous boychik?

My ideals. I had to be open minded.

And that was the point. I had to be open-minded. Was I really living my philosophy if I was judging Chris based on outward appearances and not on his heart?

Chris liked Coke because much of his grandmother’s retirement fund was Coke stock. He always thought of his grandfather and his grandmother when he bought the 24-pack of Coke.

And he loves his family, and he loves me. He doesn’t worry so much about my philosophy (which is admittedly a little vague), he is deeply concerned with whether or not I am happy.

True, he does not enjoy my open mike poetry readings. He doesn’t want to go to the parties with my artsy friends. But he meets me when I come back with a kiss, and often makes me a cup of tea while I tell him all about it.

No, he is not open-minded about trying the new sushi bar. But he was more open-minded about my hippy-dippy ways than I was being about his white-bread background.

And, as it happens, he makes me very happy. So…Different cultures, even when they live next door to each other, have things to teach one another.

I went home early on Wednesday. I only was at work for 8 hours, and I decided that my feelings were hurt.

I’d asked for help and the answer was:
“You should manage your time better.”

HMPH

manage my time better! Well, I would manage my time better by going home after eight hours, that is what I decided. So I went home and was reading a book in bed.

The phone rang. I let it ring. I enjoyed my shrugging of responsibility at work earlier, and I thought I would ride the train a little further.

But Chris didn’t know that, and he answered the phone.

“It’s for you.”

I gave him a withering look and said, “Hello?”

“Hi, this is Jane, your neighbor down the hall. Umm..Are you planning on attending the board meeting this evening?”

“I don’t know. Was something happening?”

“Well, they are discussing the CC&Rs for the complex, and this is the time we are supposed to bring up any questions we have. We are supposed to vote on them next month.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“Yes, they didn’t make it very clear. I am bringing an attorney friend of mine, because I’m very concerned about some of the changes.”

Now, I only knew Jane from the last time she called about this same thing. I had no intention whatsoever of going to this meeting. I was busy nursing hurt feelings, remember?

But I had to be polite.

And I had to get off the phone.

She was still going: “…because they have made changes that affect our lives. They have given themselves a lot of power. And the last time I tried to talk about it, they just cut me off. I don’t think that’s right.”

“Wow. Well, I’ll have to read over the notes again and take a look.”

“Yes, because we need to have the ability to speak up.”

“Thank you for calling. I will take a look.”

It took about four more exchanges before I could hang up.

And while I was trying to find a way to hang up, I knew I had to say things that would give her the impression that I might come to this meeting.

Which I wasn’t going to do.

This sort of verbal smoke and mirrors is a part of my life now. Maybe it comes with working in elevator buildings. But I often have to give answers that are noncommital and reassuring.

Maybe this should bother me. Sincerity is a commodity, to be used sparingly. Is that how I ever envisioned my life?

How much is integrity tied to sincerity? Integrity is one of my cherished values. I will be the one to keep my word, I will be the one not to drop the ball.

But a big part of that is not picking up the ball in the first place.

I have this theory about communication. You cannot simply state the facts that need to be used. You have to have communications overhead. You have to say:

Hi, How are you?

…

That’s great. Hey, I wondered if you could go to your files and
check for this one thing.

…

Yeah, I was looking for the numbers from the New York buildout.

…

You have them? Oh, good. COuld you give them to me?

…

Yeah, just forward them on.

…

Thanks!

All of that could have been done with ONE sentence, 30 seconds. But humans don’t work like that. In fact, that was a rather succinct interchange, comparatively.

But the message had to be wrapped in soft exchanges, to be recieved properly. The content had overhead. Yes, we could say, “Forward me the numbers from the New York buildout” and leave. But the likelihood of even getting a response would be lowered, because the person could say, “How rude! If she really wants that information, she can come back and ask nicely.”

We have to feel cared for, we have to know that there is kindness and goodwill involved in the exchange of information.

That’s why, there is a kind of relationship that has to be built between people who interact.

But then, maybe you can take it too far.

This guy at work, who is really a mover and shaker, has an intensely good-natured attitude. He very seldom complains, and when something is upsetting, he just laughs.

And this makes him very approachable, etc.

But then, he also makes sure to tell people what they want to hear. Once, when we were working on a project, we got a price for a particular piece of it. I said, “hey, that’s not as expensive as I thought it would be.” He nodded and said, “yeah.”

We went over to the guy who could approve the purchase, and that guy said, “Wow! That’s expensive.”

My guy pulled a face and said, “I know.”

Which is it? I noticed he does this a lot. He appears to empathize with whoever he is speaking to.

Which makes me wonder if anything he says is true. And I feel a little bad wondering that because he’s a very nice guy, works very hard, etc.

But at the same time, how can you sincerely agree with two opposite opinions?

Where is the line in sincerity and integrity? Do we sincerely have to care what our fellow humans beings did over the weekend? Why do we ask?

There are so many times when I have to paste on a smile so that I can get my job done. But getting the job done is part of my self-respect, my sense of integrity.

So when I say what I don’t mean, like “that’s alright, it’s no big deal, I’ll take care of that” that lets me mean what I say when I say (to myself at the very least) “I am really damn good at what I do.”

Funny, that sincerity should have to be sacrificed like that.

As I was leaving work TOO late on friday, I met this guy in the elevator. I had never seen him before, as far as I knew. But he knew me.

He said, “I happened to go to Alaska after I heard your story.”

“You did? How did you like it? I’m glad I inspired you to go.”

“I saw a moose, but I thought it was much different to see a moose from the outside. Much less bloody.”

I had ready my story for Diversity Day at the workplace, last spring. I prepared a speech beforehand, about diversity:

“This is a day we are taking to celebrate diversity. Leaving all stereotypical prejudices aside, diversity is just about different kinds of experiences. Experiences are like the tools of life. And the more experieces we have, the bigger the toolbox to solve our problems.”

And I read my story about the moose.

I know that’s what this guy was remembering. My story about the moose.

When I look at these people at work, with their suits and their college degrees, the gap between their experiences and mine seem vast.

I wonder if any of them got beyond the description of the butcher knives to understand that the story was about food.

That food is not always a given.

But this guy in the elevator told me about his vacation to Alaska, and his sightseeing experience about seeing a live moose.

I am amazed that he remembered the story. But I don’t think he got it.