TRUMP TRAUMA

Pollsters, pundits, politicians, and even the President have been commanding us on the losing side to accept the result, get behind the winner, support Trump as the rightfully elected new “leader of the free world” (gag!).  Their hastily revised message that the law has been followed, the people have spoken, and this is the way it’s always been done – as messy and maddening as it may be – does not at all console me. 

It is as if they are saying, this is democracy at its finest.  Well, I call bullshit, this is a massive failure of democracy.  The US has become a demagoguery!  The system has allowed the election of a hate-spewing, fear-mongering, bigoted, racist, misogynistic, egomaniac with no political experience whatsoever as POTUS. Trump has never had to compromise in a corporate position, either, running his real-estate empire by dictatorial whim.  Will he govern by late-night tweet?  God help us!

Actually, this was exactly why the Electoral College was formed in the first place (in 1787), to protect the fledgling US of A from undue influence by its uninformed, biased, self-interested burghers:

"A small number of persons, selected by their fellow-citizens from the general mass, will be most likely to possess the information and discernment requisite to such complicated [tasks]… the people trusted (them) to cast a responsible vote for president.” Alexander Hamilton declared that the selection of the president should be “made by men most capable of analyzing the qualities adapted to the station.”  (from Wikipedia)

But it long ago became a puppet organization that just mucks up an already uber-cumbersome process.  And today’s EC, with its current winner-take-all policy, has failed us once again; the lackey electors can no longer exercise discernment or responsibility or analytical skills and in effect negate all those votes in their state’s minority.  The federal institution intended to ensure competency in the highest office in the land is basically now controlled by the lowest common denominator of the public: angst.  

Each time I have to explain the Electoral College to the Swiss, who enjoy the most direct democracy in the world, it is painfully clear that it should be dismantled posthaste, but with its Constitutional coat of armor, nobody has had the guts to even attempt to attack a rewrite. 

 

This is by far the most grievous aspect of the 2016 election: Hillary actually won the popular vote!  She received over 3 MILLION votes more, 47.8% to his 47.3%.  And of course she was the infinitely more capable candidate.  If ever personal foibles should have been forgiven and professional aptitude preferred, this was it.  Why can’t Americans be more French and give a laissez-faire shrug to the petty as long as policy is thoughtful?  What difference does it make from whom the head of state is getting head as long as (s)he has the people’s best interests at heart?  Server, schmerver.

Hillz and I share not only a gender but also an alma mater, and I was especially stoked at the idea of a fellow Wellesley alum becoming the first woman prez. And so while I’m ranting, I have to ask: Hey, my smart, savvy, educated, Caucasian sistas – WTF?!?! Tell me these exit poll stats ain’t true! 

·      53% of white women voted for Donald Trump

·      42% of all female voters chose the Republican

·      45% of college-educated white women also voted for him

DJT has gotten away with outlandish, unfounded, malicious claims based purely on his personal feelings towards not just HRC but every minority group.  He polluted the political atmosphere with libelous and scandalous remarks that incited animosity and malice.  We have deviated from the HOPEfulness and positivity (Yes, We Can!) of the Obama era and are to be led for four long years by a deviant whose followers find today’s racially, ethnically, culturally diverse landscape anathema.  The thought of gay marriage, transgender strides, gun control, a mosque in their neighborhood scares the bejesus out of them. 

The hate-induced incidents of blatant discrimination that have been horrifying us since Tuesday are indicative of the country’s current mood and, there’s good reason to expect, harbingers of what is to come. The perps are taking their cue from the top down, from a top dog whose vitriolic bark has penetrated the national consciousness and incited rabid resentment.  And I fear that the leash our system of checks and balances is supposed to provide will not be strong enough to keep the snarling hound from wreaking massive injury to civil liberties across the land.

The international high school students whom I advise here in Zurich are not sure if they want to go to college in the US any more.  Muslim friends in NY are seriously inquiring about the possibility of moving to Switzerland.  Colleagues of color are revising business plans in response to Trump’s xenophobia.  I am grateful that my family in the States, in particular my college-age son and niece on urban campuses, are lily-white Christians (and how dispiriting that such a thought even crossed my mind) – they just need to be sure to keep their ACLU cards firmly in their pockets.  

So it’s a tragic time in America, and those of us who want our government to be inclusive, compassionate, progressive, cooperative, tolerant should be allowed to wallow in our grief.  We need time to process what we truly believed was an inconceivable and preposterous scenario: President Trump. 

I may have emigrated 30 years ago, and even officially (and very reluctantly, thanks a lot, Uncle Sam) relinquished my US citizenship 5 years ago, but I will always be an American at heart – and this heart is in agony. 

Always plenty

At an elevation of over 2200 meters (7300 feet) and surrounded by Himalayan peaks up to 5500 m (18,000 ft), Paro International Airport is considered one of the world’s most challenging. Landing here is only allowed during the day and under good visual conditions.  Just a few skilled pilots from Drukair, the national airline, are permitted to attempt the feat, skillfully navigating the mountains and then dropping down quickly onto the small airfield.  OMG, is that Everest out the window?! 

Landing in Paro

 

Breathtaking Bhutan

If you know anything about Bhutan, a teeny speck of a country squished in between the superpowers of India and China, it’s probably the country’s reputation as the “happiest place on earth” and the “Kingdom of Happiness.” 

I can vouch that the Bhutanese are indeed a wonderfully pleasant folk to be amongst, although – and I don’t mean to quibble here – “happy” is really too Western in its connotation.  Perhaps the better description is serene, or content, equanimous, tranquil, compassionate. The pacifist tenets of Buddhism, the state religion, permeate everyday life here.  A definite annatā (selflessness) is palpable and the culture simply oozes spirituality.  The landscape is dotted with dzongs, the massive, majestic monasteries; festooned with prayer flags crisscrossing the countryside; peppered with prayer wheels, and studded with stupas.  I found the setting very soothing and at this altitude, combined with the exertion of our daily hikes, it figuratively and literally took my breath away.  

 

Apart from their faith, what makes the Bhutanese so “happy”?

Thanks to its remoteness and inaccessibility, the country was until recently effectively cut off from the rest of the world.  But it was this isolation that enabled the country to preserve its identity and keep most of its religious and customs intact, and it is their unique culture that leads to a certain peace of mind.

Of course it is tempting to romanticize such a world.  Those of us fed up with our society’s extreme consumerism and egocentrism are easily enamored with Bhutan’s simpler, easier lifestyle: the unhurried pace of BST (Bhutan Stretchable Time), the traditional architecture and dress (especially the men in ghos and kneesocks), the daily visits to temples and recitation of prayers, the revered monks and nuns in their rich red robes. There are no stoplights in the entire country (nope, not a single one).  The national dish is a comforting concoction of chili and cheese.  The national pastime is archery, a sport that requires slow precision.  Even the lousy roads are a forgivable part of the infatuation. 

It is true that the fourth Bhutanese king introduced the concept of Gross National Happiness as opposed to Gross National Product as an indicator of the population’s general wellbeing in 1972.  The government does actually measure GNH using a metric based on a comprehensive survey administered to a broad sampling of its citizens every two years.  GNH rests on four pillars: good governance, the natural environment, sustainable growth, and cultural values. 

Questions on the 38-page English-language document include:

·      How many people are very close to you that you can count on them if you have emotional problems?

·      How often do you practice meditation?

·      Have you been able to concentrate on what you’re doing?

·      Have you lost much sleep over worry?

·      Do you feel capable of making decisions about things?

·      Do you ever think of yourself as a worthless person?

·      How anxious are you about old-age abandonment?

·      How long would it take you to walk to the nearest healthcare center?

·      Historical literacy: How well do you know local legends and folktales? Names of the 5 kings? Traditional songs?

·      How good is your ecological literacy (names of plants and wild animals in your area)?

·      What indigenous skills (weaving, embroidery, papermaking, carving, etc) do you have?

·      How important is the Bhutanese code of etiquette and conduct?

·      Do you have a balanced use of time?

·      How strong is your sense of belonging to your local community?

·      How many yak do you own?

·      How much do you trust your neighbors?

·      How safe do you feel when walking alone after dark from ghosts and spirits?

·      Ecological resilience: Did soil erosion or landslide significantly affect your property in past 12 months?

·      How do you mostly dispose of household waste?

·      What kind of toilet facility does your household use?  

Such is the importance placed on tourism these days that our guide Tashi could call the government office and pass on our request for a talk with the “minister of happiness” (whose official title is Chief Program Coordinator in the Development Cooperation Division).  The very next night, Rinchen came to our hotel with his PowerPoint presentation and cheerful confidence in the federal efforts to ensure  psychological and physical wellbeing.

An endearing, personable individual, he handed out his business card to each in the group and encouraged us to contact him with any questions we might have on the topic.  He then stayed on for dinner and photo opportunities and a glass of ara, and even gave me his commemorative royal pin. 

Rinchen and me

But can nirvana be calculated?  It is undoubtedly a lovely concept, and while the government seems sincere in its concern for the welfare of its people, such a holistic measurement is entirely subjective.  So? What’s wrong with that? Pessimistic critics claim that “happiness” can be defined as the politicians see fit, and the criteria can even be manipulated to suit their needs.  They say that GNH emphasizes spiritual and karmic factors over material and economic, that it is unscientific and lacks mathematical precision.  

Well, I say phooey! to the bah-humbug types at the OECD.  Perhaps GNH is exactly what should be foremost in driving development. 

Never enough...

Has the icy winter wind got your shoulders hunched?  The short, dark days got you in the doldrums?  The holiday stress got your knickers in a twist?  Join the kvetchfest: 
 
Of course there’s never enough money.

The house is never nice enough

Neighborhood never exclusive enough

Lakeview never expansive enough

Diamonds never brilliant enough

License plate number never low enough

Waistline never small enough

Thighs never slim enough

Breasts never perky enough

Six-packs never defined enough

Children never disciplined enough

Husbands never attentive enough

Wives never understanding enough

Teachers never dedicated enough

Students never respectful enough

Employees never flexible enough

Bosses never generous enough

Putzfrau never thorough enough

Labels never designer enough

Driver in front never quick enough to go when light turns green

Cashier never scans products fast enough

Pedestrians don't cross the street fast enough 

In Zurich, it’s just never enough…

A new campaign by the city authorities -- how pathetic is it that they have to remind us to be friendly?!

The sad and happy chore of bringing a child to college

The scene at the airport was a heart-twister: Luca’s twin sister’s face contorted with the supreme forlornness of separation from the person with whom she’d shared the womb and so much since.  As she clung to him in a symbiotic clutch, I was tempted to irrationally call the whole college thing off.  

His big brother was there, too, proud and misty-eyed.  Their relationship was long fraught with a disdainful leniency but eventually blossomed into a mutually respectful fraternal bond.  His two best friends had also come to see him off, awkwardly bumping fists and knocking shoulders, eventually even slinging arms around each other: “Mach’s guet.” 

 

The fact that my second son has headed off to study in a land far, far away – even though it is the country of my birth and the actual city in which I myself forged unforgettable college memories – makes me sadder than I could have imagined.  The Atlantic Ocean has never felt so wide or the six-hour time difference such an impediment.   The 6,017 kilometers (3,739 miles) between here and Boston today seem insurmountable though I’ve made that flight countless times over the past 30 years with nonchalance.  

In reality I was nowhere near ready for this next, natural step in the growing-up process.  And as I watched him sleeping in the hotel room we shared ahead of move-in day, he appeared so young and vulnerable that it was all I could do not to scoop him up and flee protectively back to 2005. 

But I could neither go back in time nor stop it and soon we were unpacking, setting up his dorm room, making one final shopping run to get forgotten items.  Embarking on an exhaustive orientation program that was often rather disorienting in its intensity.  The parents of the first-years all attempting to convince and console one another with talk of the wonderful opportunities, the nurturing environment, all the support services offered at the school.  How our children will doubtless manage the challenges maturely -- and how we’ll be spared dealing with most of the less wise decisions they may make.  I know that mine will be learning all manner of fascinating things: classroom knowledge, life lessons, and street smarts – all equally valuable – and that this is a priceless exercise in independence.  But still.

Luca made me promise not to be emotional about it and orchestrated our farewell to take place on a busy sidewalk in the midst of rush-hour pedestrian traffic. I could hardly speak for the lump in my throat but what was there to say in this moment?  Which words would’ve been appropriate, anything but trite?  I hugged his skinny frame hard and cupped the prickly back of his newly shorn head.  I don’t know how I possibly let go of him but of course I had to, and as soon as I had turned away the tears started flowing.  

There may well be another 2 million mothers currently going through the same distress but this is scant solace.  What I want to know: How does our society survive the strain on all those maternal souls each September? 

A former English professor of mine, in sharing his own experience of relinquishing his daughter to the transformative forces of the American higher education system, wrote in U.S. News & World Report:

 “…the parent’s tears and the child’s are not quite the same.  For the child, those welling eyes signify anxiety, fear, incipient homesickness.  The parent suffers sympathetic versions of all of these, but something else as well.  For the parent, they are the tears of loss and momentousness, the tears that attend all the great rites of passage and honor the relentless one-wayness of time.”

Indeed. 

Back in the Land of Milk and Money

 Many of you asked me to continue with this blog rather than starting a new one; I’m happy to oblige and spare you the hassle of bookmarking a new URL… So my travails will continue here, hope you’ll continue to find them intriguing. 

Hardly had I begun to adjust to being back in Zurich than a nettlesome restlessness overcame me.  After just three weeks of office time, sitting on my duff and staring at my computer screen, I clearly needed to get out of Dodge for a while.  Plus, a record hot summer in a city with scant air conditioning is really no fun.  Circumstances conspired to enable a whole week’s escape from the steaming asphalt and chilling stresses of the urban work world, and after briefly considering a beach vacay in the Mediterranean, I opted instead for a good ol’ Swiss summer sojourn: to the mountains.

So yay, a mini road trip! 

After driving west for less than 2 hours, I cross the Röstigraben, the linguistic – cultural – culinary – temperamental divide between the Germanic and the Romandie regions. Within 100 meters grüezi becomes bonjour, and this in the same country!  This is truly one of the things I love most about Europe – now if we could just get rid of that pesky currency and revert to a myriad of pesos, lire, schilling, marks, guilder, dinar and the like. 

I cruise through the picturesque landscape that tourists, marketing mavens, and locals alike love: rolling hills of green grass dotted with dark-timbered farmhouses, thick bales of golden hay, and black-and-white dairy cows. Red carnations in window boxes as far as the eye can see.  Snow-tipped mountains (biggest over 4K) as backdrop. Pass the cheese-producing areas of Gruyère and Emmental, the vineyards of Yvorne and Aigle, and arrive in the idyllic, beautifully preserved village of Vers-l’Église in the Vaudoise Alps.

A dear friend has generously lent me her über-charming chalet and I revel in my alone-time to spend 7 days

reading writing hiking

hiking reading writing

writing hiking reading

Back in my travel togs, with only myself to answer to, I am once again free of the responsibilities of reality and the respite is particularly sweet in the cool relief of 1200 meters.  I even unintentionally have a day of silence (try it some time, does wonders) and soon feel the tension melting away like the ice from the local glacier. 

End of the odyssey not yet in sight...

Maybe the journey isn’t so much about becoming anything. Maybe it’s about un-becoming everything that isn’t really you so you can be who you were meant to be in the first place.  

--author unknown

It was exactly a year ago today that I left Zurich a frazzled mess, frantic with fear and an almost paralyzing sense of failure.  I’ve now returned from my global circumnavigation…somewhat slightly less frazzled.  I wish I could report a full recovery but if I learned anything on my journey, it’s that healing is not a linear process and does not adhere to deadlines.  However, the assessment is primarily positive for sure, as the report below attests.  Currently, I am negotiating my re-entry with not a little trepidation, worried that this tsk-tsking, Zwinglian, overambitious, status-conscious town may ultimately suck the optimistic life force out of me – but I’ll save the tale of this travail for another, new blog and take a moment to record my takeaway. 

First the physical tally: I am back hale and whole.  Figured I owed my kids at least that much.  During the 12 months, I suffered no illness, no injury, nary a headache, not even a slightly upset stomach.  The huge bag of medications that I schlepped all around the world remained untouched.   The best tan of my life has long faded and with it, thankfully, my freckles, old and new alike, but undoubtedly some sun damage has been done.  There are scars from a few of the more vicious mosquito bites but I’m grateful I didn’t come down with dengue fever or malaria. Been detoxed, retoxed, redetoxed and retoxed again.  Yoga was a central pillar throughout, and I am elated to have deepened my practice to such an extent that I know it will support me through any and all trials and tribulations. 

Emotionally, the story is much more dramatic.  On the verge of hysteria upon taking leave of my children last summer, I retreated to the Montana mountains and, surrounded by 30 new soul sisters, listened to a wise, young spiritual activist assure us that shit happens to everybody.  She shared her own story of how she has repeatedly been breezing successfully through life’s landscapes, gaining confidence, hitting her stride when – BAM! – down she plunges into a deep, dirty ditch.   Of course there’s nothing to do but crawl out, pluck the twigs and leaves from her hair, bandage her wounds, and limp along her way, picking up momentum as she goes until the next gorge gets in the way. 

It was weirdly comforting to realize that my disastrous divorce will not be the last time I fall in a ditch, and from that first week on I spent the rest of my sabbatical shoring up my resilience in preparation for inevitable future falls.

The phenomenal folks along the way provided priceless support to my endeavor, and to think that I wouldn’t have met them had I not been on my own. Heartfelt gratitude to my peeps, you know who you are! Being alone has its challenges and yes, I was ofttimes lonely, but solo travel is really the only way to go.  For a year, I went to places I’d never been where I knew no one; all I encountered thought me either crazy or courageous and sometimes both, but I wouldn’t have done it any other way.  As part of a couple, a family, a group, my experiences would have been so much poorer because of the normal insularity of such configurations.  Wouldn’t have had the necessary time for reflection, introspection, contemplation, all those other –tions, either.

And what about the acceptance and serenity I set out to find?  I admit that I struggled a good deal with feelings of resentment and guilt and inadequacy but also experienced many moments of profound peace and supreme confidence.  I worked hard at opening my heart, letting go, renewing faith in myself.

As already averred, getting past an upheaval such as I went through does not always proceed smoothly from one step to the next, is full of ups and downs, milestones followed by setbacks.  It’s really a three-steps-forward-one-step-back kind of movement.  But I’m getting there. 

Dear loved ones, please accept it when I tell you how essential it is to establish what makes your life worthwhile.  What deserves to be agonized about, sweated out, dedicated to.  Don’t fritter away precious energy and time fretting over things that just don’t matter.  

A few months ago, I came across this blog entry that I feel is totally on target (a lengthy but brilliant read) -- props to Mark Manson:

The Subtle Art of Not Giving A Fuck 

For my part, I have determined what does me good, what feeds my soul and nourishes my spirit, what enables me to be my true self. I am committed to leading a life of yes / now / why not.  I am living in the moment and not letting fear get a foothold.  I do not have to have the next 25 years figured out.  Whatever comes my way, I can handle it. 

My mantra: so ham (I am)

mwah! arohanui all around!

***************************

If you’ve read this far, then you deserve the answers to the FAQs I got at every single stop and continue to hear:

1) I missed my kids the most; truthfully, they were all I missed.

2) No, I did not get a tattoo.

3) I refuse to choose a favorite place; each was superlative in its own way:

Montana: Most Breathtaking Big Sky

Grand Canyon: Best Geological Awesomeness

Costa Rica: Most Exotic Rainforest Wildlife

Belize: Most Aggressive Mozzies

Anguilla: Gorgeousest Beaches

Tortola: Best Xmas Gift

LA: Coolest Neighborhood Discovery (Studio City)

Auckland, New Zealand: Best Alternative to Zurich

South Island, New Zealand: Most Luxurious Wellness Retreat

Sydney:  Grooviest Music Scene

Vietnam: Best Time with Daughter

Myanmar: Most Spiritual & Friendliest Folk

Singapore: Biggest Culture Shock

Sri Lanka:  Best Ayurvedic Experience

Istanbul:  Most Heaving Metropolis

Paris:  Tastiest Oysters

And there you have it.