View from my window

I’m three years (and counting) into my on-again-off-again tenure in Paris–not quit a resident, not quite a tourist.  Having written previously about consequential strangers there and what it takes to connect with them, I more fully understand why  living amongst Parisians, a month or two at a clip, is a challenge.  I’m a New Yorker.

When I moved to Northampton, MA, from Manhattan, I told everyone (and later wrote), “I don’t miss New York.  I miss New Yorkers.”  When I’m not in Paris, I miss the city–the food, the beauty and, especially the Eiffel tower.  I now have people there–my people.  But I don’t miss the Parisians.

New Yorkers are in-your-face, cutting edge–rushing, sometimes pushing, always wondering what’s next.  In five minutes, I see more different types of people in Manhattan than I do in five days in Paris.  Parisians are proud, proper, and elegant.  Their style comes from within–it is attitude more than outfit, taste more than trend.  And no one is in a hurry.

New Yorkers–on the street, in stores–typically try to help foreigners who don’t speak English.  Parisians think we should learn French before visiting. In their city, the customer is always wrong.

New Yorkers smile at strangers, and get right down to business without fanfare. You ask a question, they answer.  Parisians rarely smile and observe strict social protocol.  On one of my early trips, I asked a bus driver, trying my best to be polite,“Ou et la soixante-neuf, s’il vous plait? –where is the sixty-nine, please?  He frowned. I knew I’d done something wrong.  Looking down at me (literally and figuratively), he answered with a sing-song “BonJOUR, Madame,” as if to say, “What, no hello? And you expect me to answer?”

New Yorkers traffic in psycho-babble and are willing to share intimate details of their lives at cocktail parties.  They move along the social continuum quickly; acquaintances can instantly morph into life-long friends.  Parisians play it close to the vest.  A friend who grew up in Paris and speaks French like a native, says of her Parisian friends–some of whom date back to grammar school: “There’s just so far they’ll let me in.”

New Yorkers quickly get to a first-name basis. I didn’t know that this was not the custom in Paris until I matter-of-factly introduced myself to the owner of the fromagerie on my street.  Even worse, I asked his name.  He was horrified but intrigued–and, apparently, teachable. He doesn’t flinch now when I call him Pascal. And whenever I pass by his shop, he shouts a hearty “Bonjour, Brenda!” in my direction.

Granted the language barrier makes it even more difficult to “know” the French.  But at least I have Francoise, whom I met in a Pilates class.  She is quintessentially Parisian–chic even in yoga pants and a white tee–and she speaks perfect French-accented English.  Most important, she knows (and loves) New Yorkers, thanks to years in “zhee schmata beezness.” We immediately were drawn to one another.  At a cute cafe around the corner from the studio, she began tutoring me:

Mayleenda, zhee Americans, zhay zheenk zhee French hate zhem.  Zhat ees not true.  Zhee French, zhay don’t like anyone.  Zhay don’t even like zhee French!

Francoise, left; Anne, our (English) Pilates teacher, right, at the American Library in Paris.

So when a friend recently theorized that Occupy Wall Street is the latest sign that people are standing up to bullies, I immediately saw her point. That Kaddafi was brutally stoned and shot to death bolstered her argument. And weren’t the various civil rights movements essentially a case of victims rising up against their oppressors? Coincidentally, this conversation took place a few days after New Jersey passed its new anti-bullying law.

Bullying is an apt “frame” for a lot of what’s wrong in our financial institutions, our governments, and our schoolyards. At the very least, greedy bankers need to learn to “share,” and elected officials who refuse to rise above politics in search of common ground could do with a lesson in “use your words.” We try to teach children that they’re not the center of the universe. We obviously have to extend that lesson to grownups as well.

To borrow from the movie Network, the victims of injustices here and abroad are mad as hell and aren’t going to take it any more. To wit, UNESCO voted to admit Palestine last week-107 were in favor, 14 against; 52 abstained, and 21 were absent. People who alleged that anti-Semitism lurked beneath the vote missed an important point: The overwhelming ayes weren’t just about Palestine or Israel. It was a kind of Take Back the World protest against the America, the Bully. That the U. S., withdrew its funding to UNESCO in response–in effect, taking its toys and going home–has since inflamed that sentiment.

A bully is someone who doesn’t know how to have a conversation, no less a relationship. He (or she) takes hostages, uses some people and beats up others. Bullies don’t know how to interact unless they’re in control. They have little empathy or trust, even when it comes to significant others. In couples therapy, it’s not uncommon for a family therapist to label one partner the “distancer”-the one who masks his vulnerability, using withdrawal or bluster. He (usually it’s the guy) holds on stubbornly to his view of the truth and tends to blame his partner, the “pursuer.” At worst, he becomes violent.

Sounds like a lot like the 1%. How sad that a country founded as a refuge from tyranny has turned into a culture of bullying. How ironic that legislators are trying to pass laws against it-except in states where bullies control the vote. Last week, for example, Michigan Republicans managed to craft legislation that included a so-called moral exemption. Translation: It’s okay to verbally harass or beat up another kid if your message is, “God hates faggots.”

I have no great political insight that will solve the massive problems we face as a country and as a civilization. But I know a lot about relationships. Punishing bullies for their behavior doesn’t work without education aimed at the perpetrator and victim. Even the best loophole-free laws go only so far. Besides, don’t we all have a little bully in us, even though we may prefer to call it “competitiveness” or “ambition”? Don’t we crave our fifteen minutes-and want things to be the way we want them? It’s the American way.

Real change can’t come without dialogue and self-reflection. It’s not just a matter of making the bullies understand what they’ve done. Occupy Wall Street is certainly allowing the victimized to take steps that promote healing: speak about against their oppressors, seek others who share common ground, and gain confidence in themselves to affect change.  It’s the way many social justice movements start (see an excerpt from the book about Freedom Summer in 1964).  But it’s only a beginning. We live on a planet with just so much space and resources, and with vast inequities. For how long will we continue to nourish a win-lose mentality? It will take a lot more than protest to rid the world of bullies.

This entry also appeared on the Consequential Strangers blog on  Psychology Today.

A new report by Susannah Fox, released today by the Pew Internet Project in collaboration with the California Health Care Foundation, “The Social Life of Health Information, 2010,” found that 59% of American adults look on line for health information.   A smaller percentage — 34% of internet users, or 25% of adults –  have read someone else’s commentary or experience about health or medical issues on an online news group, website, or blog.

Health-related social ties generally fall into the realm of consequential strangers: doctors and other medical personnel, patients, and caregivers who are enlisted as part of the sufferer’s social convoy–the entourage of people who travel through the experience with him or her.    Although our social convoys of course include our intimates, they might not be in the best position to help us.  They’re traumatized, too.  Also, they usually don’t have a map of the territory.

While the vast majority of our illness-associated connections offer actual hand-holding and face-to-face sharing, the Internet allows use to forge these kinds of ties  online as well.  As Pew concludes:

The social life of health information is robust. The online conversation about health is being driven forward by two forces: 1) the availability of social tools and 2) the motivation, especially among people living with chronic conditions, to connect with each other.

We are honored that the Pew report quoted Consequential Strangers (see page 7 of the PDF, or this online link): “If people who are already on board don’t have the information, experience, or empathy you need, you enlist others who do.” (from Chapter 4, Good for What Ails Us)

In a pattern that matches this observation, people living with one or more chronic conditions and those living with disability are significantly more likely than other social network site users to gather health information on these sites.

The problem is, that people you “meet” on the Internet are total strangers.  Unlike striking up a conversation in a doctor’s waiting room or meeting at a support group,  it’s a little trickier to go from stranger to consequential stranger with someone you can’t see. Some common-sense guidelines can help:

• Proceed slowly with any online relationship.   Some people prefer to have Internet “conversations” anonymously until they are certain that the other person is legit.
• Offer your own information sparingly, don’t divulge anything personal that might be used to track you down.
• Never base treatment decisions or methods of care solely on information from the Internet.
• Before you allow an online relationship to migrate off line, suggest a video chat. And if you do decide to see each other IRL (in real life), make sure that your first meeting–to be safe, first several meetings–take place in a public venue.
• Remember that even sites sponsored by major health groups don’t usually screen their members. Just because someone says she has cancer, for example, doesn’t mean she actually does.  She might suffer from Munchausen’s-by-Internet–a condition in which someone fakes symptoms to garner attention online.   Dr. Marc D. Feldman, an expert in “factitious” conditions who first identified the Internet version, admits that while there are clues that someone has MIB, even he has been fooled.

I am Jewish. I watched the 5-minute video, and I had mixed feelings.  (Apparently, I wasn’t alone: Another Facebook friend, admitted that once, when she actually encountered the mitzvah tank, she denied being Jewish!)

I don’t know how I’d react in person, but watching the video I feared that the Lubavitchers are potential beacons for anti-Semites.  They proselytize an extreme form of Judaism, one that dictates a certain look and that separates men and women and seems (at least to my eyes) to put women on a lower level than men. I worry that people outside New York who see this video will think that this is what “Jewish” is, much in the same way some gay men worry that people in the red states will think drag queens is what “gay” is (a concern that dates back 25 years, according to Larry Kramer’s Normal Heart).

On the other hand, what is so wrong about being observant, having rules to follow? That works for some people.  Who am I to judge them?  I close my mind, though, because their “look” speaks volumes to me; I see them as stereotypes. But if I imagine them without the black coats, beard, yarmulka (skull cap),and payos (sidelocks), the young men who man these “synagogues on wheels” seem like good guys.  When a man complains that their music is too loud, they respond immediately, apologizing, being friendly, asking if he’s Jewish, wishing him well.

I’m more willing to open my mind these days and to question my knee-jerk reaction to certain “types,” as my mother used to call them.   In part, it’s because I spent three years researching and writing about the importance of allowing different types of people into your life–and turning them into consequential strangers.  More recently, though, I wrote a 3-part series on “collaborative conversation” for Shareable.net It opened my eyes to the possibilities (see Part 1) and the problems of communication (Part 2) — and how we might move past them (Part 3).

Clearly, some strangers feel too strange; we’re reluctant or fearful in their presence.  But we reap immeasureable benefits when we move past judgments and open ourselves to difference.  So, if I happen to encounter ultra-Orthodox Jews manning a mitzvah tank, I’ll step inside and work at understanding rather than dismiss them. I might learn something about them–and about myself as well.

This post first appeared on Shareable.net

I really feel out of this world today, I never knew that I am so lucky to have such wonderful well wishers and friends who love me so much.

I got more than 987 messages for my birthday wishes today from all my group members & Friends.

I Today feel one of the richest person of this world, even richer than Bill Gates to have such lovely and dear friends and well wishers around me.

with warm regards

Nitin Naresh

I met Nitin, if the word “met” even applies, on Facebook.    I quote him a lot, repost his ideas.   He’s smart, and he’s obviously a good guy–a philanthropist and activist in his early twenties.   Many of his generation–the Millennials–are like that.    Historians who study “turnings”–generational swaths of time–look for patterns that repeat themselves with each new cohort.  Many compare Millennials with the civic-minded G.I. Generation, today’s great-grandparents.   But the G. I. generation didn’t have the Internet, and its members didn’t perceive themselves to be citizens of the world.  Nitin lives in New Delhi, but he can “converse” with anyone anywhere.  I’m not surprised that he was flooded with good wishes.  He gives. What goes around comes around.

The Millennials are inheriting a tough world.  People like Nitin are rising to meet the challenge.   They don’t need a book about consequential strangers.  They talk to anyone and everyone and realize that every conversation counts.   They believe in sharing.  It gives me hope.

I think about such things every day, among other reasons because I traffic in relationships, professionally and personally.  I speak to strangers all the time. During the year, I live in five different homes (counting my same-time-next-year rental in a summer community). I need consequential strangers to live the way I do–often, far away from my most beloved family members and friends.

Thus, even before I researched and discovered the term “consequential strangers” for the book of the same name, I knew enough to launch an “acquaintanceship campaign” when I moved to Massachusetts from Manhattan.  I needed the kind of people I’d left behind who had punctuated my day–the butcher, the neighbor, the doorman, the familiar waitress, the assorted lesser friends I’d see at brunch but would never invite for a weekend sleepover once I moved. In those days, I wasn’t on “the net,” and social media sites were not even on the horizon.I’m good at making acquaintances. But nothing in my social imagination could have prepared me for the impact of Facebook. Since I joined in 2006, my social convoy–the cavalcade of people I meet moving through life–has grown in size and diversity. It’s not that I talk to all of these so-called friends everyday–indeed, most are people not close to me. But when I have the time, I enjoy viewing their photos, exploring links they recommend, and reading their 160-character revelations.  I’m “fed” by our occasional exchanges.

What is more, when I post an idea or comment on another person’s, it is often broadcast to my CS-by-association:  Not pure strangers, and not quite consequential strangers, they’re the friends of friends, and their friends, and they extend out to the infinite edges of the social universe. I know little to nothing about them.  But we’re connected, and suddenly, we’re all talking to one another. What we know and think about and feel becomes more important than who we actually are, how we dress, how much money we make, whom we vote for, or what kind of music we like.

Recently, I posted a link to a fellow writer and psychologist Mindy Greenstein’s sweet essay about losing her dog. It was the kind of post that hits a universal chord. The comments–some from CS-by-association, some from people I actually know–soon began to pour in. The conversation kept shifting–first, about grief, then onto how special dogs are, and now it’s morphing into a “do-we-get-another-one?” discussion.

Insignificant? Maybe, but life is made of such exchanges. And who cares whether a stranger gets a new dog? We do. We’ve always loved other people’s stories. It’s how we gauge our own. The media–print, radio, TV–have always brought us into others’ lives.  Facebook is the Internet incarnation through which we access stories.  But it cuts out the middleman. We hear from others directly.

What you think is important may not be as meaningful to me, but I am nevertheless enriched by learning what you think, how you live, how you deal with and solve problems. It might change my mind completely, or perhaps just open it a crack. Or, it might not affect me at all. Regardless, your thoughts become part of mine. Each conversation, however brief, and even on line, changes us.

Those who aren’t on Facebook, as well as those who are ambivalent about it, fear the lack of privacy, the possibility of hacking, the hucksters. Those are legitimate concerns. We all need to be cautious and, more important, to develop what Howard Rheingold calls “21st century literacies.”

Elsewhere, I’ve likened Facebook to a big cocktail party at which everyone is privvy to everything you say. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea. But it’s a choice. I could be “on Facebook” and not reveal much about myself, or I could document every moment of my life. I’m somewhere in the middle. Initially, as I’ve admitted in another piece, I was in it for the hype: I saw Facebook as a way of getting people interested in my book. Now, although I still love it when people write to me about my writing, the reason I check my Facebook page most days is the feeling of being connected. I like being able to ask “my” world a question or share an insight. I like feeling that people care.

Why else would I have uploaded that photo of my chicken soup?

“Mr. Critic” Sam Sifton agreed with the questioner that “a server pushing the business on a table is lame, lame, lame.”  But he also points out that it’s a way of enticing customers and employees to connect:

The gesture can elevate the mood of a restaurant in ways that have very little to do with the consumption of alcohol and everything to do with the creation of bonds between those consuming food and those preparing it.

Connection feeds the soul.  But if one is forced into rewarding employees, it’s more like an arranged marriage!

Then again, the option doesn’t even have to be on the menu.  In a good restaurant, where the staff is friendly, and the chef makes herself accessible to patrons, it elevates the experience, and you want to say “thank you” in more than words or tip.  So go ahead, think of something special.   Damn, the last time I was at Michy’s, and Michelle Bernstein came out to chat with us, I should have bought her a glass of champagne!

But the point of this update isn’t to lament a country in which such “poor-people’s loans” are legal, but to fill you in on what good came of the plea–good that reflects the kindness and power of consequential strangers.

Many of you responded with donations, often accompanied by sweet notes. You didn’t just write a check or stuff a twenty-dollar bill in an envelope.  You listened, cared, felt good about contributing and said, meaning it, “I wish I could have done more.”  It was amazing to witness.

We’ve raised over $1200 and are (we hope) still counting.

Even better, it’s not just money that’s coming in.  Reading the Facebook post about Violet, “Whitney,” one of my distant CS–a college friend of someone close to me who I’ve heard about but never me–reached out and offered more:  “I will send money,” she wrote in an email, “but thought there may be other resources I could help with.”  She went on to describe several assistance programs in Louisiana, adding:

As you see there are lots of small pockets of assistance with specific criteria. It is hard for people to negotiate the options. I am happy to talk with Violet and try to figure out what she and her family may be eligible for. Most of my experience is with people with disabilities but if I do not have a resource I may be able to connect her up with the right person.

Because of Whitney’s knowledge, expertise, and generosity, Violet’s life could change.   We all know, Violet has to want it to change and be willing to make it happen.   (Several of you have reminded me of this in your notes and emails.)  But Whitney is working on putting together a plan for Violet.  She’ll hook her up with a community action agency that can help her address what made her so vulnerable to a loan shark.  The agency will look into her health insurance problems–she mysteriously lost Medicaid.  They can get her into a food pantry.  The goal is to give Violet the support she needs–training, counseling for her and the kids, people to help with the forms and, most important, a job.  And at that point, Whitney help her apply for certain tax relief programs–and, we hope, not get into debt again.

Whitney’s also getting me help with that heinous contract, to make sure there are no surprises when I pay off the loan.   Which brings me to how the money we’re now collecting will be used.  In  order of importance…

To pay off the $1000  debt –plus “fees.”

For the release of Violet’s G.E.D. diploma. She did it by mail, paying for it in small monthly increments, and she’s passed all her exams.  But–surprise, surprise: the company–I mean, the school–won’t release it until she ponies up the final payment.

For gas gift cards. Getting herself to the community action agency is not just a matter of will–which of course anyone needs to reach a goal–there’s also the very practical matter of getting there.

In the last chapter of Consequential Strangers, I included a personal story about meeting some of the survivors of Hurricane Katrina, among them, Violet Simmons (not her real name–hence, no photo), a single mother whose New Orleans home was under water.  Violet, who had fled west across the state until she ran out of gas, was then living in one motel room with her eight children.  I’ve since stayed in touch with her.

Five and half years later, Violet’s youngest child, a toddler then, is now in second grade; her oldest is the mother of three.  As it turns out, Katrina wasn’t Violet’s worst enemy; poverty was–and is.  Katrina just complicated matters.For example, last year Violet took out a $1000 loan–from an easy-loan company that specializes in low-income customers:  “Only $99.99 a month for a thousand dollars.”  The catch is, that’s only interest.  Violet has already paid around $1200–but still owes the $1000 she borrowed against her car.

Making matters worse, Violet was more than ten days late this month, which allowed the company to tack on a penalty fee.   Yesterday, she was informed that if she didn’t come up with $119.29 by closing time, the loan company would not only repossess her car, they’d levy additional fees.

I paid her debt, but it’s just a bandaid.  So I made a deal with Violet:  If she would continue to pay the $99.99 interest, and I’d pay additional money each month towards her principle.

When I got off the phone, I thought to myself, maybe some of the people I know–from good friends to consequential strangers whom I know mainly on line–might be willing to help Violet, too.  Almost everyone has a spare $10 or 20 laying around.

So here I am, posting this plea on my own websites, sending it by email, and “publishing” it on Facebook.

If only 100 of you send me $10, we can pay off the loan by February 17, when her next payment is due.

If I receive more than $1000, I will put the extra money toward Violet’s electric bill, which is nearly $200 a month, and other recurring expenses.

You might wonder, “Why isn’t Violet getting a job, so she can take care of herself?”  As one friend put it, “Aren’t you enabling her?”   The fact is, Violet is trying.  She sought help at the local community agency, filled out applications at McDonald’s and Walmart.   But if former execs and MBAs are having trouble finding work, imagine how tough it is to be a single mother with a G.E.D.   I see this not as enabling but as a way of helping Violet get out from under.

The cutoff date is February 15.   Please act quickly and give whatever you can.   Mail checks to Melinda Blau, 301 174th Street, Apt 1219, Sunny Isles Beach, FL 33160.   Write Donation for “Violet” in the memo.   Even better, send cash.

BULLETIN! Two very helpful CS of mine suggested that I get a Pay Pal account and offer this better option–an online donation

Oh, and BTW, feel free to share this message with your friends and their friends.  Thanks!

I stood there at first as a journalist and had planned to tell her a little about my project.  But as I handed her a book to sign, I blurted out that my family had just suffered a terrible tragedy.  My great nephew, my sister’s first grandson, had drowned in her pool. At 14, he was already an amazing and versatile athlete, so no one realized he was in trouble.  (Later, we would learn he had a heart condition and that no one could have saved him anyway.) I told her I wanted to give her book to his parents. “So could you please inscribe it to Heidi and Louis?”

“”Oh, dear, I’m so sorry.  When did this happen?” she asked, acting as if no one else was in the room.  It wasn’t fake empathy.   In that moment, I could feel–and her eyes confirmed–that she truly cared and felt my pain.

“Two weeks ago,” I replied as giant tears began to (unexpectedly) roll down my face.  I immediately apologized, embarrassed.

She took my hand in hers and said, “Of course  you’re crying.  Never apologize for that.  It’s going to take time.”

In that brief encounter, Elizabeth and I had a moment that mattered.  As it happpened, we never reconnected, but  I wrote about her in the book, piecing together her talks, interviews, and what she revealed about her own life in Saving Graces.    She was an example of someone who knew the value of connection, who sought out others, and who handled her life with grace despite the burdens she bore.   It is said that it’s not what happens to us in life that matters as much as how we handle it.   Science confirms this:

Psychologist Peggy Thoits, who has analyzed how people cope with negative events over the long term, grants that factors such as environment, socioeconomic status, gender, race, and the composition of our convoys can limit or enhance our options. However, people who are higher in “personal agency”—the ability to make choices, take action, and set a new course in the face of problems—often manage their circumstances in ways that improve their situation.  Such individuals usually have better “personal coping resources,” among them, high self-esteem, optimism, and a sense of “mastery” which allow them to believe they can handle the situation. They also experience fewer symptoms of depression or anxiety.  Coincidentally, many of the same strengths are found in people who are “sociable”—agreeable and able to seek out others—which is also associated with better physical health.

I watched Elizabeth Edwards, as most women did, because she suffered–and overcame–the “negative events” we fear the most:  the death of a child, the news that you have cancer, the news that the cancer is back, the betrayal of a husband.    She was always herself–never a caricature–and always in the moment.

In an online obituary today, Melinda Henneberger refers to her as the “most disarming, beloved and beleaguered woman in the American political arena” who “did not want to be remembered as anybody’s cuckold, or some modern-day Job.”   According to Edwards’ friends, who appeared on Today this morning, she also didn’t want to be thought of as a woman who “lost her battle” with cancer.  “The battle was about having a good life, and that she won.”    Rest in peace, Elizabeth.  You deserve it.