I almost always enjoy finding out that someone reads my posts. We are social creatures and it's not enough to just call out into the darkness; part of the pleasure comes in knowing someone out there has understood and answered back.
I write about my experiences with anxiety and mental health care -- including medication -- because I am living them. But also because I believe strongly that we can't de-stigmatize mental health issues if no one who has them is ever willing to out herself.
I write about my experiences as a parent -- and a child.
I write about my experiences with race, gender, economic class, status, religion, hierarchy, and social norms because it is only through thinking and writing about the world that I ever understand even a small slice of it -- and my relationship to it.
I write about politics and policy because these are the intellectual pursuits that fire me. If there's one moment to sum up my adult life it's of my 21-year-old self wandering the streets of Havana, Cuba agonizing about what the right policy is, the right relationship of government to the governed, the best way to maximize human potential and minimize human suffering... as though there is a perfect answer to be found if I just work hard enough at getting it.
I write because my brain demands it when I'm walking to the metro or tossing and turning at night or suffering through another soul-crushing episode of Thomas the Tank Engine. To stop writing is to stop thinking and to stop thinking is to trade a deliberative human existence for an instinctive animal one.
And so... I take real pleasure in finding out that people have read my posts and that I'm not alone in my struggles and worries and fears and experiences and joys and delights. I take real pleasure in learning that people have been persuaded and enlightened, exposed to new ideas. I take real pleasure in the discussion that ensues when people enlighten me and expose me to new ideas that shake up my worldview. (The people in my life ah wicked smaht!)
The "almost" in "I almost always enjoy," then, is for those times when I'm beset with the you should be carefuls and the I would nevers that straddle the line between genuine concern and concern-trolling.
I was out for a walk recently and came upon a friend who runs a non-profit in the city. The topic of what I write about online came up and my friend expressed his 'surprise' (dismay) that I should be so 'free' (reckless) in posting what I do. 'What if your employer found out, and so on. We are so lucky, you and I, to have the freedom to say whatever we want without the same fear of economic consequences that other people have to live with.'
There was a gentle reprimand in his words, not only for what I'd written, but for my (white middle class) privilege in being free to express it at all when so many others lack my economic security and can't afford to offend an employer. I took exception, and told him so.
I have spent the last ten years working for public figures and carefully moderating what I post online, I said. I was always careful to never criticize my elected bosses, my managers, my coworkers, our constituents, or members of the delegation. I never used racist, sexist, or otherwise unacceptable language -- not that I would anyway. I never wrote about certain hypercontroversial topics -- Israel! -- on which I have strong opinions. I never posted anything that I didn't feel like I couldn't stand behind, both factually and philosophically. And I have always tried to walk that thin line between being the grownup teenage girl who overshares and dissects online every bad relationship, nasty frenemy, and dissatisfying day and the Stepford Housewife who only posts smiling pictures of a perfect family with bright white teeth right up until the day her status changes from 'married mother of two' to 'divorced ex-con.' (Side bar, we're awfully hard on women, aren't we? There's basically no way to be a woman online that doesn't win the disapprobation of this or that self-appointed judge, jury and executioner. I wind up on both sides.)
But there's only so much that our employers should be able to control about our lives before we say enough is enough, I went on. It's actually a big reason why I wanted to leave Congress and the gotcha culture of "watchdogs" like Legistorm, which tracks the every online movement of even the lowliest district staff assistants as though they were next in line for the presidency itself instead of kids doing admin work and making $30k after bonuses.
And so no, I told my friend, I'm not going to live in fear of getting fired so much so that it suffocates something as important to me as being able to write what I'm living, particularly now that I am free of the congressional yoke. Else what's the point of being a thinking person?
And while I absolutely agree that my economic class, upbringing, and race give me a degree of privilege and freedom, don't -- don't! -- put us in the same camp, I told him. Because you, my good friend, run your organization while I am just an employee in mine who happens to be a little more brazen than the others.
I think he was a bit taken aback and his first response was to protest being labeled "the boss" because he doesn't like to think of himself that way. But the boss is the boss, and no one ever really forgets it when push comes to shove -- not least of all the boss himself.
There's a fascinating piece on the New York Times this week about wealthy families on the Upper East Side that ends with this assessment of the male-female power dynamic:
That is the reality of being the boss. And that's a freedom I've never had. (Even as a congressional manager, I was somebody's boss, but never the boss.)
So the question then becomes, how much power do I grant "the boss" (any boss) over my life? How important is any one job to me? How much of my non-work life do I allow any boss to control?
Halfway through my congressional career, a junior employee asked for time off to take her graduate school exit exams. The office debated granting her the time, and I was floored that the request was not being immediately approved. "This is her graduate degree," I said enunciating carefully and speaking slowly as though they might have developed a hearing condition. "She's been working towards this for years and it will determine how far she progresses in her field. If we don't grant her the time for this pretty legitimate request, why wouldn't she just quit?" That concept seemed entirely foreign to the folks in charge. They'd convinced themselves that they had the power to make her work that week. But they only ever had as much power as this employee granted them over her.
On my last day as a White House intern, I was asked to do something that I refused to do on ethical grounds. The intern coordinator's voice grew higher and higher pitched. Of all the threats lobbed against me to compel my submission, the one that stands out best in my mind is "I will personally ensure that you never work in Republican politics again!"
Perhaps she did.
How much power do I grant "the boss" (any boss) over my life? How important is any one job to me? I honestly don't know if I'm too reckless or if I've got it just about right. But this is my only life and at some point, I have to make it worth my living it.
I write about my experiences with anxiety and mental health care -- including medication -- because I am living them. But also because I believe strongly that we can't de-stigmatize mental health issues if no one who has them is ever willing to out herself.
I write about my experiences as a parent -- and a child.
I write about my experiences with race, gender, economic class, status, religion, hierarchy, and social norms because it is only through thinking and writing about the world that I ever understand even a small slice of it -- and my relationship to it.
I write about politics and policy because these are the intellectual pursuits that fire me. If there's one moment to sum up my adult life it's of my 21-year-old self wandering the streets of Havana, Cuba agonizing about what the right policy is, the right relationship of government to the governed, the best way to maximize human potential and minimize human suffering... as though there is a perfect answer to be found if I just work hard enough at getting it.
I write because my brain demands it when I'm walking to the metro or tossing and turning at night or suffering through another soul-crushing episode of Thomas the Tank Engine. To stop writing is to stop thinking and to stop thinking is to trade a deliberative human existence for an instinctive animal one.
And so... I take real pleasure in finding out that people have read my posts and that I'm not alone in my struggles and worries and fears and experiences and joys and delights. I take real pleasure in learning that people have been persuaded and enlightened, exposed to new ideas. I take real pleasure in the discussion that ensues when people enlighten me and expose me to new ideas that shake up my worldview. (The people in my life ah wicked smaht!)
===
I was out for a walk recently and came upon a friend who runs a non-profit in the city. The topic of what I write about online came up and my friend expressed his 'surprise' (dismay) that I should be so 'free' (reckless) in posting what I do. 'What if your employer found out, and so on. We are so lucky, you and I, to have the freedom to say whatever we want without the same fear of economic consequences that other people have to live with.'
There was a gentle reprimand in his words, not only for what I'd written, but for my (white middle class) privilege in being free to express it at all when so many others lack my economic security and can't afford to offend an employer. I took exception, and told him so.
I have spent the last ten years working for public figures and carefully moderating what I post online, I said. I was always careful to never criticize my elected bosses, my managers, my coworkers, our constituents, or members of the delegation. I never used racist, sexist, or otherwise unacceptable language -- not that I would anyway. I never wrote about certain hypercontroversial topics -- Israel! -- on which I have strong opinions. I never posted anything that I didn't feel like I couldn't stand behind, both factually and philosophically. And I have always tried to walk that thin line between being the grownup teenage girl who overshares and dissects online every bad relationship, nasty frenemy, and dissatisfying day and the Stepford Housewife who only posts smiling pictures of a perfect family with bright white teeth right up until the day her status changes from 'married mother of two' to 'divorced ex-con.' (Side bar, we're awfully hard on women, aren't we? There's basically no way to be a woman online that doesn't win the disapprobation of this or that self-appointed judge, jury and executioner. I wind up on both sides.)
But there's only so much that our employers should be able to control about our lives before we say enough is enough, I went on. It's actually a big reason why I wanted to leave Congress and the gotcha culture of "watchdogs" like Legistorm, which tracks the every online movement of even the lowliest district staff assistants as though they were next in line for the presidency itself instead of kids doing admin work and making $30k after bonuses.
And so no, I told my friend, I'm not going to live in fear of getting fired so much so that it suffocates something as important to me as being able to write what I'm living, particularly now that I am free of the congressional yoke. Else what's the point of being a thinking person?
And while I absolutely agree that my economic class, upbringing, and race give me a degree of privilege and freedom, don't -- don't! -- put us in the same camp, I told him. Because you, my good friend, run your organization while I am just an employee in mine who happens to be a little more brazen than the others.
I think he was a bit taken aback and his first response was to protest being labeled "the boss" because he doesn't like to think of himself that way. But the boss is the boss, and no one ever really forgets it when push comes to shove -- not least of all the boss himself.
===
There's a fascinating piece on the New York Times this week about wealthy families on the Upper East Side that ends with this assessment of the male-female power dynamic:
Rich, powerful men may speak the language of partnership in the absence of true economic parity in a marriage, and act like true partners, and many do. But under this arrangement women are still dependent on their men — a husband may simply ignore his commitment to an abstract idea at any time. He may give you a [wife] bonus, or not.In the progressive sphere especially, the boss may speak the language of partnership and teamwork, but s/he is still the boss. The boss comes and goes when s/he wants, the boss sets the hours for everyone else, the boss sets the pay, the boss is responsible for hiring and firing, and yes, the boss gets to say whatever s/he wants and gets to fire those of us who say too much ourselves.
That is the reality of being the boss. And that's a freedom I've never had. (Even as a congressional manager, I was somebody's boss, but never the boss.)
So the question then becomes, how much power do I grant "the boss" (any boss) over my life? How important is any one job to me? How much of my non-work life do I allow any boss to control?
===
Halfway through my congressional career, a junior employee asked for time off to take her graduate school exit exams. The office debated granting her the time, and I was floored that the request was not being immediately approved. "This is her graduate degree," I said enunciating carefully and speaking slowly as though they might have developed a hearing condition. "She's been working towards this for years and it will determine how far she progresses in her field. If we don't grant her the time for this pretty legitimate request, why wouldn't she just quit?" That concept seemed entirely foreign to the folks in charge. They'd convinced themselves that they had the power to make her work that week. But they only ever had as much power as this employee granted them over her.
===
On my last day as a White House intern, I was asked to do something that I refused to do on ethical grounds. The intern coordinator's voice grew higher and higher pitched. Of all the threats lobbed against me to compel my submission, the one that stands out best in my mind is "I will personally ensure that you never work in Republican politics again!"
Perhaps she did.
===
How much power do I grant "the boss" (any boss) over my life? How important is any one job to me? I honestly don't know if I'm too reckless or if I've got it just about right. But this is my only life and at some point, I have to make it worth my living it.
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