Search This Blog

Thursday, November 28, 2013

Embracing Black Friday . . . Or Seeing Red?



I’m super excited (and grateful!) to have been invited to join a blog group alongside three talented bloggers.  Each week, one of us chooses a topic and we all post a blog entry on that topic, usually on Thursdays.  
Here are the links to the other fabulous blogs:
This week’s topic was my bright idea, and I asked everyone to give an opinion on stores being open on Thanksgiving.  Here is my take:




            If you are one of those people who will be lining up outside of Target or WalMart or Toys ‘R Us or one of the other stores open today, I have only two things to say to you:  first, bring a warm coat because it’s pretty cold out.  Second, be respectful – and don’t forget to wish the picketers a happy Thanksgiving.
            It takes a lot to get me to protest something, and the choice by major retailers to remain open on Thanksgiving falls way, way, way at the bottom of that list.  No, other than ogling the crowds when I drive past the strip malls, I won’t give much thought to stores being open today.  I am neither “pro” nor “con” Early Black Friday.  In all honestly, I simply don’t care whether stores are open on Thanksgiving . . . or Christmas, or Hannukah.  I personally won’t be shopping, but not because I morally object to the concept but because I hate crowds and I hate the cold.  But I take no issue with stores being open all day – and requiring their employees to work.  And here are my reasons.
(1)              Many, many jobs require employees to work today.
            It’s interesting to me that, during my entire childhood, my Grandpa (and my Uncle Tilly and a couple of my cousins) worked at movie theaters, and no one ever so much as batted an eyelash.  For as long as I can remember, movie theaters have always remained open 365 days a year, meaning that my relatives at one time or another missed holidays.  Even now, during the Early Black Friday debate, no one ever mentions movie theaters . . . or concert venues, or casinos, or restaurants (where many people head to eat a Thanksgiving meal).  Hell, even Disney World, the mecca of family togetherness, is open on Thanksgiving – and it is operating with extended hours:  8:00am to 1:00am!  No one says a word about radio announcers, TV broadcasters, journalists, pilots, flight attendants, prison guards, bus drivers; I could go on and on.  Sure, some of these jobs are essential – someone has to put out fires and drive ambulances – but not all.  And so it begs the question:  why is it ok for ticket sellers and projectionists and concession stand workers and guys dressed like Mickey Mouse to miss a holiday, and yet we assume the fall of civilization as we know it if Target cashiers are required to work?   
            It makes no sense to single out stores.  And even stores don’t get equal trashing.  For seemingly ever, Chicago’s two main grocery chains have remained open for at least part of Thanksgiving, as have both of the big drugstore chains.  Some stores with pharmacies have always remained open the entire day because people do get sick on holidays (I’m sure anti-Early Black Fridayers would like to outlaw that, as well).  Perhaps the grocers and druggists don’t court the Early Black Friday crowd, but I have never heard anyone complaining when they realized they forgot the cranberry sauce and had the option of running to Jewel to grab a can. 
(2)              I grew up in a work-on-holidays family . . . and I survived!!
            Growing up, my Dad worked as a police officer and my Grandpa as a motion picture operator.  Guess what?  Police departments and movie theaters are open on holidays!  Attendance at our holiday celebrations was hit or miss.  We might see Dad for Thanksgiving, or we might not.  Christmas?  Grandpa might be there, but Dad might not, or vice versa.  One year, we’d have both at the table; the next, we might have neither.  I can’t say we liked it, but we didn’t not like it.  It just was.  We accepted the rotating absences as part of their jobs, the jobs that provided us money to make a meal and buy gifts and live in a house.  Eventually, my older sister took a job at a hospital – also open all year.  And when I was a teenager, I, too, worked at a movie theater for a few years, meaning I might spend Thanksgiving behind a greasy candy counter squirting barrels of popcorn with butter instead of sitting around the table with whichever other family members had the day off.  I truly didn’t mind.  It was a job, and I knew the holiday requirement when I took it.  Plus, I made more money those days, at least one-and-one-half time, sometimes maybe more.  I certainly liked that perq – as did my Dad and Grandpa.  That benefitted our family. 
            The absence of my Dad or my Grandpa or me from the table in no way diminished the holiday.  In fact, I think it made us more grateful.  We might miss Grandpa at Thanksgiving, so we’d be extra happy to see him on Christmas Eve.  And when we could all be together, well, we took a moment and noticed.  And felt grateful.
(3)              For some people, Black Friday (and Early Black Friday) are a tradition.
            The anti-Early Black Friday argument presupposes many things, most of which I believe to be untrue.  For example, some assume that having the stores open harms the integrity of family, not only by forcing some members to work but also by giving other members a reason to sneak out early.  I beg to differ.  Some families bond over Early Black Friday.  I used to work with a woman who could not wait to hit the stores early – with her daughter.  They loved the adventure of bargain hunting, and they also loved the together time.  On Monday, she’d share their war stories, and they were just as good as if not better than anyone else’s holiday-around-the-table tales.  Who’s to say that their tradition is in any way less than the tradition of another family whose members chose to stay home all day?
(4)              The anti-Early Black Friday argument pre-supposes a family.
            This entire discussion presupposes the existence of a family.  I was lucky to have one waiting at home for me when I worked at the movie theater, but so many others don’t have that luxury.  This year alone, I can name four close friends who will not be spending Thanksgiving with their family, not because they have to work or because of Early Black Friday but because of issues that do, actually, damage families:  divorce, discord, and distance.  Sometimes even marriage fragments a family; when two people couple, they often have to decide which of their families to see on any given holiday.  Others don’t want to be with family because it is simply too stressful or unpleasant.  Know why National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation is funny?  Because it’s about a dysfunctional family, and it strikes pretty close to home.  Such familial strife is a simple reality of life – just like working a job at a place that doesn’t close for holidays.
(5)            Holidays should be “should” free.
            What bothers me most is that the Early Black Friday debate presupposes the existence of a should.  It imagines what the holiday should be and foists it upon everyone.  I can’t speak for anyone else, but at no time in my life has any holiday ever looked like a Norman Rockwell painting.  Until the age of 12, I never even ate turkey on Thanksgiving – we always served homemade ravioli in my Grandma’s gravy (and I miss those days).  Should that not have been allowed?  What about the year I accidentally dropped the sweet potatoes in the middle of the street while helping my Grandma out of the car?  Was Thanksgiving ruined?  (Grandma sure thought so … .)  It seems strange to celebrate a holiday that celebrates gratitude for peace and freedom by protesting and trying to force everyone to celebrate the exact same way.
(6)              Turkey tastes just as good on a Wednesday or a Friday.
            Is there a reason a family can’t celebrate Thanksgiving on another day?  I know a family doing that this year, not because of Early Black Friday but because of varied commitments and hectic travel arrangements.  I know another family that does this almost every year because the son is a policeman.  Should they not do that?  Do we only have a twenty-four-hour window . . . or else?  I’ve always wanted to celebrate Christmas after December 25 so we could cut our costs in half or else buy twice as many presents.  But using the Early Black Friday logic, I should not do that because Christmas falls on December 25, period.
            It amuses me that people who insist that Thanksgiving must be celebrated today are serving their families a historically inaccurate meal.  Historians have proven that Pilgrims likely didn’t eat turkey, but instead feasted on goose or pigeon.  Early settlers also had no access to potatoes, white or sweet.  And there was no cornbread or pumpkin pie – nothing sweetened with sugar – only parsnips and likely some seafood.  It is even more amusing that in 1939, before Thanksgiving became fixed as the fourth Thursday of November, President Roosevelt moved Thanksgiving to the second Thursday out of concern for the economy:  he believed that, if the holiday fell late in the month, Americans would not have enough time to shop before Christmas.
            Tradition is nice, but it is meant to be a comfort, not a source of stress.  If you’re lucky enough to have a family, bring them together when you can – and be thankful you can.  If you hate turkey or can’t afford it, have pizza.  Better yet, throw a Peanuts Thanksgiving and pop some popcorn, make some toast, grab a handful of jellybeans, and sit around a ping pong table with some folding chairs and enjoy each other’s company, regardless of the day on the calendar.  
(6)              Embrace the American right to choose and stay home.
            I agree with one argument from the other side:  if you don’t like Early Black Friday and want it to go away, then don’t shop on that day.  Stay home.  Vote with your wallet.  After all, we are, at our roots, a capitalist society, and if enough Americans refuse to take part in the sales, the stores will stop holding them.  (The fact that hundreds of people form lines that snake around stores tells me that won’t be happening any time soon.)  And if you don’t want to work on that day, don’t take a job anywhere that will be open; to me, this includes places that have always been open on the holidays – police and fire departments, hospitals, newspapers, radio stations, movie theaters, airlines, The Happiest Place on Earth.  That list now includes retail establishments. 
            We can’t blame WalMart for the breakdown of the American family.  (We can blame it for the breakdown of American small towns, but not the family.)  And we cannot – and should not – legislate every facet of American life.  Our country was founded on a simple principle:  to each his own.  Yes, originally, it meant religious freedom, but today it means much, much more.  It even extends to shopping on a holiday, if that’s what you want to do. 
* * * * * * * * *
            I’ll be spending Thanksgiving Day with my family.  My Grandpa has been gone for many years, but my Dad is still around and long retired, so he will be at the table.  We will eat turkey (I still miss the pasta!) and all of the traditional-but-not-really sides.  I’m also hoping to be able to meet up with one of my friends, one who couldn’t spend the holiday with his family.  We want to take in a movie, something we did in college, way back when.  It’s an old tradition we’d like to bring back, and this year, more than, ever, my friend needs the comfort it brings.  So I’m grateful to the movie theater employees who will be working that night, people who – without knowing it – will make his holiday a little more special.  I know that, for some, it will be a sacrifice, but for others, it will just be another night at work. 

Thursday, November 21, 2013

First it Was White, Then it Was Yellow, Then it Was Mauve . . .


I’m super excited to have been invited to join a blog group alongside three talented bloggers.  Each week, one of us chooses a topic and we all post a blog entry on that topic, usually on Thursdays.  

Here are the links to the other fabulous blogs:



This week’s topic comes from Froggie, who simply said:  Indecision.

Perfect timing, Froggie:  I’m suffering from this malady as I write . . .
                  When I was younger, I absolutely adored the band Rush.  I loved their sound but, more than that, I loved their lyrics.  I saw each song as a little poem set to music; once, I spoke the lyrics to The Trees during eighth grade English class when we were assigned to recite a poem aloud.  (Straight-laced Mrs. Dieden was none the wiser).  The band’s lyrics, largely penned by percussionist Neil Peart, spoke to my adolescent sensibilities.  I found his words deep and sophisticated, beautiful and often philosophical – and they sounded pretty good coming out of Geddy Lee.
                  But one line from their song Free Will has always kind of freaked me out:  “If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.”  Think about that.  Say it again (or, for fun, sing it in a screechy Geddy Lee voice).  It’s profound, really.  By opting not to do anything, you’ve done something.  Even by keeping the status quo, you are acting. 
                  It’s kind of terrifying, really.
                  The song debates free will versus determinism, pretty heavy stuff and a subject we often discussed in our Catholic school religion classes.  Of course, Geddy chooses free will.  But, as the song explains, implicit in free will is the belief that individual choices matter.  There is no, “Everything happens for a reason.”  Things happen only because we choose to make them happen – or choose not to.  There’s no higher power, there’s no planned path.  We control the outcome, all but what we leave to chance.  That’s a lot of responsibility.  That’s a lot of unknown.
                  And even more frightening, there’s no escape from making decisions.  We can’t not decide because, if we do, we still have made a choice.  That’s a lot of pressure.  And, often, that very pressure leaves me spinning in a swirling cloud of indecision because, even though I know I have to decide, I’m not comfortable doing so.
                  Thanks to Professor Saul Levmore’s Torts class, I know that life is one big cost/benefit analysis, and people make choices based on getting the best outcome, whatever that might look like.  This requires assigning values to different elements, weighing options, and choosing what one believes to be best for one’s self.  It takes time and thought and, sometimes, even research.  Most importantly, it takes trust.  Indecision grows out of distrust of one’s self and one’s ability to choose wisely.  It’s your inner voice screaming, “I don’t know the right answer and I can’t figure it out!” before throwing up one’s hands and shutting down the whole process.
                  I personally don’t trust my gut, so even the most mundane decision can cause stress.  Major decisions can cripple me.  I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember, but hell if law school didn’t make it worse.  Lawyers are trained to see issues from all sides, and a good attorney is a global thinker.  I can come at a problem from every possible angle.  I’m the Queen of the What If.  It’s effective in law, but in life, it’s just exhausting.  I imagine and consider scenarios that would not ever cross most people’s minds.  Well prepared?  Perhaps.  Drained?  For sure.
                  I get a visceral reaction when I can’t decide.  My heart races and I actually feel nervous.  Sometimes, if the choice is large and serious enough, I undecide (indecide?) myself into a headache.  Heck, even with a small choice, I can become so overwhelmed that I have to walk away and choose later (this has actually occurred more than once in the cereal aisle).  Don’t even think of asking my husband how many times we re-painted the living room in our old house because I couldn’t decide on a paint color I liked.  (Five.  Don’t judge me.)
                  To help, I’ve come up with a few “strategies.”  An oldie but a goodie is something I like to call the Regret Game.  I ask myself, what will I regret more, doing X or not doing X?  That works pretty well when I have to choose between action and inaction.  But for really big, complicated decisions, ones I don’t really want to have to make in the first place, the Regret Game usually doesn’t help, so I instead play the Grieving Game.  There, I mentally move through Elizabeth Kubler Ross’s stages of grief.  An example:  a few years ago, we had to decide whether to leave the house I loved and had lived in for a decade or stay and continue to deal with an unstable neighbor and an overcrowded, unimpressive local school.  First, I faced denial.  Move?  No, we don’t need to move.  Our neighbor isn’t that crazy.  The school isn’t that bad.  Next came anger.  Why do we have to move?  Why can’t he go?  Where does my tax dollar go?  This isn’t fair!  Third, bargaining.  Maybe we can build a fence.  Or a moat.  And enroll the kids in private school.  Fourth, depression.  I don’t want to leave my home.  I brought two of my three daughters home from the hospital to this house.  It’s my forever house.  Finally, I arrived at acceptance.  I can’t change my neighbor.  I can’t fix the school.  I guess I’ll start packing.  Once I reach acceptance, I’m good to go and I generally don’t reconsider the issue.
                  Currently, I am facing some big life decisions.  They run the gamut of the most basic whos, whats, whens, wheres, whys, and hows of life.  I won’t get into them, but soon I’ll have to make several different (big) choices in several different (big) areas of life.
                  Needless to say, I’m a nervous wreck
                  But, ironically, I know I have no choice but to make these decisions.  I also know that if I don’t, I’ve already made a choice.  Because, like Geddy, I choose free will and all of its accompanying responsibilities. . . even if it terrifies me and even if it means painting the living room again.

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Happy "Me" Day to You

I’m super excited to have been invited to join a blog group alongside three talented bloggers.  Each week, one of us chooses a topic and we all post a blog entry on that topic, usually on Thursdays.  

Here are the links to the other fabulous blogs:



This week’s topic comes from Merryland Girl, who asked:  Tell us what your ideal “Me Day” would be like.  Two stipulations apply:  1. You have no responsibilities to anyone today, meaning you don't have to work, be in communication with anyone, do errands/ chores, etc.  2.  You have an unlimited amount of money that you can spend.

Here’s my take:

                  In 1982, a terrible song called I’ve Never Been to Me flooded the American airwaves.  The song hit Number 3 on the charts even though it had absolutely no redeeming musical value whatsoever (other than using the word “whore” as a verb).  It was sung by a one-hit wonder who looked remarkably like Jennifer Beales and who sported a single name:  Charlene.  Charlene’s one hit was awful:  one hundred percent pure campy pop fluff. 
                  I, of course, loved it. 
                  Many a Saturday afternoon, I skated around the Axle Roller Rink as the song blared from the scratchy speakers, placed there by the middle-aged woman who worked as a disc jockey at the rink.  I bought the 45 and played it at home, the dramatic tones filling my bedroom.  I concentrated on the grown-up lyrics, willing them to matter to me all the while realizing they held absolutely no meaning in my then fourteen-year-old life.  Hey, lady, I’ve been to paradise, but I’ve never been to me.  What the hell does that even mean?
                  Fast forward a few (dozen) years and . . . I kind of get it.
                  It’s still a terrible song, but now, in the throes of what I’m assuming (read:  “hoping”) is the tail end of a mid-life crisis, I find myself wondering whether I’ve actually ever “been to me.”  (Yep, still sounds really cheesy . . . and oddly a little dirty.)  So, as I ponder how I’d spend my dream “me” day, I find myself thinking less about what I would do or where I would go and more about who, exactly, I am. 
                  I wear my labels.  I know I’m a mother and daughter and wife and attorney and Chicagoan (more specifically, a North Sider), and a Cubs fan.  Those words accurately describe my place in certain subgroups.  But do they describe me as a person?  I can also offer certain characteristics about myself, a handful of personality quirks and traits that I can easily identify – and that I embrace.  I am not a morning person.  I prefer sugary to savory, chocolate cake to lobster, peanut butter M&Ms to almost anything.  I like hair band rock and most kinds of rap but dislike opera and folk music.  I become annoyed – greatly annoyed – when someone mangles grammar.  I love to read, hate to gamble, am indifferent about religion.  I’m a junker at heart, and I love to spend hours at thrift stores and flea markets.  I enjoy a good road trip to just about anywhere, really, just so long as there’s music on the radio and a bag of Twizzlers on the dashboard. 
                  I sound fabulous, don’t I?  A real walk in the park.
                  But it’s not all sunshine and roses here in this place I call “me.”  I walk around with my fair share of stuff, idiosyncrasies wrapped mostly in the neurotic sheen of insecurity.  On my dream “me” day, I would shake off these weights for the entire day.  For example, I’m wired to be a bit anxious.  I can brood with the best of them.  On my “me” day, I would not worry.  At all.  About anything.  I would turn off my law school-trained mind to stop globally thinking about every possible scenario for every possible problem.  Click!  Off.  I would also not wonder, even once, if I look fat, or if I am fat.  Or whether the wrinkles around my eyes have become more pronounced, despite the globs of moisturizer I cake on each day and night.  Or whether my roots are showing, or my hairstyle is out of date.  I wouldn’t care at all about what other people think of me.  I wouldn't wonder whether I should try to be more like that person or less like that other.  I wouldn’t silently question my effectiveness as a mother or as a wife or as a friend.  No, on my “me” day, I’d switch the always-running soundtrack in my head from the all-critical-all-the-time station to a non-stop, twenty-four-hour Bon Jovi marathon.  That would be my ideal “me” day:  the day I really embraced, accepted, and enjoyed being myself – wrinkles and all.
                  One thing I wouldn’t change is the fact that I’m kind lucky in that I don’t really feel the need to invent a dream “me” day, no matter how fun the exercise sounds (and it really does sound like fun).  Like everyone else, I have ways I like to spend my time and money, things I like to do and places I like to go.  And of course I’d love an entire to day to do one or more of these things, with an unlimited budget to boot.  But I’m lucky enough to be able to do most of these things during the course of any given week.  I read and write almost every day.  I visit thrift stores and junk shops fairly regularly.  Every few months, I take a day to myself and hit the flea market in Kane County, and other months, I go to the hair salon for a haircut, some highlights, and a little talk therapy.  I’ve even managed to travel – alone – a few times this year for writing workshops in St. Louis and Saugatuck, Michigan.  I don’t want for much that I don’t have.  Except, it seems, some peace of mind.  An internal happy place.  My own piece of paradise.
                  As Charlene sings in that awful, awful song, Hey, you know what paradise is?  It’s a lie.  A fantasy we create about people and places as we’d like them to be.  People tend to think of paradise as a place outside of themselves – a mecca like Hawaii, or Fiji, or a boat ride along the Amalfi Coast.  And all of those places do, indeed, sound wonderful.  But what good is walking around Maui feeling anxious, or strolling Capri worried about how your ass looks in your bathing suit? 
                  Maybe Charlene had it right.  Maybe paradise doesn’t really exist . . . on the outside.  Maybe it comes from inside, from silencing that voice that calls out flaws and failures, from accepting ourselves as we are – however that may be.  I haven’t been to that place, but I keep trying to find the way.  And if I do, I will declare that day the best “me” day ever.  And I will celebrate by eating peanut butter M&Ms while conjugating the verb “to whore.”  I think I owe Charlene at least that much.  
(Bonus content: Charlene's video!)

Thursday, November 7, 2013

Taking What I Can Use and Leaving the Rest


I’m super excited to have been invited to join a blog group alongside three talented bloggers.  Each week, one of us chooses a topic and we all post a blog entry on that topic, usually on Thursdays.  

Here are the links to the other fabulous blogs:



This week’s topic comes from Moma Rock, who wrote:  “Choose a quote that inspires you. What makes it inspiring?”

Here’s my take:

          I used to work with a woman who had on her desk a bright wooden plaque bearing the words:  “Too blessed to be stressed.”  How cute, I’d think to myself as I passed her cubicle – all the while noting that although she may have believed herself to be blessed, she was, it seemed to me, often also quite stressed. 
          I’ve never been one for mantras.  I struggle with platitudes.  Sometimes, things people say that are meant to inspire actually kind of tick me off.  Example:  “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”  I beg to differ.  Sometimes, what doesn’t kill you actually maims you and leaves you emotionally battered and curled up in the fetal position on a shrink’s couch.  I feel the same way about the line, “Everything happens for a reason.”  Sure, and sometimes that “reason” is that people make ridiculously bad choices – and nothing more.
          I do enjoy reading inspirational quotes for no other reason than they make me think.  But I’ve never found myself adopting one as my own, or even feeling inspired to act because someone strung together five words in a creative way.  “The man on top of the mountain did not fall there.”  I like it; it’s clever.  But I can’t say it inspires me.  “Just do it.”  Nice marketing ploy, and not bad advice.  It does not, however, make me want to lace up my running shoes and hit the pavement. 
          As much as I’ve never really been inspired by a quote, over the years, I’ve managed to collect a handful of sayings that bring me comfort.  My Blessed-Stressed co-worker and I worked at a fast-paced litigation firm, the kind of place where, when a case got close to trial, the environment grew tense and intense.   Gearing up for trial meant working fifteen hour days, six days a week (and working from home for several hours on day seven). 
          During one particularly rough trial, not long after I’d started, I stressed myself into a tizzy trying to figure out how to finish the ridiculous amount of work that had been placed in my lap.  I’m kind of a Type-A personality when it comes to work and deadlines.  I want everything to be perfect, meaning on time and error free.  An admirable trait?  Perhaps.  But my tendencies just add to my stress.  One afternoon, my favorite partner walked into my office and quickly picked up on my rising panic.  He sat down across from me and, partly obscured by the wall of files on my desk, calmly reminded me that there were only twenty-four hours in a day and that I could only work a portion of those hours – because apparently I also had to sleep and eat and breathe.  I looked at him like he was crazy.  Didn’t he know how much work I had to do? 
          He rose to leave, but before he did, he said, simply, “Progress . . . not perfection.” 
          I’d never before heard that phrase, and after he left my office, I turned his words over in my mind.  And then the “aha” moment hit.  He was right.  In those three words – words that formed a phrase I’d later learn he gleaned from Alcoholics Anonymous – I found a center, a grounding point.  I’d turn to those words again and again, year after year, trial after trial.  And each time, those words gave me comfort.  They calmed me the hell down.
          A few years later, I’d have reason to learn a number of other Alcoholics Anonymous slogans, not out of any need for recovery myself, but while supporting someone close to me.  I found myself drawn to the phrases.  They formed a kind of emotional shorthand, a neat way to address some uncomfortable feelings and situations.  The Serenity Prayer in particular struck a chord; to me, it seemed applicable not only to addiction, but also much else in life.  I’ve caught myself saying the words in my head many times when facing a difficult situation or person:  God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. 
          The prayer reminds me to save my energy for situations where I can make a difference, and not to waste my precious time banging my proverbial head against a proverbial wall.  It also reminds me that I cannot change another person, I can only accept him as he is – or walk away.  And it reminds me that I will face things I do not like but I won’t always be able to fix or solve them; I will only be able to react and to manage my reaction.  These have not been easy lessons for me, yet somehow running the prayer through my head has grounded me when nothing else seemed to bring relief. 
          Over the years, I formed a friendship with Blessed-Stressed woman.  As our relationship blossomed, she gave me a birthday gift that now sits on my bedside table.  It’s a small silver box, shaped like a seashell.  Across the top are imprinted the words, “This too shall pass.”  I appreciated the gift, and I loved the saying.  I didn’t know until recently that the phrase is commonly used in AA.
          Huh.
          I suppose it’s interesting that I’m not inspired by platitudes meant to propel people to new heights but I am calmed by sayings intended to pull people from the depths of addiction despair.  (A psychiatrist likely would have a field day with that, assuming I could uncurl myself out of the fetal position long enough to mention it.)  I don’t know what, if anything, that might mean, and I don’t care.  I’m happy that, although I’m not motivated by pithy phrases, I am calmed by somewhat spiritual slogans.  What that says about my emotional make up, I certainly don’t know.  And that’s okay.
          As they say in AA:  It is what it is.