Do as I say!

Critics knock Obama for not being optimistic enough about the economy. These same folks criticized Bush for sugar-coating the situation. Apparently there’s a middle ground, an exact spot on the psychological dial to the very fraction, that must be reached by the president or we’re all toast. Because, goodness knows, we’re all mindless automatons whose every waking thought and feeling is dictated by Big Brother.

 

It makes me feel a little embarrassed, actually, because even as I mock the pundits for telling us what to think about what the president should tell us what to think, I know that all the pundits, politicians and economists have the same basic message for us: don’t act like Dan.

 

The economy needs more irrational exuberance and less macro-Danism or we might as well dye our shirts pink because we’re going communist. I don’t own a home — I just don’t want to deal with the upkeep as a single person — and I’ve driven the same car for 14 years. Sure, I buy my books, but I do so online at a significant discount and I forego cable and the more expensive Internet connections to make up for the cost. Now everyone has the frugal bug, even more than I do, and it’s filling unemployment lines the world over.

 

If all of us were more centered, if we unchained ourselves from the need for material possessions, if we all were less like wanna-be CEOs and more like Buddha or Jesus, the result would be catastrophic. Such tomfoolery would lead to job loss which would lead to food shortages which would lead to war which would lead to nuclear annihilation.

 

The stakes couldn’t be higher, so, for the love of God, book that weekend in Paris, buy that new Lexus, build that McMansion. The fate of the world rests in your wallet.

 

Unless Obama tells you not, in which case, forget I said anything.

What a recession means

When I was last unemployed I figured it was my job to look for work, so I’d set my alarm for 7:30. Still, often I would dawdle in the morning. This was especially true as the months passed. I needed a feeling of accomplishment, since the job search was accomplishing nothing, so I dawdled usefully: I’d go to the gym, clean the apartment, balance my checkbook. These activities could take me to lunch.

 

After eating I’d hop online and check for job posts, but too often nothing looked good. I had started my time off from work with great hopes but those seemed dashed. Writers are deemed expendable in many organizations during hard times, especially in nonprofits where my experience lay. Holding my nose from the metaphorical stench, I’d apply for one or two unexciting positions. I’d put my all into the cover letters and resumes but couldn’t fully suppress the notion that, if I was lucky, I wouldn’t have the proper qualifications and wouldn’t get the jobs. This is how I felt.

 

This soul-sapping work took me to two or three o’clock. I would read for a few hours after that, the weight of unemployment sitting uneasily on my chest, the guilt of it, the shame. That would last until 4:30, when further job searching was futile, when no employers could be called. The burden would lift, at least until the next day.

 

Or until someone enquired about my job search. In that case I’d put on my happy face mask and lie. “It’s great,” I’d say. “I’ve had some really good leads,” all the time swallowing the fear that I’d clean toilets for a living until I croaked.

 

I mention this because we are heading into a recession. Though it may not be a depression as some had worried, the semantics will be lost on the many who lose their jobs, especially those with a family or mortgage. The unemployment pittance they receive will be near worthless. With spouses and children glancing at them with fear, many will question their own value as human beings. They will assume the fetal position inside and pray that the storm will pass. For too many it won’t. Not soon, anyway.

 

I’ve been unemployed 17 months of my short career. In many ways I’m a better person for it. I’m more sympathetic of others in the same position and for those worse off. I’m also more humble. There was a time, fresh out of college, that I figured everything would be handed to me, that career glory was just around the corner. It had to be, what with my stellar grades and the way everyone talked up my potential. “You can be anything you want to be,” they told me. What they didn’t tell me, or perhaps it didn’t penetrate my naïve skull, was that I’d have to actually know what that thing was, that career object of desire, and that it would take a lot of hard work and cost a few failures along the way to grab it, as likely as not.

 

I was lost back then, I didn’t know what I wanted to be, but I felt God-kissed, that the path would be revealed, a long, smooth, paved road to happiness. I was wrong. The road twisted like a snake and was filthy with potholes.

 

My inner shocks have had some wear and tear, but I’m okay now, and also much wiser. I realize that life is a tough old bastard for everyone. Even more, I realize it’s not what you are (your job, your social class, your marital status) but how you are (how you treat others, how grateful you are for the gifts you’ve been given). Still, I sometimes wish I was that young guy again, knowing in his gut that everything would turn up roses. The dream was sweet, and the loss of it bitter.