MOMENTS IN TIME : JANUARY 1, 2000

A REFLECTION

Sometimes memories return to me with uncanny clarity. It is not just the clarity that strikes me. More often I wonder why certain memories return to me so long after the event. After all, of all the things I have experienced in my life, why would one day's details suddenly reemerge? What triggered it? And then a more vexing thought crosses my mind: As clear as my memory seems to me, perhaps reality was very different from what I remember? Who can say now? That is one reason why memory fascinates me so much. It is exquisitely subjective. It seems real, but only to ourselves.

I got up this morning and suddenly remembered December 31, 1999. On that day, I worked from morning to night and beyond. Back then, I was a 22-year-old kid with a "bowl haircut" and a jean jacket. I wore ripped $30 pants for days at a time. I was a college senior who memorized Nietzsche quotes without fully comprehending them. I basically had no money; my mother gave me about $20 a week to spend. So starting in 1997 I worked as a DJ to make a few extra bucks. Much to my good fortune, I met a much older guy named Joe who had been DJ'ing parties around the city for decades. He used to tell me stories about going home with women after disco parties in the 1970s. He was a Vietnam veteran and--to be kind--rather eccentric. He lived alone in a food-strewn apartment on 122nd Street brimming with records and 5 or 6 yappy Chihuahuas (one or two died over the years; but a few more were born, so I can't remember the exact number). Basically, the place was squalid. But somehow Joe kept getting gigs and holding his life together really well. He kept a zillion post-it notes all over his bedroom to remind him to do this and that each day--and he always got it done. For years, we worked really well together. He farmed me out to jobs he couldn't do and I gave him a cut of what I made. Plus we became really good friends.

Both Joe and I knew that New Year's Eve on Y2K would be a gangbuster night for DJ's. After all, everyone was partying that night. Some people thought the world was going to end. I knew it wouldn't. But it was an unprecedented atmosphere. And most importantly, entertainers like us were in demand that night. So we could charge huge fees and we knew people would pay. We could name our price for a change.

Joe wound up scheduling a $2000 job. At the same time, he booked me a job for $1800. We agreed I would get $1500. He would take a $300 commission. That seemed fair to me; in fact, I was thrilled. For a kid who wore torn pants and got $20 a week to spend, $1500 was a treasure trove. I could live the whole semester on that--and all for just one night's work.

I remember the job exactly. We did it in a brand new loft apartment on 21st Street near 6th Avenue. Some nouveau riche woman and her husband were throwing a party. Joe and I drove down to the apartment the morning before the gig to set up. Joe drove a virtually unroadworthy mid-80s Chevy station wagon. It had no muffler and a pretty disgusting, food-like crust clung like a glaze all over the interior. The car had roaches. And Joe stuffed in so many speakers, wires, amps and record crates into it that I was amazed the bumper didn't scrape the pavement as we drove. In short, despite all appearances, Joe was a master of limited space management. The cops never pulled the jalopy over, either.

I remember schlepping all our equipment two flights up to the apartment. The woman and her husband were frantically decorating the place and setting up long tables for the hors d'oeuvres. I had a few words with her. She said she liked hip-hop and R&B. I said that was great because "that was my specialty." She seemed to like me. She didn't seem to like Joe too much, though. After all, at first glance he looked really gruff and he spent his time hauling speakers and wires all over the place. He was always polite and even charming. But he just didn't look the part. Some customers really used to treat him badly, and that hurt me.

After we set up the equipment, Joe and I sat in the car for a few minutes and talked about the plan for the evening. I would show up at the gig and do my thing. He would go to his gig and do his. Then he would pick me up from my gig and I would give him his cut. We would drive back uptown together and call it a night around 4 AM. It was a good plan. We then went our separate ways.

I remember the party went very smoothly. I got to play the music I wanted. The crowd was easy and did not complain. My DJ station faced east; the crowd looked west out the windows over 6th Avenue. Joe set up the lights and I controlled them with a little hand console. It took a while for the alcohol to get the party moving; eventually it did. I started off playing 70s funk and rare grooves. That gave a nice ambiance to the early part. Later, people started asking me to play hip-hop and assorted Top Ten pop. I obliged. I remember one Asian chick kept asking me to play Lauren Hill's "That Thing" over and over again. That tune always generated a huge crowd response, so I waited to play it until the place was really hopping. I kept telling her "it was in the pipe." She never quarreled with me; she just kept going back to her friends and dancing.

Before midnight, nervous excitement came over the room. People started wondering aloud whether the world would end at 12:01. I remember people throwing their drinks and hooting in the minutes leading up to midnight. I also remember looking outside and seeing helicopters flying low over the city with spotlights on. There was a lot of honking and yelling on the street below. I could hear it even over the music. Finally, 12:01 came. Nothing happened. A huge cheer went up on the dancefloor. Then the party went into overdrive. "Hypnotize," "Walking on the Sun" and "Backstreet's Back" were particularly popular that night. Oh, and of course "Groove is in the Heart" and "It Takes Two" made everyone move, too, even otherwise respectable-looking bourgeois with jobs: I always laughed when I saw white bankers singing along to rap songs. But by that point at the party, the alcohol was guaranteed to make everyone dance, no matter what was playing. Even so, as a DJ, I felt like I had accomplished something. Lots of drunk, happy people profusely thanked me for "all the great tunes" as the evening approached its end. It was always a nice perk to get compliments, even if the partygoers were fall-down drunk and virtually incoherent.

At about 3 AM, Joe showed up from his party. People had already started to leave. Beer and broken plastic cups littered the dancefloor, along with squashed finger foods and dirty napkins. Everyone was shouting, hugging, hooting, caressing and laughing. The mood was very good. Almost all the food was gone and the wine was running low. Joe went over to the hostess and whispered to her. She then came over to me and told me it was OK to start wrapping up.

Within 30 minutes, almost everyone had left and I stopped the music. The house lights came up. Joe started breaking down the lights and sound equipment. I chatted with the hostess for a while. She complimented me in the highest terms, even though she was utterly shitfaced. I still felt like I had done a good job; for my part, I did not touch a drink that evening. I had a few Sprites and some ice water. Finally, the hostess pulled out an enormous wad of $20 bills and handed it to me. I thanked her. She went away and I started helping Joe move all our stuff downstairs. Meanwhile, the hostess and her husband started brushing trash off the floor with two big push brooms.

It took us a good 30 minutes to haul all our stuff downstairs. We loaded it into the car and--once again--got it all to fit. After that, Joe and I shook hands and congratulated each other on a job well done. I handed him his $300 commission. Then he headed back uptown and he dropped me off at my dorm on 114th Street and Riverside. I wished Joe a happy new year and thanked him for being so generous to me. He said no problem and drove off into the predawn darkness.

I went upstairs to my room on the fourth floor. There was no way I could sleep after the night's toils. It was about quarter to five in the morning, January 1, 2000. I walked over to my single-size mattress. I took the enormous cash wad from my pocket and laid all the money out on the bedspread. I was in awe: $1500 in cash, all for me. I never thought I could ever make that much in one night. It was unbelievable. What a way to start the new year, the new decade, the new millennium. I felt like life could not get any better than this. I even felt that time had suddenly stopped, as if I could never get older, that this moment would last forever. After all, it was the year 2000! To that point in my life--indeed, in everyone's life--it had always been the 20th Century. I couldn't really fathom that life would go on as it always did. On that night, time froze as I sat there ogling my massive money pile. For a few hours, I felt utterly invincible. I felt that I controlled time and that I would never age.

I was hungry. I went out to get some food at Tom's Diner. It was extremely quiet. All the partying was over. A few stragglers appeared here and there, but that was it. I saw a few "2000" party eyeglasses in a trash can. It was still dark. As I headed down Broadway, a New York Times truck pulled up and a man tossed out the morning edition. I bought one. It had an unforgettably bold headline: 1/1/00. Underneath, in typeface almost as big, was a headline saying that Russia's President Yeltsin had resigned. A new man, Putin, was taking over.

Wow, I thought, everything was looking up! It was a fresh new morning in a fresh new millennium. I had $1500 in cash and there was a new Russian President. One era ended. Another was dawning. Time stood still and I was in control.

Then I went to Tom's and ordered a shake and fries. I stayed there for a while. I let myself get tired. Finally, I headed back to my dorm to go to sleep. It was dawning. Time for bed. It was a good night.

I still have never made that much money in one night as I did on January 1, 2000. I think that's why I remember it so vividly. It felt really good.

Too bad life got harder after that. But on that night, I didn't think anything could ever go wrong.

YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE SATISFIED WITH YOUR JOB : A RESPONSE TO MALCOLM GLADWELL

AN ESSAY

In Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell analyzes "successful" lives in the United States. In large part, he focuses on work: What draws "successful" people to their work, and why do they enjoy it? In broad outline, he asserts that "satisfaction with work" involves three distinct criteria: (1) Autonomy: You must have control over what you do; (2) Complexity : Your work must involve fresh mental challenges, not mind-numbing repetition; and (3) Connection between Effort and Reward : You must receive compensation in an amount that fairly correlates with the amount of effort you believe you have expended. Gladwell says that all three criteria must be present for a person to "enjoy their job."

I agree with Gladwell that people who have autonomy in their working lives "enjoy" their work far more than people who receive condescending orders all day in a suffocating corporate hierarchy. I also agree that people who face fresh new tasks every day enjoy their jobs more because they do not burn themselves out endlessly doing the same thing day after day. And I agree that people who get paid what they think they deserve obviously feel better about working than people who receive virtually nothing for ceaseless effort.

But who the hell fulfills any of these criteria at a typical American job, let alone all three? Gladwell's formula might be accurate, but it is essentially inapplicable: In America, our employment system is not designed to grant autonomy, complexity or fair rewards. To the contrary, it is designed to suppress autonomy, eliminate complexity and pay the least for the most effort. This is the sad truth. And it is no one individual's fault: It is the fault of private capitalism and its tendency to instrumentalize human beings for private profit. And this is also why no one is really "happy" at their job, at least under the Gladwell criteria.

Gladwell's criteria are antithetical to a private employment system committed to corporate profit. In America, most working people are corporate employees. That means that they serve an incorporeal legal entity that is, in turn, established to enrich those who own it. As such, they are mere pawns in a vast machine that is not working for them; it is working for the shareholders. Indeed, they are not just practically working for the shareholders. They are legally bound to act in their interest. Corporate employees are "fiduciaries." That means they must set aside their own personal interests to serve the corporation. If they put their interests first, they could face a lawsuit for "breach of loyalty."

In this environment, "autonomy" is anathema: Corporate employees must know their place in the hierarchy. They do not control their working lives. They receive orders from supervisors, branch office managers and other "higher-ups." They do as they're told, not as they want. While they might have "illusory" autonomy over a few meager peons in the mail room, in reality they are just pieces in a larger corporate jigsaw puzzle. They have no autonomy. They are instruments. In this light, it is impossible for the vast majority of American employees to meet the "autonomy" prong of Gladwell's analysis. As such, they cannot be "satisfied with their jobs."

Private capitalist employment systems also make "complexity" an impossible goal. In most corporate settings, employees exist for a single reason: To perform a discrete task calculated to maximize corporate earnings. Companies do not expect complicated thinking or novelty from their employees; they expect employees to learn their role and do it every day--forever. After all, companies operate under the so-called "profit principle." They expect a certain profit every month, and they hire employees to carry on the operations necessary to win that profit. If the employee deviates from his expected role, he threatens the profit margin. That is unacceptable. As such, employees cannot rightly insist on "complexity" in their jobs. That would contradict their purpose in the corporate scheme. They exist to do one thing: Process claims; answer phones; file papers; send mail; appear in court; put shoelace in shoe; hammer nails; the list goes on.

Employees are like machine parts. What good is a cog if it insists on being a wheel? Cogs must be cogs and nothing else. That is how our system works. And that is why it is impossible to achieve "complexity" in most American jobs. It would undermine the entire reason why employers hire people: To transform them into single-minded profit generators who do a simple task and no more.

Finally, our private capitalist system also heavily disfavors a "connection between effort and reward." Companies do not employ people to pay them what they think they deserve. Rather, companies exist to generate a particular profit level for their owners. To generate that profit level, managers must examine two factors: Income and expense. Employees are an expense. But they are necessary to generate income, too. Thus, employees represent a "profit balancing act" in the corporate scheme. They must be paid; but never so much that their salaries threaten the expected profit. Employee effort has nothing to do with it. It is all about numbers-crunching to satisfy the shareholders. While a happy employee would certainly like to get money commensurate with his long hours, employee satisfaction is not the goal. Employers don't care whether their employees think they are getting a fair deal. They don't care whether employees feel that they are getting comparatively nothing for their effort. None of that matters. Only the profit margin matters. In that light, almost no American employees--or any employees in a strictly capitalist system--can insist on a "just" connection between their effort and reward. After all, it is not about them. It is about the shareholders.

Considering all these things, it is no wonder that almost no one "likes their job" in the United States. Those who say they like their job are probably just being dishonest with themselves. Perhaps they meet one factor from Gladwell's test and mistake it for true happiness. Maybe they get to perform a novel new task every Thursday and now think their work is "complex." Maybe they have a few college students to supervise and now think they have "autonomy." Or maybe they got a $500 Christmas bonus for working 2500 hours last year, and now think they have a fair "connection between effort and reward." Yet these are all illusory "achievements." They do not change the system. The employee remains firmly under the corporation's control. And he remains instrumentalized: He exists solely to generate profit in exchange for the smallest paycheck possible in the circumstances.

Some will say I am exaggerating how many people cannot meet Gladwell's test for "work happiness." Some will say that only certain job "classes" cannot achieve autonomy, complexity and just reward for effort. But I know from experience that so-called "better jobs" are no more satisfying than "lesser jobs" under Gladwell's standard.

I was a lawyer. People think that lawyers are all rich and have wonderful working lives. They are "professionals," so they must have autonomy. They are highly educated, so they must encounter interesting, new and "complex" work every day. And they obviously must make a lot of money from their effort.

Yet that was not the case: I was a pawn in our law office. I had virtually no autonomy. I had to follow instructions from senior lawyers and the firm's boss. I received harsh criticism and discipline for failing to know my place. I was reprimanded for suggesting novel ways to approach old problems. In short, I was low on the totem pole. I did not control my own destiny. And it felt really bad.

Neither was my work "complex." I did the same things every single day. I filed papers, I made phone calls, I met with clients. Then I consulted with my boss and we discussed how to make the most money from cases. True, the work involved technical expertise that I learned in law school. But it was all dismally formulaic. It was horribly boring and stressful at the same time. It was always the same. There were knee-jerk responses for every type of case. We even sent the same standard questions to opposing counsel in every case. The details may have changed from case to case. But the overall structure was gruelingly banal. There was no "complexity." To the contrary--and applying Gladwell's contrasting term--it was "mind-numbing repetition."

And I certainly did not receive a reward to equal my effort. I made $50,000 a year in the law firm, without regard to the number of hours I worked. I was at my desk every morning before 8. I normally stayed in the office past 6:30 every evening. I even worked weekends. I brought work home. Yet no matter how much I worked or how much I won for the firm, I got the same lousy $50,000. To add insult to injury, I got a $50 bonus for Christmas after breaking my ass all year for more than 60 hours a week. My friend got nothing, so I guess that made me "lucky." In short, there was no connection between my effort and the reward I received.

I mention all this to show that every working person in America faces the same insuperable challenges. Lawyers and Fed Ex deliverymen grumble about the same thing. They are both dissatisfied with their work because they are instruments in the same private capitalist system. The same "profit principle" applies to them. And the "profit principle" does not exist to make workers happy; it exists to enrich owners. That is why Gladwell's test for "work happiness" is hopelessly utopian. Our system does not exist to grant workers autonomy, complexity or fair rewards. It strips away those things because they are inconsistent with the profit principle. If workers suddenly had autonomy, complexity and fair rewards, corporations would start losing money. That would be unacceptable.

In the end, it does not matter whether people are happy with their work. Sigmund Freud wrote in Civilization and its Discontents that human beings have a "natural aversion to work." Strachey, trans., p. 30, fn 5. Additionally, they can never achieve the autonomy, complexity and just rewards they seek from it. People not only just don't like work; they can't get any satisfaction from it once they begin it.

People aren't supposed to be satisfied with their work. Our system is not designed to satisfy workers. And it functions just fine without satisfying them. In fact, it would break down if it did. In that light, Gladwell's criteria for "work satisfaction" are all well and good. It's just that our system works strongly to ensure that no working person ever fulfills them.

No, the only people who enjoy autonomy, complexity and just rewards in their work are the wealthy owners, employers and entrepreneurs. These are the true capitalists. These are the men who instrumentalize others. These are the men who take home the profit after cutting the paychecks. They control their own destinies. They don't listen to anyone but themselves. They get to do different stuff every day. And they set their own salary. They get it all.

There just aren't that many of them. They don't want newcomers in their club, either. So they keep membership low. That leaves more goodies for them.

They might be miserable, wretched, contemptible, exploitive fuckers. But at least they fulfill Gladwell's factors. They are satisfied with their work. Hey, if you had a mountain of money, called all the shots, did whatever you wanted all day and paid yourself a mammoth salary, wouldn't you be satisfied with your work, too? You know you would.

But that's not you. So shut up, get back to your desk and await further instructions from your supervisor.

WHY I WRITE ABOUT TIME

A REFLECTION

In recent weeks, my writing pace has slowed. I am thankful for that. It has allowed me to look back over my work and reflect on what is important to me. No one likes change, but I welcome this one.

I write thematically. Last week, I looked over several old pieces and started to think about the themes that occupy me most. I asked myself: "Why do I write about these things? Why are they important to me? Is it apparent why they are important?" Perhaps it is apparent why I write about reason, dignity, evidence, law, power, money, death, fairness, equality and happiness. Perhaps it isn't. Perhaps people think it's just because I am a hermit who writes whatever he thinks on a certain day.

But that would be incorrect. Common threads unite all my themes. Those threads bind all my pieces together. Taken together, they present an overall philosophy about our existence. I am a consummate individualist: I never surrender who I am. I do not like to follow, but neither am I a zealous leader. I am not presumptuous enough for that. If my ideas gain traction, it is by quiet assent, not by compulsion or advocacy. In the end, I am a voice against all the forces in our society that subvert individual creativity and value. I criticize commerce because commerce is antithetical to both. I do not like forces that instrumentalize human beings or reduce them to purposes. I do not like convention. That is why I write satire, too. Normality makes me laugh--hard.

Among the threads that unite my work is a respect for time. I write about time in many ways. But in the end I admonish my readers to remember that time is vital because it is all we have. Without time, we cannot cultivate our interests or expand our personalities. Nor can we experience joy or feel good about ourselves. Yet so many forces compete for our time. When we lose our time to some competing interest, we lose the opportunity to live for ourselves. That is one reason why I am so critical of employment: Employment robs our best time and leaves nothing for us. It purports to "compensate" us for the robbery with a paycheck. But what good is pay (even really poor pay) if you can't spend it until your best time is gone? We have just a limited time to experience positive emotions before we die. If we give up our time in unpleasant ways, we never get it back to spend it pleasantly. We have only one shot at joy.

My views about time have changed significantly over the years. Before my father died in 2006, I had a very dismissive attitude about time: I always thought I would have more. I did not mind working for 14 hours a day in an office because I knew there would be time to enjoy myself later in life. I had smug assumptions; I thought life would just wait for me as I slaved away, wasting my time. I thought for sure that I would have at least 25 more years with my mother and father. I thought they could wait until I put in all that work, so it wouldn't hurt if I skipped seeing them for Christmas. I thought they would understand if I had to work a weekend.

But all those smug assumptions came crashing down when my father died. He died without any warning. In January 2006, he was a healthy 58-year-old who ran half-marathons every year. Then he developed pancreatic cancer. By June 2006, he was dead. And I had skipped his birthday every year for five years before that because I had no idea that he could die. I was focused on my "traditional career program." I did not respect time. And I suffered for it.

Thankfully, I learned my lesson. Only after living with death did I start to respect time. It made me rue the choices I had made in my life. I did not care about "success" any more. After all, what good does "success" do when you can suddenly just die at any moment like my Dad? Who cares whether you get a certain job or own a home? It's all meaningless; it can all end before you know it. Recognizing how fast life can end makes you respect time. And it makes you start spending your time more wisely, too.

Within six months after my father's death, I resigned my job at the law firm. It came to nauseate me. It probably would have nauseated me even if my father had not died. But after experiencing his death, I simply could not bear the pettiness of law practice. I could not bear hearing people whine and bicker about money. I could not bear the infighting about filing papers, sharing copy costs, managing calendars and setting docket dates. And I could not bear the ceaseless criticism about "not moving fast enough" to make profits on cases. It all seemed utterly, utterly meaningless. I did not care in the least. After all, what difference did all this make? I could just die suddenly like my father; what good what profits and docket dates do then?

When my father lay dying, he was not thinking about success, careers or money. He was thinking about his own existence. He was thinking about the fact that his time was running out; and whether he had spent it well.

I took that lesson to heart: Was I spending my time well? Or was I wasting it in a chase after meaningless rewards? I concluded that I was wasting it. I began living in the awareness of death; and that made me treasure my life. I started savoring my time. I resented anyone and anything that impinged on my time; for how was I to know whether I would be here tomorrow? I wanted to be master of my own time, because time gave me my chance to live. Obviously, this did not make me a good candidate for employment. So I had to adjust my approach to supporting myself.

I contented myself with making just enough money to feed and house myself. And I did so in a way that did not rob my time and dignity. Since then, I have been happier with my lot. For the most part, I am master of my time. That brings its own rewards.

I never forget what happened to my father. It tempers me whenever I feel the impulse to get into the "success race." I reflect on how little time I have to relish my life. Then I think how much time I will have to yield in order to achieve "career success." That is to say nothing about the sacrifices in dignity, ethics and happiness I would have to make to achieve it. Finally, I think: "Even if I do achieve 'career success,' what will I feel? What good will it do? What if I simply die on the way? When I lay dying, what will I think about how I've spent my time? Will I regret all the days and nights I toiled in an office fighting for a company's profit?"

These thoughts comfort me. They assure me that I have made the right decision for my life. Having said that, I know not everyone will make the same decision. My views about time reflect my experiences. They work for me because I live in the awareness of death. My respect for time intertwines with my respect for death. After all, life--with all the joy and misery it can write upon our bodies--hangs by a thread. It can end instantly. And life is time: There is our time, then there is death.

That is a pretty good impulsion to spend our time well. Because once it's over, we're over, too.

That is why I write about time: It is the tragic, ever-diminishing coating that encapsulates us all. When we waste it, we waste ourselves. So I choose not to intentionally waste it on anything that does not bring me joy.

HOW TO BREAK UNHEALTHY ATTACHMENTS TO PEOPLE

OESTERHOUDT ON RELATIONSHIPS

People often approach me for relationship advice. I don't like to flatter myself, but I'm good at it. I know a thing or two about human beings and their capacity to live with each other. I have credentials. I have been in a committed relationship for eleven years and I have endured every emotional, physical and sanity-damaging challenge you can possibly imagine. Along the way, I have coped with jealousy, envy, longing, lust, passion, disappointment, infidelity, vanity, heartache, reconciliation, misunderstanding, rage, sleeplessness, abuse, frustration, ecstasy, contentment, simple joy, tension and anxiety. I have even weathered trying health troubles at my partner's side, like unforeseeable life-changing accidents and mental illness.

When it comes to living with another person, I've been around the block. I'm not a boy anymore. I'm a man. That's not a boast. That's a fact.

In many cases, people ask me whether they should transform pleasant acquaintances into lasting relationships. Others ask me how to overcome consumptive attachments they develop to people, then the terrible disappointment that flows when their love interests do not reciprocate their devotion.

These are related situations. They arise frequently. When a person tries to force a relationship onto another level, a power struggle ensues. One person wants something the other might not. This leads to a disparity in desire, as well as wishful thinking and blind faith that the other person is acting in accordance with your fantasies. In short, it is emotionally dangerous. When you start expecting another person to act the way you imagine they will, you are setting yourself up for heartbreak or worse.

I did this in my first love. I became very close friends with someone when I was just a teenager. I loved our time together. We had a very special friendship and I felt respected whenever we met. Eventually, my feelings grew stronger. I wanted a romantic relationship. I started believing that he did, too. He really didn't. I wanted him to love me the same way I loved him. I turned it over in my mind all the time; it kept me up at night. I wanted to talk to him all the time, but I didn't want it to seem that I was the only one making the phone calls. So I would wait around for days at a time wishing that he would call me; and of course he didn't. When he finally did call, my heart would race and I would stumble on my words. I felt that I was speaking to my savior; he had all the power over me. It was just pathetic. I was slavishly dedicated to him even though he never gave me the reciprocation I craved.

It took me several years to break my attachment to this person. I wasted so much psychic energy on an illusion. I will never do it again.

Now I see clearly what I did wrong. I created a whole mental patchwork of fantasies about my friend. Those fantasies overwhelmed my mind. I expected my friend to act in accordance with them. It was unrealistic, of course, but when you're craving a person's love, you do not think reasonably. My mistake was this: I fell in love with a subjective fantasy image, not a real person. And when the real person did not act according to the fantasy script in my mind, I felt crushed. I expected too much; and I learned that people are basically inscrutable: They rarely act the way you really want them to.

My youthful attachment to my friend was unhealthy for another reason: It led me into slavishness. I hung on his every word. I followed his every action with total devotion. I delivered my fate into his hands. Whatever he did, I followed. I gave him all the power because I wanted him to give me what I wanted. I wanted him to love me so much that I sacrificed my own dignity and spirit to win his affections. I stumbled on my words when I was around him because he was my mental master. I wanted too much. That made me slavish.

I did not break my attachment to this person until I stopped wanting what he had to offer. And that is the lesson: If you have an unhealthy attachment to a person and they are not showing you the love you want, you must convince yourself that they have nothing you want. Once you do that, you will stop obsessing about them. You will regain your peace of mind and dignity. You will reorder your desires and think clearly again. True, it is hard to do. But you will thank yourself if you can pull it off.

Let us try to understand how this works. We develop unhealthy attachments to people when we WANT something they have. "Want" is the most important word in our mental lives. It expresses our truest desires. It honestly discloses who we are. No one controls what we want; our personality dictates it. We are never so happy as when we get what we want because it satisfies our deepest, most personal yearnings.

Problems arise when we want something that only another person can give. In this case, we cannot easily address our wants because we cannot directly slake them. And because the other person has what we want, we make concessions in order to entice him to give us what we crave. We indulge him far more than we should. We bow, scrape, flatter and stumble on our words. We make our love interest our master; he has power over us because he has the discretion whether to grant us what we want. That is unhealthy. It leads us into despair because we willingly enslave ourselves to his will. Disappointment and frustration become our dominant emotions. We never get what we want. And we are crestfallen every time our love interest does not act the way we expect--which is much more often than we'd like.

But there is a way to overcome this cycle. To break the attachment, you must engage your reason. You must take control over your own desire again. You must convince yourself that the other person has nothing you want. If you can do that, the other person loses his authority over you. He becomes indifferent to you. You get to say what you want, not him. You can pursue your own desire again without a fickle middleman. That is freedom in the purest sense.

I know it is difficult to do this when you are caught in an unhealthy attachment. It is hard to engage your reason when you are contorted with unrequited desire. But it is worth the effort. It helps to have a distraction that breaks your incessant attention to your love interest. In my case, I met someone else who took my mind off my obsession. It helped me turn my mind away from its destructive focus on unattainable affection. Within a few weeks, I felt free again. It was wonderful.

If you ever find yourself with an unhealthy attachment to another person, think about why you feel the way you do: You want what the other person has. You put your happiness in his hands. You heap unrealistic expectations on the other person and you disappoint yourself every time he acts some other way. You give him total power over the way you feel. Conceptually, it is easy to understand. To break the attachment, you must simply stop wanting what he has to offer. Once you control your own wants again, no one will ever tyrannize you with frustration and disappointment. And life feels much better when you're not frustrated.

GAMBLING ON HAPPINESS : LOVE, KNOWLEDGE AND RISK

AN ESSAY

For three years, my close friend Joe Simeone composed an operatic adaptation to the 1952 play "Dial M For Murder." Last week, I attended an opening in which he presented several passages from his work. In brief, the opera follows the same intricate plot as the play: A man named Tony blackmails both his wealthy wife, Margot, and another man named Lesgate; Tony exploits the blackmail to entice Lesgate to murder his wife; the plan goes wrong and Margot kills Lesgate in self-defense; Tony manipulates the evidence to pin the murder on Margot; the police arrest Margot and she is sentenced to death; an enterprising police detective worries about the verdict and discovers that Tony orchestrated the result; Margot goes free and discovers her husband's betrayal.

Through the operatic form, Joe Simeone tells the story with a keener eye for emotion than plot. He did not compose an "operatic thriller;" he composed an opera. As such, he explores the emotional relationship between Tony and Margot with greater detail than the play. At the outset, Simeone tells us that Tony's and Margot's marriage was "loveless," but that Tony had recently begun to shower affections on his wife. To make that point, the opera begins with a sweeping aria in which Margot reveals that she has "rediscovered" her love for her husband. This is ironic, of course, because Tony has already betrayed her; he is even planning to kill her. During the aria, Margot sings a remarkable line: "It's a risk to believe love is real."

Margot may seem naïve for daring to believe that her devious husband actually loves her. But she is not alone. We all want love in our lives because love is a tantalizing pathway to happiness. Yet love is a troublesome thing because it cuts in two directions. We can love and we can be loved. Real happiness exists only when both elements find expression in a relationship. When only one person loves, the result is unrequited disappointment because the other does not return the feeling. And when only one person receives love, the result is awkward discomfort. Put another way, love only really "works" when there is no disparity between the emotions on both sides.

Sigmund Freud said as much. In Civilization and its Discontents, Freud explained that human beings generally "strive after happiness; they want to become happy and remain so." Civilization and its Discontents (Strachey, trans. p. 25). He went on to explain that happiness has both a "positive and negative aim," namely: "[the] absence of pain and unpleasure and the experiencing of strong feelings of pleasure." Id. Additionally, Freud noted that happiness cannot arise as long as unhappiness exists in a person's life. And unhappiness is "much less difficult to experience" than happiness. Id. at 26.

Freud identified three main sources for unhappiness: (1) our own bodies, which are doomed to aging, pain, discomfort and decay; (2) the external world, which can "rage against us with unimaginable forces of destruction;" and (3) our relations to other men. Civilization and its Discontents at p.26. He went on to say that unhappiness flowing from our "relations to other men" represents the worst possible unhappiness: It is the unhappiness of betrayal, deception, unfaithfulness, personal disappointment, spurned love, heartbreak, frustrated yearning and all the other bitter emotions that arise when our relations with others do not follow the path we wanted.

If so much unhappiness can flow from relationships with others, why do people bother with them? Freud posed the same question. He offered one surefire way to avoid "relationship unhappiness:" "Against the suffering which may come upon one from human relationships the readiest safeguard is voluntary isolation." Civilization and its Discontents at p. 27. He called this the "happiness of quietness." By eliminating a source for unhappiness, a person makes it easier to experience happiness.

But Freud acknowledged that "voluntary isolation" is not very satisfying. After all, mere freedom from unhappiness is nowhere near as fulfilling as experiencing positive happiness. For that reason, Freud explained that human beings constantly gamble on love to satisfy their "passionate striving for a positive fulfillment of happiness." Civilization and its Discontents at p. 32.

Put another way, freedom from unhappiness and pain is not enough. People want the ecstasy and joy that flows from real, positive happiness. And positive happiness flows most strongly from that most dangerous category: Relations with other men. Still, the potential emotional payout from love is so great that people all too willingly take their chances with it. Nonetheless, Freud warned: "The weak side of this technique is easy to see; otherwise no human being would have thought of abandoning this path to happiness for any other. It is that we are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love, never so helplessly unhappy as when we have lost our loved object or its love." Id. at 33.

Against this background, Margot sang more than she knew when she observed: "It's a risk to believe love is real." Love is an extremely dangerous risk. When a person dares to abandon himself to love, he makes himself "defenseless against suffering;" he even risks "helpless unhappiness" if he does not get the emotional payout he expects from the relationship. Worse, these unhappy results depend exclusively on "relations to other men." Specifically, the "love pathway to happiness" depends on how another person acts and feels. We humans are subjective creatures. We know only what we sense. Facts exist only to the extent that we manifest a subjective belief in their reliability. In that light, it is very difficult to gauge whether another person feels any emotion as we do, let alone love.

Beyond risk, love is about knowledge. Freud said that love has two components: Loving and being loved. We only feel love's joy when we know another person feels strongly about us, too. It is not enough to feel strongly about another person. Rather, love's intoxicating pleasure only really arises when we are satisfied that another person feels as strongly about us as we do about them.

But how do we know that? It is hard enough to know what exists in anyone else's mind. Yet when we risk our happiness on love, we force ourselves to decipher what another person feels and thinks. This is extremely difficult; in fact, it is nearly impossible. There is no way to know for certain whether another person loves us, because we cannot literally step into that person's mind. Rather, we must examine secondary facts to make inferences about the other person's beliefs. This is an imperfect method at best, but it is the only one we have. Even direct statements from our love interest are not definitive proof of what he feels. Humans are, after all, infamously dishonest.

In this light, it is easy to see that love is no easy thing. It does not just a risk; it demands some faith, too, because the facts necessary to establish love are unknowable.

Again, the question arises: With these thematic difficulties in mind, why bother with love? Consider just how much is at stake. By daring to love, a person opens himself to boundless unhappiness and pain flowing from "relations to other men." True, if his love pans out, he feels overwhelmingly positive emotions: That is the potential payout from the "risk." But in order to experience love, a person must satisfy himself that another person feels a certain way. It is impossible to certainly know what another person feels, so love actually involves a double risk: (1) Risking the relationship in the first place; and (2) Risking that a person will feel the way you expect. Disappointment can arise from either risk. There is nothing you can really do to stop it; you can't control how another person thinks or feels. In this sense, love is also a risk because a person must entrust his happiness to the subjective whim of another person over whom he has no control. And because human beings are notoriously untrustworthy and inconstant, it almost seems an unreasonable risk.

If love is so unreasonable, then why do so many people pursue it? The fact that human beings--like Margot--blindly risk love is testament to the assertion that reason does not rule us. If human beings were entirely rational, they would probably never love. After all, rational thinking involves balancing risks against benefits. A rational mind analyzes the potential pain that could result from a transaction and queries whether the potential pleasure is worth the chance. As Freud explained, love can yield immeasurable pain. And because that pain flows from forces largely beyond our control (i.e., the whims of others), it really makes no rational sense to take the risk. Although love offers a huge benefit in pleasure, a reasonable man would immediately see that it always presents an intolerable risk in pain. That risk would invariably outweigh the benefit in pleasure.

But we know that human beings live to love. They cast reason aside. They take the risk, even though it is unreasonable. Put simply, love's emotional payout in happiness is so intoxicating that it overwhelms human reason. Love's pleasure is so hypnotic that it submerges all potential pitfalls. Among those pitfalls is the dangerous need to place individual emotional well-being in the hands of another person--and that person is probably not trustworthy. Men ignore those risks when they love because it just feels so, so good. If reason held men in check, they would never allow themselves to remain blind to the dangers. But blind they remain; they dive headlong into the risks because it just feels so damn good.

"It's a risk to believe love is real." In one line, Margot expressed the timeless--yet perilously uncertain-- human quest for love. She hinted at the risks. She knew there was a danger. But love made her feel so good that she willingly blinded herself to it. She suspended her reason. Objectively, that might appear foolish. But we all have done it. And we probably always will. Love is never objective.

In short, we all desperately want positive happiness. We are not content with the "happiness of quietness." No, we crave "relations with other men." We gamble on positive happiness by playing familiar games. Those games are rarely reasonable. In fact, most are extremely dangerous.

Love is probably the most dangerous game of all: Enticing, risky, unknowable, unverifiable, tempestuous, fickle, maddening; yet offering pleasure beyond imagination. It is a recipe for unreasonable risk every time.

WELCOME TO THE PROBLEM SHOP

A WORD FROM OUR SPONSORS

COME ON DOWN !!!!

By : Mr. G. William Elender, Chairman and Chief Executive Officer, The Problem Shop Cooperative Ltd. (a Delaware Corporation).

Isn't it about time that you stopped living a stress-free life? Haven't you had enough tranquility and happiness? Are you bored with contentment? Do your friends make you feel like an outcast because you don't have any problems? Do people ridicule you for having it too easy?

It's a New Year. It's your time to change. Here at the Problem Shop, you can complicate your life as much as you want for the lowest prices in town. No matter how much difficulty you want, we sell it. We offer convenient financing and easy-to-find retail locations. If you want a problem, look no further: Come to the Problem Shop TODAY!

Don't be afraid to get some problems. Many people think that it is smart to avoid problems. They are wrong. Problems make us stronger. They make us react more quickly to unfamiliar situations. And that sharpness translates into success in family, careers and money. Ask any successful man and he'll tell you the same thing: You need to face adversity before you make it to the top. Life is not a bowl of cherries. You need to have problems to really distinguish yourself.

We understand that it is difficult to know where to begin. Purchasing your first problem is a major life decision. You can't just rush into a problem, nor can you buy a problem that is too big. You need a problem to suit your needs and your personality. True, some people are born with problems. Some people have problems the moment they leave the womb, like deformed children. But not all of us can be so lucky. For those who need problems later in life, you can exercise your own judgment before deciding what problem you want. It's an individual choice. And we're here to help.

Before buying a problem, you must ask yourself what you hope to gain from it. Do you want to learn financial discipline? Do you want to make yourself into an honorable person? Do you want to understand others? Do you want to evolve as a person? Do you want to learn how to be kind or cruel? Every problem will shape you in ways you never thought possible. When choosing a problem, it's all in your hands. Our trained staff is ready to help you make the best choice for your needs--and your budget.

First-time problem buyers should start slow. Here at the Problem Shop, we want our customers to get only the problems they want--and only the problems they can handle. Although it would benefit us to sell you the biggest, most expensive problem on the shelf, we know it would not benefit you. In that light, we care about you. We do not want to sell heroin addiction, mental illness or terminal disease to a bright-faced young college student. Nor do we want to sell paraplegia to a 15-year-old. These are expensive problems. They are hard to handle. We would prefer to sell them to older folks who already have some experience dealing with problems.

So come on in for a free consultation. If you've never had a problem before, talk to us. We can offer you heartbreak following a kiddie crush for only $19.95. Or perhaps debt collection letters for a small bill, again for only $19.95. Parental abuse is a bit more expensive at $24.95, but you might learn more from a parent's fists than a debt collector's incessant phone calls. But that's why we are here: We are here to provide information to help you make the most intelligent decision you can about the problems you want in your life.

Once you've experimented with minor emotional and financial problems, you can graduate to more serious ones. Our "second-tier" problems will really build your character. Your friends will never ridicule you again if you purchase a home foreclosure for $49.95 or an eviction for $54.95. They might even have pity on you. If you are really feeling adventurous, you might even buy a moderately-severe health problem, such as Crohn's Disease, for just $59.99. Or you could try a serious emotional problem, such as divorce, starting at just $74.99. Acrimonious divorces--complete with court battles, custody fights, mutual recriminations, physical abuse and death threats--are more expensive; we recommend purchasing a simple divorce before experimenting with an acrimonious one.

We run the best problem retail outlet in town. We are so certain that our problems are better than our competitors' that we will match anyone's price. If you buy a stalker for $12.99 at any of our competitors' stores, we will match that price. PLUS we'll throw in an additional problem. With us, you will not just get a stalker for your money. You will get heartache following a child's death--a $9.99 value--ABSOLUTELY FREE. That's right, you heard it. ABSOLUTELY FREE. Here at the problem shop, we will not be undersold. We take problems seriously. To show you how much we care, we even GIVE AWAY free problems. We are committed to our customers.

At the Problem Shop, we not only offer the lowest prices. We also sell only top-quality problems. Sure, our competitors might sell bargain paternity suits for $49.99. But our paternity suits are much better. With us, you not only get the agony of court process, wage garnishment, arguments with your former lover and wrangling with police officers over money. You also get the added difficulty of having to prove that you are not the child's father--and failing in that quest. Our competitors offer simpler problems. Their paternity suit is too easy. With us, you get the basic problem PLUS emotional, financial and health complications. Who else can offer that? When you're buying a problem, you deserve all the little problems that come along with it. Don't settle for less.

So what are you waiting for? Haven't you had enough ease in your life? Step up to the plate and buy some problems. Be a man. Stop living for enjoyment and comfort. Show that you can handle adversity, too. Grow as a person, will you? Get off that couch and buy a debilitating accident for just $149.99. Show that you can get over the emotional turmoil that flows from losing a limb for just $159.99. Lose a parent for a special introductory price of only $99.99. Suffer unjust persecution and racial hatred for $199.99. Get some real problems and grow as a person.

No one will remember the guy who sits around in comfort. They will remember the guy who faced unimaginable difficulty and survived. If you act NOW we will even sell you a DOUBLE PROBLEM for one low price, such as our special Marital Betrayal/Homicide package or Sexual Dysfunction/Suicidal Depression combo.

Stop waiting. Buy some problems TODAY. Don't let our pricing scare you away. We offer competitive financing to all those who apply. There are no credit checks. There are no hidden fees. There are no contracts. There is no obligation. There is no "catch."

At the Problem Shop, we have a simple philosophy: Everyone who wants a problem should get one, regardless of their ability to pay. If you act NOW we will sweeten the deal even more. Starting TODAY, we offer zero-percent interest financing through 2014. That means you can buy sudden spousal disability with a lifetime homecare commitment TODAY for NO MONEY DOWN. No, you didn't imagine it. We meant what we said: NO MONEY DOWN. You won't owe us a dime for your problem until 2014. This is not a joke. Act TODAY and we'll even throw in a collector's edition coffee mug featuring the words "YOU THINK YOU GOT PROBLEMS?" ABSOLUTELY FREE (that's an $8.99 value).

So do yourself a favor. Start thinking about yourself for once. Don't be afraid. Come on down to the Problem Shop and pick out the problem that is right for you. Our friendly, professional sales team is ready to assist you. You can do so much with your life; we have a problem to match every lifestyle. It is never too early to complicate your existence. It is never too early to start worrying and suffering. Here at the Problem Shop, we can guide you in the right direction. We offer every imaginable life problem. If you want to be un-friended by a love interest on a dating website, we've got you covered. If you want to find out you have cancer, we've got you covered. You name the problem; we deliver.

At the Problem Shop, no problem is too little. We can sell it to you at an affordable price, every time. We even offer FREE SHIPPING!

Stop making excuses. Stop being happy. It's time for some problems. It's time for some challenges. You need adversity in your life. You want to grow as a person, don't you? And you want that free coffee mug, don't you?

A PRIVATELY-OWNED FIRE DEPARTMENT MEANS GREATER SAFETY FOR ALL

AMERICAN ENTREPRENEURS' SERIES

By : Mr. F. Harrison Feuerbach, M.B.A., C.P.A., Chairman and Chief Executive Officer, Wellstone Solutions & Financing Co., Inc. (a Delaware Corporation specializing in service to private-sector incursions into public markets) (1991-present); Member, the Princeton Club of Greater Washington, D.C. (1975-present); Spokesman, Investors for Freedom, a private-interest organization committed to deregulation and economic self-sufficiency (2003-present); Antique Coin Collector; Owner, Harry's Red-Hot Frank Stand (1983-present), Chicago, IL; Victoria's Secret Enthusiast.

It is hard to read the newspaper without encountering a story about brave firefighters. We hear about daring rescues and self-sacrifice. We hear about fearless men who risk everything to pull children away from deadly flames. We even hear touching tales about firefighters who save treasured pets from certain death. On 9/11, firefighters' sacrifices elevated them to near-mythic status in our society. In New York, they even publish a calendar in which they model their flawless bodies for all to admire. Put simply, firefighters enjoy hero status.

People like firefighters because they fight for everyone. They do not distinguish between rich and poor. They risk their lives to save people from burning buildings. That is a noble enterprise. And they do it because it is "a public service." The public likes firefighters because they think firefighters are "working for them," not just for a paycheck. There is a "firefighter spirit" that many find extremely appealing. After all, most people in life just want more money. Firefighters, by contrast, take fulfillment from saving lives, not expanding their bank accounts.

But do you have any idea how expensive it is to maintain a fire department? Fire trucks and fire stations cost money. Every time a fire truck goes out on a call, it costs hundreds of thousands of taxpayer dollars. Every time an ambulance hauls some burn victim to the hospital, that's another few hundred grand. And that's not all. Just keeping firemen fed and ready costs a fortune--those guys can eat. In this sense, while people may admire firefighters for their public service, they sure are paying for it.

In the final analysis, we maintain fire departments because we trust them to keep us safe. Expressed in market terms, fire departments sell safety and safety-related services. If a fire department cannot keep us safe, it is not doing its job. A fire department is "good" if it delivers effective safety-related services in a timely manner. That is really what it's all about. All the mythology and hero worship are really just secondary to the main issue: Selling safety.

In America, it is always more efficient to entrust market activity to private actors. Yet for some reason, municipalities all over the country have decided that fire departments should survive on the public dole. This makes no sense. If municipalities want greater safety, they should open up the market to private entrepreneurs who can compete to deliver more safety to the buying public. At the same time, when private entrepreneurs compete, they have a direct financial interest in satisfying the consumer. That leads to greater innovation and development. Think about it: Because firefighters never faced private competition, they just kept using the same fire-fighting technology that their great-great-grandfathers used: They just spray water on them. But if private firms compete to fight fires, who knows what miraculous new fire-squelching technologies they will discover.

It is time to break the hypnosis surrounding public fire departments. It is time for innovation and customer satisfaction. It is no excuse to say that fire departments have "always been public organizations." In America, we do not rely exclusively on tradition to light our way on modern questions. Rather, when it comes to product delivery, we trust the market. Fire departments deliver a product to market. There is no reason why private firms should not have a chance to deliver a better one at a better price. When they do, the public will receive better fire protection. Consumers will also have greater choice in deciding which fire companies to hire for their safety needs. And firefighters will have a real financial interest in putting out fires. What better way to motivate a fireman to put out a fire than to promise him a healthy profit for a job well done?

We believe that private fire departments will stop fires far better than public ones. No longer will citizens wait for fire trucks to show up. No longer will they tolerate antiquated firefighting methods. And no longer will they pay exorbitant taxes to sustain outmoded "public servants." In a word, when private enterprise competes for business in any area, the public always wins. In this case, the public will benefit from competition in fire protection because the public will be safer. Hiring private fire departments is the answer.

We recognize that it will take some time for the public to adjust to private fire protection. After all, people are accustomed to free public fire protection services. When their houses catch fire, they expect the fire department to show up, put out the fire and charge in to save their lives. They do not expect a bill for those services. After the fire, they simply thank their rescuers. Then they start picking through the ashes to put their lives back together.

But private fire protection services require different protocols. Efficient safety delivery services are not free. In order to enjoy top-notch fire protection technologies, private fire department customers will need to pay first. When a house catches fire, the owner must come downstairs to negotiate a price with the firm's fire safety delivery sales representative. Private fire safety delivery personnel will not begin work until the affected homeowner signs a contract promising to pay the firm's rate, as well as to indemnify all firm employees against harm or injury. Firm employees will not begin fighting the fire until they verify the homeowner's credit and back account information. Homeowners with insufficient funds or credit will not be able to obtain professional fire protection services.

These protocols may surprise citizens accustomed to free public firefighting services. After all, it may seem callous that firefighting professionals would let children burn to death simply because their parents cannot pay the firefighting bill. But timely payment is essential to private enterprise. The entire system would collapse if private businesses do not receive timely compensation for their services. No business would have an incentive to deliver top-notch private fire safety services if it were not assured that customers would pay. As we saw, it is not cheap to run a fire department. Unless customers pay fair market rates for fire protection services, private enterprise would not effectively do its work. Thus, affected homeowners must pay in advance for fire protection services, even if that means their family burns in the meantime. Ensuring payment is the only way to assure vigorous, efficient free market competition.

In the end, firefighting is about safety. Safety is a market product like any other. Private enterprise always delivers products more efficiently than public bureaus. Just as private security firms sell security more efficiently than the police department, so too will private fire protection firms sell fire protection more efficiently than the fire department. Some may find it unfortunate that private services cost money. But money makes things get done so much better.

And the fact remains that better services go to those who can pay for them. Private firefighters do their jobs twice as hard as public firefighters because they actually stand to gain something beyond a bum city paycheck; if they work hard, they might even earn shares in the company. That means private firefighters deliver much more safety than comparable public firefighters. In sum, then, private fire departments will deliver greater safety than public ones.

Privatizing fire departments is an American solution to a genuine national problem. While some say that public service is its own reward, we must disagree. For every critic who claims that a public fireman comes home happy that he "helped people" on the job, we will show you a private fireman who comes home far happier that he just made $100,000 for rescuing children and an antique billiard table. When firemen work harder, everyone is safer. Public service does not induce firemen to work harder. After all, what incentive does a fireman have to put out more fires if he knows he'll get $41,000 pretax a year no matter how many fires he puts out? Why not entice firemen to work harder? To do that, we must make it worth their while. That means instilling the spirit of private enterprise in our firemen. And to do that, we need to make fire departments for-profit ventures.

America does not want governmental interference in private business arrangements. If a product can be sold, Americans want fair prices and innovation, not long waits and lackluster service. Fire safety is a product like any other. In that light, there is no reason why the private market cannot deliver it far more effectively than some ponderous government bureau.

Fire safety is about protecting people. It's time to let Americans choose how to protect themselves from fires. Public service is not the answer. Only motivated, private firefighters will deliver quality fire safety services at the price Americans deserve. It's time to make firefighters into something more than heroes. It's time to make them entrepreneurs with a stake in quality product delivery.

This is not just about saving people from fires. This is about the freedom to choose. Choose private enterprise. You and your children will sleep better in the knowledge that efficient, cost-effective fire protection services are just a phone call away.

Stop the inefficiency. Stop the stagnation. Privatize NOW.

OESTERHOUDT REVIEWS THE DECADE--AND HIMSELF

A REFLECTION

I've always seen life through the lens of history, including my own existence. I have always been able to remember dates with uncanny accuracy. Over the past week, I took the time to reflect on the decade that just ended. It's worth doing: You don't move into a new decade every day. And memories fade fast.

What a perplexing decade. The first decade of the 21st Century was my first full decade as an adult. On January 1, 2000, I was a wild, mop-haired 22-year-old sapling who knew virtually nothing about life. At the time, of course, I thought I knew everything. On December 31, 2009, I was 32 and had been in a committed relationship for more than nine years. My father had died, I had graduated from law school and no matter how much I learned, I found out how little I really understood about life.

Every year brought a new crisis--and a new crisis in values. I learned to take absolutely nothing for granted. In my first full decade as an adult on this planet, I saw that life is precarious. And I learned you need to savor it. I determined never to let myself forget that.

But today I want to talk about more than myself. I was not the only person (or thing) who changed over the past ten years. No, the world, too, changed immensely between 2000 and 2009. Put simply, these were bleak times. We endured stolen elections, mass murder on American soil, foreign wars, government fear-mongering, out-of-control corporate excess, lending abuses and ultimately the worst economic crisis since 1929. These were the Bush years. These were the years when the world learned to hate the United States more than it ever has in the past.

I am an amateur historian. So today I will try to sum up the decade as briefly as I can. In the process, I will try to encapsulate the spirit of these profoundly difficult times. To that end, I will write a few words about geopolitical developments that occurred during each year in the decade. Then, for perspective's sake, I will write a few words about things that happened in my own life during the same time.

In 2000, America relished dot-com prosperity. Most Americans had good jobs. There was a budget surplus. Still, many Americans did not like the man whose rule made these things possible: President Bill Clinton. They blamed him for fornicating in the Oval Office. That fall, Americans went to the polls. They had a choice: They could pick Al Gore if they wanted to continue the Democratic policies that led to prosperity in the late 1990s; or they could pick George W. Bush, the Texan challenger who offered a chance to chastise Bill Clinton for his sexual escapades. In the end, Al Gore got more votes, but George W. Bush won the election. The Supreme Court decided who would be President by a 5-4 vote. That maddening result set the tone for the decade: Ruthless division in American society marked by mutual accusations of unfair play and unbridled contempt on both sides. The era of George W. Bush had begun.

I finished college in 2000. I had no idea what to do with myself. I knew nothing about commerce; somehow I thought I would use my German language skills to land translation jobs and pay the rent in New York City. I rented a roach-infested one-bedroom apartment with a collapsing ceiling on 146th Street for $600 a month (hey, at least it was near the 'A' train). I rode around the city on a bike during the summer. Somehow--thanks to the heady economic climate at the time--I managed to make money translating German. It was an exciting time for me. I met the love of my life in June; I have been with him ever since. At one point, I even had the most money I have ever had in my bank account: $10,000. I turned 23.

No one will ever forget 2001. In fact, the government doesn't let us forget it, because that's the year 9/11 happened. Islamic resentment against the United States had been brewing for several decades by the time airliners knocked down the World Trade Center. American involvement in the Gulf War--as well as an intrusive American military presence in the Middle East--had long ruffled Muslim feathers. But Bush and all the pundits had us believe that 9/11 was an unprovoked, totally unanticipated attack. Americans suddenly felt vulnerable; no foreign army had ever attacked American soil in modern times. For a brief moment, the pure shock of the crisis united Americans in an unprecedented way; creditors even gave people breaks on debt. That unity swiftly disappeared, however, as Bush polarized the Nation by committing it to a "wartime" stance against "terror." By December, American troops had invaded and occupied Afghanistan. War had come to America. And we're still living with it.

My fortunes changed in 2001, too. My translation jobs dried up as the economy began to crumble in the months before 9/11. I began to worry about money for the first time in my life, and I made the unnerving discovery that my college education had not prepared me at all for commercial existence. I grudgingly began looking for a "real job." My dissatisfaction grew when I found out that my training in German, Russian and comparative literature did not impress corporate recruiters; they were more interesting in my typing speed. Finally, I settled on pursuing a career in law. It seemed the only thing that accommodated my abilities and offered a salary sufficient to pay New York rent. So I started working as a legal assistant, about four blocks from the World Trade Center. On September 8, my partner and I took a trip to Chicago. From there, we saw the Twin Towers fall. We decided that maybe it was time to leave New York for a while. After all, the law firm where I worked was buried in dust. So we moved to Chicago. I went to work at a law firm there making $31,500. The law firm even gave me a Tiffany ball-point pen on my first day. I turned 24.

President Bush maximized his power in 2002. Using Americans' desperate fear after 9/11 to his advantage, he systematically implemented practices that chipped away at everyone's constitutional liberties. Enforcing the "Patriot Act," government agents began wiretapping phones and spying on Americans' reading habits. The military confined so-called "enemy combatants" at secret installations throughout the world, denying them Due Process and access to counsel. Meanwhile, Americans worried that terrorists were planning yet more attacks. The Federal government fanned their fears with a "five-layer color-coded terror warning system." It has never fallen below yellow, nor has it ever risen above orange. And Americans witnessed the Enron scandal in 2002. They got a glimpse into the culture of greed and excess that marked corporate society during the decade. Sadly, they also learned that these were the folks Bush wanted to protect more than anyone else.

My 2002 was relatively unexciting. I got up every morning and rode the Chicago "El" to the law firm, where I shuffled papers and stapled things for about 10 hours a day. Still, I was very much a careerist in 2002. I wanted to prove that I, too, could make a lot of money. To do that, I was determined to get into a top law school and be a better lawyer than the ones for whom I collated copies at the office. I studied for the LSAT. I filled out applications. I chased down reference letters and made phone calls. I researched schools and their statistics. I thought I would waltz right into the Ivy League thanks to my undergraduate grades. But I am not a standardized test ace, and my lackluster LSAT score led all the top schools to reject me. This was a bitter pill for me. It was the first bad news I ever had in an academic pursuit. Yet I blamed the system for the result. I still loved learning; I did not let a bunch of lowly test-writers discourage me. I turned 25.

America invaded Iraq in 2003. Capitalizing on lingering fears about terrorism--and by convincing the American people that Iraq possessed "weapons of mass destruction"--President Bush claimed that Iraq posed a "direct threat" to American sovereignty. So in Bush's mind, it was no invasion at all; it was "self-defense." The military even titled it "Operation Iraqi Freedom," as if America actually cared whether Iraqis had a democratic constitution. The war swiftly toppled Saddam Hussein, leading President Bush to declare in May: "We have prevailed." But this was sheer delusion. A civil war broke out in Iraq. Resentment against American occupation made existing tensions even worse. American casualties rose, as did American commitments. The mission was not "accomplished." In fact, it continues to this day--with 6,000 Americans and hundreds of thousands of Iraqis dead so far.

I got into law school in 2003. I landed a partial scholarship at New York Law School, so I moved back to New York from Chicago. I was overjoyed to be back in school; it was so much better than slaving away at an office for $31,500 a year. For three years, I had not really challenged myself intellectually. But once I started law school, I rediscovered why I always liked being a student. I poured myself into study for twelve hours every day. I did very well in my classes, even if I stressed out about them too much. I felt a real sense of accomplishment. I enjoyed what I studied, even if I could not know at the time that it would not help me in law practice. In 2003, I still thought that the law would make me rich. I had every confidence that my grades would translate into career success. My old law firm in Chicago even said it would hire me the following summer. I also swam a lot in 2003; I went to the gym to counterbalance my studies, and I loved that, too. I liked the way my body looked. I had some difficulties with my parents, but that was about my only challenge in 2003. I turned 26.

America began to understand the Iraq war in 2004. To most people, it became obvious that Iraq had not been "liberated." In fact, more major battles took place in 2004 than in the previous year. Additionally, many people saw that American forces were not as heroic as some sources made them out to be. Americans saw shocking images from the torture chambers at Abu Ghraib prison. In those images, Americans did not appear as noble warriors, but rather torturers and villains. Furthermore, Americans began to appreciate how many civil liberties they had surrendered to advance the "war on terror." They began to see that America was losing serious credibility abroad. Detainee abuse cases became big news in 2004. John Kerry tried to bring these issues to the forefront by challenging Bush for the Presidency. But Bush harped on terror and gay marriage to handedly win the election. Although many Americans began to see how much dignity America was compromising in its open-ended quest to "defeat terror," they could not muster the courage to stop the government's spiral into lawlessness.

I finished my first year in law school in 2004. Relatively speaking, it had been a harrowing experience. I remember feeling overworked and stressed that spring. But my toils had been worth it: I was number 6 in my class of 400. Armed with my grades, I transferred to Loyola Law School in Chicago after my old law firm assured me that they would offer me a job that summer. Unfortunately, after my partner and I had rented an apartment and moved back to Chicago, the law firm told me "they could no longer afford to hire me." This was a serious disappointment. But I made the most of it and attended to my legal studies with the same zeal as ever. In the fall, I contracted a strange infection that damaged my inner ear. I lost my hearing in one ear for several months, and my equilibrium has never been perfect since. I had some troubles with my partner as he struggled with depression and anxiety. I turned 27.

In 2005, America saw who was really important in society. That year, Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans and the gulf coast. President Bush famously did nothing, allowing the poor black people to drown and starve waiting for aid. He did not even tour the disaster site, choosing instead to fly overhead, remarking: "That looks pretty bad." Congress passed a law in 2005 limiting consumer access to bankruptcy, further supporting the big business and banking interests that formed the Republican base. As in 2002, we learned who was really important in George Bush's America: The big corporations and banks. At the same time, lenders and traders began profiting from Republican policies that deregulated the financial industry. A false prosperity began to develop, propelled by predatory loans and fraudulent credit practices.

My law school career neared its end in 2005. During the summer, I took my first real "legal job" working as a law clerk at a Chicago personal injury firm. I enjoyed the work, winning many accolades from my bosses for my writing, theory and research. I dove headlong into the theoretical aspects of the law, and that served me well as I molded strategies for every case that crossed my desk. At the same time, I took a passionate interest in constitutional law, which made sense because it represents the intersection between law, history, policy, politics, ethics and philosophy. I had never been so excited about the law. By 2005, I had developed a real fluency in legal doctrine; and I put that fluency to work for me. I had no reason to think that I would not be happy in the profession. I briefly separated from my partner during the spring, but we reunited stronger than ever a month later. My partner reconciled with my parents in 2005. Things were looking very promising for me. I turned 28.

President Bush's fortunes began to change in 2006. Public dissatisfaction grew as the war in Iraq ground endlessly on. Although Bush declared that his 2004 election victory gave him a "mandate" to broadly legislate on major issues, he suffered a critical setback in 2006 when Republicans lost their congressional majority. Without congressional support, Bush's sweeping conservative rhetoric became toothless. Although the Nation continued to bask in deregulated prosperity in 2006, more and more Americans saw that economic trouble lurked just around the corner. Unemployment inched upward in 2006. Mortgage defaults accelerated as consumers discovered that banks held "adjustable rate" powers that tacked interest onto principal, resulting in permanent, increasing debt. Although Wall Street remained strong, ominous signs about the Nation's financial future began to appear.

My life changed for the worse in 2006. In January, my father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He fought hard, but by June he was dead. This cast a pall over my existence. I lost interest in the career path that had entranced me for the previous five years. If, after all, everything could end as quickly as it did for my father, why should I really stress out about petty things like money and jobs? Yet through all this I managed to finish law school and pass the Bar Exam. In hindsight, I don't know how I managed it. My perspective on life fundamentally changed in 2006. I carried that new perspective with me as I began practicing law in Chicago. I absolutely hated it. Practice was nothing like the happy legal theorizing I did in 2005. No, practice was all about money. My bosses ridiculed me for indecision. They mocked me for caring too much about justice when money was at stake. At the firm Holiday party that year, I saw "successful" lawyers falling all over each other drunk. They yelled, cursed, boasted and acted like children. At that moment, I decided that I could not practice law. I saw that law was a business, and it chafed against my very spirit. I did not know what I would do. I had spent three years pouring my heart into legal doctrine, yet I could not practice it. I didn't care. My father's death forced me to deeply question all the things that people are "supposed to do" in life. I turned 29.

America blundered ever closer to financial collapse in 2007. As the decade entered its later years, Bush lost more and more influence. Still, the war in Iraq droned forward, claiming more and more lives. Unemployment grew in 2007, even though Wall Street continued to report gains. Deregulation seemed to be working; people could still buy homes without putting money down. A deeper and deeper rift grew between rich and poor in 2007. The bubble was growing. And men like Bernie Madoff took full advantage of it.

Life did not get any easier for me in 2007. Having questioned my career in the law, I toyed with the idea of becoming a judge, or at least a judicial law clerk. If I could not practice, perhaps I could find a place for my intellectual passion in government. It was not to be; no one was hiring thanks to a "budget freeze." So I made ends meet by working as a legal consultant. This suited me. I did not have a boss; I was not under pressure to woo clients or make money. I just put in my time without stress and went home with a paycheck. True, it was not very stimulating. But it gave me a chance to meet interesting people and live my life in some peace. In August, however, disaster struck. My partner suffered a freak burn accident that left him in the hospital near death. He stayed there 35 days. His heart stopped twice on the operating table. I was at his side the whole time. He came home in September; our life has never been the same. I had to learn to be a nurse as well as a wage-earner. I dressed his wounds every day, I managed his medications and I held his hand when he was scared. It has been a full-time job, and it has not ended. Once again, I came face to face with death. I almost lost him, just one year after my father died. That experience convinced me yet again that I made the right decision to abandon "careers" and simply focus on living life without unrealistic expectations. Life is precious; and it can end more quickly that you can possibly imagine. There's no time to worry about inconsequential things. I turned 30.

In 2008, America experienced what happens when you deregulate financial markets. In 2008, America suffered the consequences of Bush-era economic policies. Wall Street collapsed in September, necessitating massive governmental intervention to rescue financial institutions that were "too big to fail." By divorcing government from business, Bush spurred artificial growth during his term. But in so doing, he gave free rein to greed, which ultimately destroyed the economy. Unemployment rose to dizzying heights. People could no longer pay their mortgages. Record numbers pled for government aid. For the first time in decades, Americans wanted increased government intervention into economic and social affairs. Seizing the moment, a new political force arose: Barack Obama. At this critical juncture in American history, Obama fascinated the public. He offered a new path to address modern challenges, a path that focused on oversight and socialization rather than deregulation. Critics claimed he would destroy the free market. But in 2008, Americans had had enough of the free market. They elected him in a landslide.

I spent 2008 caring for my partner as he recovered from his accident. I continued working low-stress consulting jobs. After years of study and toil, I finally had a chance to reflect on what I had become. I still loved the law; I simply did not like the business of law. I continued to study law and think about it every day. But I no longer exulted it. Rather, I began to assimilate my legal knowledge with all the other things I had learned to that point. I delved once more into philosophy and language in 2008. I re-read books I had not opened in ten years; and now I could actually understand them. I also rekindled my Wanderlust. I traveled to Berlin for the first time in years and went back three more times. I started speaking German again. And I started writing. I felt I had amassed enough learning and experience to finally express myself with some confidence. I began this blog in September; since then it has reinvigorated my life. I live to write now. I analyze everything with a new respect. Despite all the setbacks, I found something I loved--and it inspired me in a way I had never felt before. I turned 31.

America began traveling a new path in 2009. President Obama assumed a daunting task: Salvaging the United States from financial ruin. Despite vicious opposition from Republicans, he spent huge amounts in an attempt to "stimulate" floundering enterprises and spur job growth. He also committed America to reforming its health care system. Like perhaps no other social issue, health care is a moral symbol for progressive government. Under Bush, health care was just another article in commerce. That led to widespread injustice because many Americans could not obtain medical care for financial reasons. Obama recognized that and put America on a path to increased social activism in government. As laudable as that may be, the battle over health care has turned into a battle for America's soul. Can we become a more progressive people? Or are we so determined to "pay our own way" in life that we refuse to change for the better? In 2009, America struggled to adjust its focus. Plus Michael Jackson died and Tiger Woods cheated on his wife.

I continued to care for my partner in 2009. Although his physical condition improved, his mental condition did not. He began to suffer from debilitating depression during the winter, so much so that he could not get out of bed for weeks on end. This required me to stay at home full-time. Thanks to generous friends, I did this all year. But my partner did not get any better. During the summer, his depression swung into mania, turning both our lives upside down. Ultimately, he had to stay in the hospital for almost a month. After he came home, I once again assumed the nurse's role, but in a much more pervasive way. He has never been more dependent on me, now even for basic life necessities. I am happy to help him. Despite all the challenges, I wrote my blog almost every morning in 2009. In February, we moved back to New York in order to be closer to friends who can help us. I am happy to be back in the city I love. I turned 32.

I do not know what the future holds. But I am oddly confident. My writing has saved my life in so many ways. I have a feeling that 2010 will be a great year for me, and that I will apply all the lessons I learned over the past decade in the new one.

Wisdom truly emerges over time. By that standard, I am far richer today than I was in 2000.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO FOR $40,000? THE PRICE OF BELIEF

AN ESSAY

Sometimes I wish I weren't so cynical. Cynicism is my life philosophy. Although it almost invariably leads me to the truth, I don't really like it. Although it has predicted the future for me more than once, I wish it hadn't. After all, cynicism assumes that everyone has selfish motives and will ultimately take action to satisfy their own interests. That is a pretty bleak view. Yet in our obligation-filled commercial world, it is a consummately realistic one.

I wish I weren't so cynical because I want to believe that everyone does not have a price. Whenever I think about cynicism, I inevitably struggle with principles. After all, a principle stands at odds with expediency. Self-interested people are always "expedient" when it is necessary to fulfill their aims. Principles, by contrast, are inflexible; they do not bend to expediency. Yet all too often in history we hear about "principled" men who stood up for larger ideas to a point, then caved in order to enrich themselves. In other words, every man--and every principle--has a price. The question is merely how much money it takes to convince a man to abandon what he believes.

As a cynic, I find it almost axiomatic that men sell their principles for the "right price." If human beings truly have innately selfish motivations and act ultimately to satisfy their own interests, then no larger idea could ever induce them to ignore themselves. It is natural to expect men to sell out or betray their beliefs when enough gold appears on the table. Although popular mythology teaches us to revile men who do this (the Judas story is the classic Biblical example), we are never surprised when it happens. We live in a difficult world. No one wants to go hungry or die. If it came between adhering to principle and eating, how can we blame a man for simply "betraying what he believes?" It is easier to revile a man who sells out simply to profit. But sometimes men sell their beliefs just to eat or sleep--or to save their families.

Yet we admire men who refuse to compromise their principles for a price. We admire them precisely because they are so rare. Again, cynicism provides a good way to understand why we deify "martyrs" like Jesus Christ and Saint Thomas More. Both men died because they refused to abandon their principles despite pressure. Both had opportunities to take payment and shut up. Both knew they would die for refusing to renounce their beliefs. And they still refused.

From a cynical perspective, we assume that men will always sacrifice their principles for personal gain or to save themselves. Overwhelmingly in human experience, that is what happens. But when it does not happen, we immortalize the person who resisted the impulse to be selfish. Put another way, when a person defies the cynical expectation to act only for himself, he becomes a saint-like figure--or a saint outright. This is what happens when men adhere to their principles. It leads to eternal honor. And that explains why both saints and honor are rare. Everyone has a price: But those who don't become legends.

But I'm not writing about legends today. I'm writing about everyone else who does have a price. And while it might be pathetic to have a price, I argue that it is completely forgivable.

Why is it forgivable to be a dishonorable person who abandons principle whenever profit beckons? It is forgivable because we inhabit a world that expects us to value profit more than honor. No one pays our way in this life. We learn early that we must make our way through the commercial thicket by any means necessary. Without money, we are finished. We can't pay our rent, we can't feed our children and we can't eat. We spend our lives struggling to find ways that yield money; and we never get enough. We learn that profit is good because profit protects us from hardship. When we profit, we stave off bill collectors, bankers and landlords. We feed our children. We increase our comfort and avoid worry. We stay warm. By eliminating a key source for worry, we actually gain the capacity to enjoy ourselves--at least in theory. We are only human; we have bodies. Profit protects our bodies from ruin. If it comes between preserving our bodies from ruin and adhering to a principle that could cost us our bodily comfort, the natural human response is to preserve our bodies.

Only saints spite their bodies for their beliefs. For everyone else, a price will suffice to buy belief.

Some people require less enticement than others. Potential profits not only dissuade men from adhering to principle. They also encourage men to brutalize their fellow man. Profit underlies criminal motivations crime as well as dishonorable ones. In the movie Fargo, for example, two ex-cons agree to kidnap a man's wife for $40,000. Various difficulties intervene and they murder three people in the process. Due to these "unforeseen complications," they demand $80,000 rather than $40,000. Before the drama ends, another two people die and no one makes a dime. The detective who arrests the killer--exceptionally played by Frances McDormand--then says: "All that for a little bit of money. There's more to life than a little bit of money, you know."

That may be so. But money motivates just about everything that people do, even murder. Contract killings have price. Lives--like everything else in the free market-- have a price, too. How much does it take to encourage someone to kill another? Is $40,000 too much? Some people in American society make $40,000 a year; others make it in one day. How about $10,000? $1,000?

This might all seem macabre. Still, the fact remains that potential profits bring out the worst in people. As bad as that is, however, I still think there is a good explanation for it: People in our society learn to be desperate for profit. Without it, they think they will come to ruin. So for those closer to ruin, there is a greater motivation to do unspeakable things for relatively little money. There might be more to life than money. But try telling that to those who don't have much. They are willing to do just about anything for what seems a pittance to others.

How much potential profit would it take to convince the average person to commit murder? How about lying? How about sacrificing integrity or honor? How about acting in a way that clashes with one's conscience? What if a job requires a person to violate his conscience, but if he loses the job, he loses his livelihood? How much does a conscience cost?

Against this background, can anyone resist a sufficient price? Is anyone noble enough to ignore themselves? That's my real question. All I can say is this: Cynicism tells me, as a general matter, that people can be bought. But there are a few extremely rare cases in which they cannot. I find this sad because it really does not take much for a stronger person to cast aside a weaker person's beliefs. Beliefs and conscience are individual. They are subjective. They belong to the person who holds them and no other. If a "little bit of money" is all it takes to sweep them away, what does that say about the value of individuality in our society? Where are the courageous people? Where are the people who will not abandon their beliefs for a price?

All I know is that they are not in the United States Congress.