To mark the occasion of the third anniversary of the U.S. invasion of Iraq, two days ago I was part of a contingent of approximately ten thousand who gathered in downtown Portland on a bright, sunny, spring-like Sunday afternoon to rally for peace. It was the largest demonstration I had ever been part of.

I admit that I use the term “rally for peace” quite purposefully. To label this a “war protest” would be a mischaracterization, I believe.

Let me elaborate...

I lived through the Sixties. (And, yes, I actually remember them.) As a young man who turned the draft-eligible age of 18 in 1965, I knew that, quite literally, my life was on the line with practically every personal decision. After high school, I made the choice to go to college – admittedly as much to earn a student deferment as an education.

College campuses then were much different than they are today, and often known for their level of anti-war activity. Students – we – knew what war was, were able to view its horrors on television every evening, and (the males at least) were acutely aware of the fate that awaited us should we cease to be students. Campuses were home for “the movement.”

And, by the time this massive social movement generated most of its heat, in the late Sixties and early Seventies, organized protests were serious, intensely-emotional experiences. Thousands and thousands of young American men had lost their lives, and there seemed to be no end to the slaughter. We, the country, increasingly (yes, I know, it took several years, and it was never a consensus view) deemed Vietnam an unjust war, entered in to illegally, and perpetuated by leaders who lied to the country about its origin and purpose. And, no exit strategy was in sight.

(My, how times have changed, eh?)

Candidate Richard Nixon’s “secret plan to end the war” was seductive, and served to dupe the electorate enough to get him elected President in 1968. But, of course, there was no such plan, and by November 1969, protests reached massive proportions; a march on Washington, D.C., (the largest ever, I believe) that month attracted over 250,000 emotional, highly-motivated participants. Then, on May 4, 1970, four students were killed at Kent State University as they raised their voices in opposition to Nixon’s decision to invade Vietnam’s neighbor, Cambodia.

The demonstrations I participated in, in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, and Corvallis, Oregon, were less dramatic than those, but still, certainly, intense. For example, I remember standing, for the most of one entire night, outside the county courthouse in Eau Claire listening to the reading of the names of war dead. And, even in sleepy, conservative Corvallis, I witnessed acts of civil disobedience during this period.

My point is: the anti-war movement, back then, involved actual protest. My sense of what goes on now, and, regrettably how I experienced the event on Sunday, was that we (and I’ll include myself) engaged in a social gathering as much as a “protest.” Yes, it was a rally. Yes, there were speeches and inflammatory rhetoric. Yes, there were placards with serious messages, some of them quite outrageous and irreverent. Yes, there were marching and chanting. (“What do we want? PEACE! When do we want it? NOW!”) Yes, there was plenty of that typical protest-like activity.

But, did the event seem oriented toward effecting change? To me: no. It simply didn’t have that feel. Rather, it reminded me of a retro theme party. There were many, many of us (yes, again, I’m guilty) with still- and video-cameras, engaged in a party-picture kind of enterprise, posing for photos, while with friends and/or holding signs. There were families and others congregated into small groups. There were dogs and Frisbees. There were information tables and pamphlets. There were commercially-made flags and other artifacts, likely ordered from internet sources. And everyone had a cell phone. Geeesssh.

OK: bottom line, here’s what I miss. The outrage. I want us, the American people, collectively, to be incredibly angry about the meaningless large-scale loss of life in a part of the world where we really have no legitimate business. I want us to be incensed about the erosion of our civil liberties. I want to hear of our insistence on being told the truth. I want a gathering of this magnitude to mean something: to be acknowledged as part of a nationwide effort to change the direction of the morally-bankrupt regime in, and agenda that we now have coming from, Washington, D. C.

I want peace. And, I want it now.

Yup: I made it to Corvallis, to Bend, and back. I’m exhausted but alive and well. It’s amazing how much living can be packed into a few short days should the opportunity present itself. My brain is abuzz with things to talk about.

Ah, where to start? Maybe with a list of topic possibilities, such as: the pleasing size of my tax refund?; the car/bicycle accident I witnessed in Corvallis?; an extremely rare ex-wife sighting?; how my body was reacting to the stress of this most-recent interview experience on Thursday morning?; how I played with my water-bottle cap during part of my interview time in Corvallis?; the drive across the mountains, particularly the blinding snow, rain, and hail storms I experienced (successively, not all at the same time) late yesterday afternoon?; or the state of exhaustion I felt last night after being “on” for five straight hours during interviews, then immediately driving four hours to get home?

I could probably write a decent little blog-entry essay on any of those topics. And, it’s possible I will. But of course, the heart of this week’s experience was the OSU interview. And, believe it or not, as I write this today, I’m struggling with the inclination to hold back in discussing the last two days’ events.

The Central-Oregon-based Oregon State University position I interviewed for, if I were selected, would quite likely make me a public or semi-public figure in Bend. There will surely be an article in the Bend Bulletin about the position and the successful candidate, whoever that is. So, I can’t help thinking: my name would be announced; somebody, likely the newspaper, would Google me; and here’s TechnoMonk’s Musings: my personal life totally on display for all the world to see. I haven’t kept too many secrets here! (Ohmygod! Maybe I should have thought of this earlier?!)

Well, I guess the reason this is even in my head, is that I believe the interview process went quite well. I walked away yesterday with the sense, and still feel today, that my performance was exceptional (if I do say so myself) and that I made a compelling case why I should be the successful candidate.

So there.

At this point, I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to go into any of the real details of the process or the personalities involved. Well, other than to say that they certainly did structure an experience designed to get to know their candidates. I’m pretty sure they have an excellent sense of me, anyway.

One little story might not hurt, though. As I was attempting to answer one of the questions posed by a committee member in Bend yesterday, I was talking away…and talking and talking. I went on for maybe three or four minutes (that’s a guess), and then, smiling at the group, I finally stopped myself. I said, “well, you know, I’ve been told that I’m really pretty good at giving ‘policy-speak’ kind of responses – you know, the kind of political non-answer answer that sounds good but just doesn’t really say anything? I think maybe I’m doing that here and should probably stop.” It got a little chuckle from the group, and the mayor of Bend made an observation, something to the effect, that given my skill in this area, perhaps I should run for Governor?

So, there was a little time for a touch of humor in the midst of much seriousness.

I’m told that Bend, Oregon gets, on average, about 300 days of sunshine a year. Even though I’d have to buy snow tires, I could probably handle that. 

Soundtrack Suggestion

Here comes the sun

Here comes the sun, and I say

It's all right

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here

Here comes the sun

Here comes the sun, and I say

It's all right…

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting

Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear

Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say

It's all right

Here comes the sun

Here comes the sun, and I say

It's all right

It's all right

(“Here Comes the Sun” – George Harrison)

Oftentimes, I truly struggle with the role in life that seems to be mine.

In relationship, I showed up: totally, passionately, and with great capacity for commitment. I lived, not merely played, the role of devoted partner, lover, friend, confidante, and care-giver. I loved deeply and had the expectation of being loved back proportionally.

Steadfast in my role, I kept hoping against hope that something would change. I anticipated that she would eventually discover, in this person, me, her mated soul.

Oh, I wanted: the joy of that discovery!

In this life, it seems I keep playing the role of the broken-hearted one. It was a constant theme that I was rejected, left to lick my emotional wounds, allow time for them to scar over, and then attempt the same uneven dynamic all over again.

How can two people be so close and yet so far apart? How can the universe be so cruel?

Today, everyday, I show up in an environment where I attempt to play a similar role. I find myself in another situation where there’s no commitment to me, yet I am expected to show up, perform, give my all, and care. I have been trying to play, at great personal cost, the role of a caring person in a dysfunctional, uncaring place.

Here’s the deal: I believe that I am an authentic individual. I am exhausted by the role of inauthenticity that this environment forces me to play.

I desire connectedness. Team play. Commitment. And, yes, love.

I continue to find myself in situations where those crucial, life-affirming forces are absent.

On and off stage, what I have to offer is my one-man act. Alone. I look around and the set is empty. Except for me.

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
William Shakespeare

The energy it takes to engage in a serious job-search is considerable. I tend to be overwhelmed a lot of the time, probably because of the oppressive relentlessness of the process. There is always, always something to do. There is no such thing as a coffee break or day off when this is your life. And literally: THIS. IS. YOUR. LIFE.

For me, I have to admit that I am not only overwhelmed, but exhausted.

If one is attending to the “job” (of job-searching) as one should (and must), there is detail after detail to attend to. For me, I always have at least one application in process, or, if not, I know that there is yet another web search to perform in order to see if something has surreptitiously opened up and been posted while I wasn’t paying attention.

Right now, I have two interviews to prepare for that will happen next week. Of course, that is absolutely the kind of place any job-searcher wants to be in. The entire purpose of all the friggin’ paperwork in the first place is to get noticed enough to get the interview. So, I’m happy. Of course, one of these interviews is a two-day process, happening in two cities, and involves a presentation open to the entire community. I have needed to stop almost everything else in order to do the research for this presentation.

With these two interviews, I will be averaging slightly more than one interview a month over the last six months. While the goal of an offer and acceptance of a new position has not yet been reached, there is evidence here that I’m probably on the right track.

But, the rest of it. Oh, the rest of it. I have forms and letters for the next four application packets in process, with due dates that are coming up fast. There are letters of application and interest to revise and customize. There are resumé copies to print out (mine is 17 pages long; I use a lot of printer ink). There are copies of transcripts to duplicate, collate, and attach. There is an inventory of mailing envelopes to maintain. There are reference letters to ask for and people to keep in touch with.

And, always, always, always, there is the time that must be spent online visiting the sites that may yield the piece of information most desired: the posting of “the perfect job.” Ah, does such a thing exist?

This process is difficult for me, and I consider myself an expert at it. I have taught job-search classes, so, presumably I know all the “right” things. I have a killer resumé, and a stock form of an application letter that provides a lengthy, but engaging, narrative of my education and experience. So, I think I know what I’m doing.

I’m getting noticed. I’m being talked to. I just need the right “fit!”

Hope is the feeling you have that the feeling you have isn’t permanent. – Jean Kerr

Life does not wait: Whether we spend our lives meaningfully or not, the time will be used up moment by moment. – the Dalai Lama.

OK, I know what you’re thinking…first a song-lyrics phase, and now a quotations phase? Oh, well: this one caught my eye on the Quotidian Quotes page.

The above thought strikes a chord with me, of course, as I continue to question the meaningfulness of my life at the current time. I realize that I’m not, really, living in the present moment, but rather waiting for something else, presumably better, down the road. This is not much of a way to live and I know that. Is it within my power to change this state (other than totally changing my life)? Yes, I suppose it is. I am certain that things must be different than they are for me…but what if I’m wrong about what that looks like? What if it’s just my attitude that needs adjustment? I admit that that’s a possibility. (Yes, most of the time I believe it’s a remote one, but it’s a possibility nonetheless.)

This limbo-like state that I occupy these days is disorienting. I’ve never been so unsettled for so long…

…well, as I write that, I know that that’s not entirely accurate either. I was, for the whole of my 20s, in a condition that was barely emotionally survivable. I had chosen poorly in terms of a marriage partner, and spent nearly the entire ten years living with unhappiness & despair – and a variety of physical ailments (including chronic, debilitating tension headaches) that signaled, to anyone paying attention (though certainly not me at the time), the unsatisfactory condition of my life. I believed, truly believed, that I was not ever going to see my 30th birthday. When, on my 29th, I was still living and breathing, and it occurred to me that my personal lifespan assessment may have been in error, I started to make some radical changes. First, I weaned myself from the Valium habit I had developed (prescribed by a series of physicians for coping with my headaches), and then ultimately left the dysfunctional relationship that was at the root of my problems.

At that time, as I finally decided: what was called for was a radical reshaping of my life. I knew deep down (really, even through all the years of denial) that wholesale change was needed. And my life experience since then, and the several dramatic transitions that have been called for, has taught me to trust my judgment when I believe that change is necessary.

So, is an attitude adjustment in order? Definitely. But, on a higher-self level, I know that I must restructure this existence of mine in order to survive it.