Toothpaste

Have you ever noticed how complicated shopping can be? Recently, I spent far too much time trying to find a tube of toothpaste, only to be thoroughly thwarted in my efforts to find a plain old tube of Crest. There was tartar control, mint, tartar control with whiteners, sensitive, sensitive with whiteners, cherry cream and citrus splash, but no plain old regular flavored Crest. This got me to thinking about a couple of things. Why do we perceive a need for all of these variations on a theme and why do we feel frustration when "our" regular brand is missing?

Back when I was a kid, there were few brands of tooth paste, with only Crest and Colgate holding any prominence on the shelves. There were also some older folks who still used just baking soda. The big innovation came when they introduced mint varieties. And that was pretty much it for toothpaste.

At some point, someone at either a toothpaste company or advertising agency decided there was money in having a dizzying array of toothpastes on the market. And they must have been right because more keep appearing and are, obviously, being sold. The question is was there a need or was it only the marketing that made us think there was a need? It maybe a chicken and egg sort of question. There must be something in us that craves variety or these things would gather dust on the shelf. What might that be?

We could speculate that, as a species, we survived because of our ability to eat a wide variety of foods, and perhaps that is why we crave differences. But then again, that might apply only to food. Maybe the ad men are more clever than we suspect and the craving is purely manufactured and has been for so long that it is at the point of our being unaware of how we are being manipulated to go after the "new and improved." It could be a combination of these things or something else entirely. But whatever it is, we support many enterprises because of our perceived need for variety.

The other side of the question involves our reluctance to change our selection once we establish our personal preferences. After my fruitless search, I finally succumbed to buying a tube of Citrus Splash Crest and am committed to using this tube. At least twice a day for many weeks to come, I will have to brace myself for this less than wonderful toothpaste experience. So why I wonder does someone who is flexible on many, many things have a semi-serious issue with the flavor of toothpaste? And for that matter, any other slight shift that may come our way?

I guess that I could muse on the merits of one flavor over another, but I think it is something more than just a toothpaste issue. I suppose it could be a matter of familiarity or comfort. Perhaps it comes from our having to make large adjustments throughout life to the point that we don't like to deal with it on the small daily matters. Who knows what we will have to deal with outside of our doors, so we want no surprises or innovations in the brushing of our teeth. I know a cloistered nun who once told me that it wasn't desirable to have surprises at the dinner table. Maybe we are all like that on different issues. Changes in the little things in our daily routine upset us because we rely on the small things for essential stability. We may not be able to control the market or employment or interactions with others, but we should be able to rely on our toothpaste or coffee or what have you.

I'm hoping it is not a sign of limping into a new career as a curmudgeon. There's probably nothing more disconcerting to me than the idea of becoming a person of a certain age who rails against change and all those young whippersnappers. I think it is rather a sign of trying to find security for ourselves, things that remain stable despite the shakiness of many things in our lives. It's not earth shattering or of terribly high importance either, and I'm certain that it varies for everyone of us. And if clinging to the small securities gives us small comfort, perhaps it is a really good thing. But I do still wonder about it. And I plan to hunt for another tube of plain old Crest when the time comes for a new tube.

Transitions

There is a dichotomy in how many of us deal with change in our lives and within ourselves. On the one hand, we seem to be always looking forward to the next goal, the next stage. From the time we begin thinking in terms of what we will do or be when we grow up through all the milestones of life that we eagerly reach for from year to year, we seem to embrace the changes as a gate to arriving at what we think will be a more fulfilling place in our lives.

And yet, on another level, we cling to the security of what we know, what is comfortable, the semblance of stability. Depending on the circumstances, we waver between eagerly anticipating transitions and being fearful of them. Naturally, not all changes are pleasant or welcomed, but change in one form or another is inevitable. It is one of the few constants of our existence.

The abruptness and unexpectedness of unplanned changes in our lives accounts for at least part of the fear we have of transitions. We want to believe that we can control or stop the transitions that come to us. We want predictability in our unpredictable lives.

No less disruptive are the internal shifts that we all go through. I am generally quite surprised when something that had been little more than a vague idea hovering on the edges of my awareness takes root and establishes itself as a guiding principal in my life, altering both my understanding and my behavior. At any given moment, most of us are quite sure of what we believe, what we do not believe, what we will do and what we will never do. When these internal transitions take place it can shake up all or part of what we think we are sure of, about life and about ourselves.

These types of shifts can be quashed if a person chooses to ignore their advent. When we do this, however, we are actively rejecting an opportunity to explore ourselves more fully. Some of this may be due to fear, but I also think there is a reluctance to let go of what had been sure and certain to us. Contentment is a very comfortable place to operate from, particularly given the outside forces that bombard us constantly. And there is nothing wrong with that. Sometimes we are simply unable to take the risk.

These internal shifts often appear abrupt to those witnessing them from the outside, but they are actually very gradual, beginning in some deeply buried reaction or thought. Their emergence is slow, like a seedling pushing up through the soil. It has been germinating unseen long before we are actively aware of it. And even when it breaks through, it may be too small to see or as yet too unformed to be recognizable for what it is. Therefore, when we do recognize it fully, it is deeply set within us, despite having a feeling of shooting up from nothing. We have the option of totally uprooting it, if that is what we wish to do. But we risk leaving a hole in some essential part of ourselves that may not be able to be filled with something else.

If only we were able to live into the changes that appear. If only we could respond with curiosity rather than fear, a sense of acceptance rather than rejection, a sense of adventure rather than reluctance. I don't know that it would make major changes any easier to adapt to, but it might. Perhaps such an approach would help us glean more from the experience. Perhaps we could find a security in the changing. Perhaps it would help us to grow into more authentic versions of ourselves.

Snow Revisited

I know, I know, previously I was all Zen-like about the snow storm. Yarn, rabbit, cocoa all at the ready, I would not be daunted by what passes for a snow storm in the Pacific Northwest. But the stuff is still coming down and they are predicting that we will be inside for at least two more days, if not longer. So what has changed? It isn't the snow, obviously, but the old mental state is slowly but surely shifting into the slightly batty range.

It isn't like I'm the sort that would be chomping at the bit to get out to do last-minute Christmas shopping. I avoid that like the plague, generally engaging in one dash to the stores to get anything that I can't acquire quickly on-line. I'm aware that we could be housebound through Christmas, but I don't feel any angst about that element of the situation. However, ramen for Christmas dinner might be a bit off-putting.

We're fortunate that our electricity is holding steady and so the heat is on. Don't have to worry about excessive cold. I am a bit miffed that the few festivities that I had planned on attending were canceled. Lost out on some much valued socializing there. But that's hardly enough to send me slipping towards the edge.

As I smugly watched others go bats after two days, I didn't imagine that this would continue to the point that I would join them, but here I seem to go. Why? As is my wont, I've been giving the situation a think and I have come up with a possible answer, or at least a partial one.

I first noticed myself slipping when I realized that I had not done enough grocery shopping for an extended snow-in. I'd gone to the store on Friday to pick up a few necessities, but I did not stock the pantry by any stretch of the imagination. Now this is a crucial point for me. When I was a child, the month always exceeded the paycheck and I learned to value a well stocked pantry. It symbolized security (as well as meals) to me. So this extended snow must be rattling my inner sense of security on some level, despite the fact that I am warm and fed at the moment.

This, of course, leads my mind to other security issues. Could that be the reason so many find themselves with, what is lightly referred to as, cabin fever? Is there a loss of security in being stuck inside? In spite of the fact that inside is safer than outside, I think this might be it, at least in part. When we can direct our days in any manner we like, we have a sense of safety in that we never have to face our constant and very real vulnerability to life. When Mother Nature asserts herself in our lives to the point that we cannot make choices that we otherwise would, we come face to face with the idea that ultimately, in some senses at least, we do not control our own destiny, whether that destiny be a trip to the grocery store or keeping ourselves and our loved ones safe. We may not recognize this threat overtly, but when we are constricted, it burbles around in our subconscious and niggles at our sense of well-being.

All of us like to think that we are in control, on one level or another. Even though I often acknowledge that I have very little control over what life decides to serve up, I also like to control the little things to give myself the comfortable illusion of control. But a blizzard, or an earthquake or a hurricane, will very quickly send that illusion flying out the window. And, perhaps, this is why we become so very uncomfortable internally, as well as physically, during such times.

Security

"There is no such thing as security. There never has been." Germaine Greer.

I've been thinking about this quote for several days. It seems be both bold and, oddly, liberating to me.

We seem to spend our lives chasing after and working for security whether it be financial, emotional or physical. And, while I can certainly understand the desire, I am perplexed by the frantic way in which we pursue it. I have longed for this sort of security for as long as I can remember, but I can't help thinking that we seem to be chasing a will-o-the-wisp.

Certainly, the current economic situation has people very much afraid for their current and future financial security. But my finances were precarious before the recent events began, so I don't think that is what has set my mind to working on this question. Having grown up poor, I intimately know the stress of financial insecurity. We stretched a gallon of milk twice as far using powdered milk, Kraft macaroni and cheese was five boxes for a dollar, and I watched my mother stay up all night sewing so that we would have new clothes to wear. Jobs can disappear in a moment and child support fails to come. As an adult, I traded quite a bit of the rest of my needs in life for the illusion of financial security and, in the end, it simply wasn't worth it.

Emotionally, every last one of us has experienced disappointments and hurts that prove that security is an uncertain commodity there as well. There are exceptions, sometimes a great many of them, but there is never security here either. It begins when your best friend in kindergarten decides she really likes Sally better than you and continues right through to the one you thought was THE ONE, who couldn't be that one for you or anyone else.

Physically, we are vulnerable every second that we breathe. I heard someone once say that from the day of our birth, we begin to die and, no matter how much we would like to pretend otherwise, it is true. Friends and loved ones have been vibrant one minute and dead the next through heart attacks or accidents. Others waste away before our helpless eyes. Natural disasters, diseases and calamities hover at the edges of our existence. And violence, which may not kill our bodies, can steal our spirits in a flash.

So, why do I find this quote both potentially liberating and comforting? In acknowledging the reality of insecurity, I feel that I am opening myself up to more fully appreciate the many positive experiences that I have. By not wrapping myself in bubble wrap and believing myself to be safe and secure, I think it may be better for me to fall into the insecurity. By acknowledging the possibility of loss, I believe I enhance the experiences by feeling more gratitude for the blessings of each and every good thing that comes my way. By insulating ourselves from pain, we can also numb ourselves to joy and that is what I sincerely hope to avoid. I think it may allow fuller expression of our true selves. And, while I will continue to make sure my pantry is stocked, I hope to live more in the blissful moments that present themselves.