The Virtue known as 'Losing'

If you go to Wikipedia and look up 'virtue', you will find a rather long list of examples. Things like trustworthiness, beauty, charity, fairness, justice and kindness are on the list. Lots of words for things that most of us aspire to be, to project, qualities we hope are in our best self. Some words appear in different ways like acceptance, sympathy, empathy, compassion, understanding; these are similar attributes of the gentle, good person, aren't they?

But loss, losing, getting lost, loss of stuff, loss of love, loss of a loved one, well, I don't see any words that convey the virtue that I will simply call, 'losing'. And, gosh, it sure should be on the list today of all days, of all times, decades, historic gyrational periods. Period. My goodness, right now, at this moment in time, being able to 'lose' certainly should score some points. Big ones. Oscar winning loser! That's what I'm talking about.

I mean think about Annette Bening losing Oscars not once but twice to Hilary Swank. (Not remembering? Think about the movies American Beauty, Boys Don't Cry, Being Julia, Million Dollar Baby.) How is that even possible? Would odds makers ever have predicted such a thing? You try and coach Annette. Right now. In your head. You're Annette's good friend. You are sitting with her at the Oscars. Knowing how good at losing you are, how would you counsel Ms. Bening? What 'teaching moment' could you motivate to take this from an emotional earthquake to one of virtue?

I've been giving the whole idea of 'losing' a lot of thought. It's occurred to me that maybe the learning experience, the teaching moment, is not about winning at all. Are we passing on the wrong or less than valuable lessons to our children? Like how to lose. I am not talking about being a gracious loser. Or how to be inauthentic. To kowtow (look that one up, will you).

I'm talking about how to accept 'losing' as a quality in your life.

Perhaps, all of us who have the chance to teach, parent, encourage, motivate or coach should focus on 'losing'. When was the last time you heard someone with a microphone stuck in their face saying, "I owe this to my father who taught me the value of losing."

Don't we often hear that we learn more from our mistakes than from our victories? That the only stupid question is the one you don't ask? Winston Churchill, who probably didn't know he was the master of all things quotations for all times said, "Courage is going from failure to failure without losing enthusiasm."

He also said, "If this is a blessing, it is certainly very well disguised."

So, in my thinking about 'losing', as a parent it occurs to me that maybe I should have spent some time building up the virtue of 'losing' in my children. That if I were asked to recommend a parenting skill, it would be to make 'losing' into a family event, to share your losses, to even encourage a loss now and then. Would it be awful for a baseball pitcher to give up a hit to someone who so needed one? And Serena, you obviously need to lose a lot more tennis games so you can find the pleasure zone of 'losing'. The Cubs sure have used the art of 'losing' to their advantage. Would we care so deeply about them if it weren't for their losing streaks? The San Diego Chargers are just as loss worthy but are movies and theatrical productions made about them? Can you imagine being Barry Bonds and so cutoff from the joy of the great loss that you would do anything to just plain win?

The home of a friend of mine's was burglarized last week. It's awful. To lose memories. Stories misplaced that come to you when holding a piece of jewelry from your mother. Lost feelings only recovered when you touch the earrings your love gave you decades earlier. A brooch made of slivers of emerald; who would so broach your life to take away this remembrance of your grandmother? The devastation of this is not the things, the stuff as George Carlin might point out, it is the pain, the gut clenching pain of loss. It is the actual deep down wretchedness of life that rips through one's being due to loss. It is all of Kubler-Ross's stages of grief and the knowing that such sadness has no stage, no theater in which a happy ending is due.

I don't want to speculate that my friend will get through this or past the pain of the loss of her things. Or that she will be better, stronger or more capable because of it. I just want her to know that her friends know she's in pain. It may quell but it won't subside completely. Just like another friend, the image of losing her grandmother's crystal during an earthquake has never gone far away. It is one of her guides. A task master of loss that keeps her grandmother still by her side.

My nephew lost at a sports game a few weeks back. The loss meant he wouldn't evolve to a match with a formidable foe who he had spent many days anticipating with almost glee. I wasn't there but I can imagine my nephew's pain; the unfairness of it all; the inequity of sport. But I also know my nephew when he gives in - to his sister, to bedtime, to his aunt in a mall when she says no more to continued shopping. I've seen my nephew let go of stuff. I've seen him accept that we've bought all we'll be buying. I've heard him say, "But aren't you getting anything?"

There's something very deep to the virtue of losing. For me, I can conjure up far more depth of feeling when I think of my brother at my mom's funeral, when I recall our family coming together to embrace my dad, when I see my youngest sitting at her grandfather's feet for hours as if she were his guard llama, there to allow him his loss without requiring anything from him.

Most all of us have lost so very much in the last couple of years. I think it is a sense of security that began with 9-11 and then moved to encroach upon all aspects of our lives be it jobs, money, cancers, deaths of parents, health insurance and for one good friend, having to give up his Harley. What represents a devastation of emotion to one person may be a small piece of jewelry on which you always meant to get the clasp fixed. It might be selling your motorcycle. Learning not to assume you'll so easily make it to the next rung in the match. Accepting that our children will learn the virtue of loss most likely without the compassion of our embrace.

The pain of losing is perhaps more valuable than any win possible. It may be our best virtue.


Maybe Tennyson meant to say, 'Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to to have 'lost' at all.'

Marcia's 'listen to' twofer for today: Gone by Jack Johnson and Lord, I'm Discouraged by The Hold Steady

Wheelchairs, Surfers and Human Contact

Some years ago, I heard or read an interview with a gentleman in a wheelchair who said that one of the challenges for him was that, 'people no longer look me in the eyes.' He described how folks avert their eyes, look away, surely out of a sense of politic, of not wanting to cause discomfort. But, in fact, the loss of human eye contact left him lonely and disheartened.

Since that time, I have acted on my personal commitment to seek out eye contact with people in wheelchairs or in anyway disabled. I've thought a lot about what it would be like to have people always look away, to turn their heads, or look down rather than to look at me. As a single woman who lives on her own, I know that I relish street walking, or here in CA - pier walking, and I unduly appreciate a smile, a raised eyebrow, a look between me and another person.

Today, on my morning walk to the beach, I counted how many eye-to-eye moments I had. I tried to take hold of the stories these encounters brought into my head. True stories, no, not, not at all. But it came to me how when I connect eyeballs with another person, a kind of not at all psychic story pops into my head, as if I understand somehow something about that person. Today, I counted my eye contact moments, I think there were 17.

An Asian couple, arm in arm, both in white tops, beige pants, and straw hats. The man put his hand up to the brim of his hat as he passed me. Our eyes connected. And he tipped his hat, I think. I can't say I've ever had a hat tipped at me before. It was a marvelous moment. As if I was back a hundred years or so. Maybe in the movie, The Painted Veil, and Edward Norton was walking by me in Shanghai. I felt the Asian couple were happy. Happy, but maybe he had a secret personality. A different bent. A desire to have whole-hearted discourse with me. His tipped hat was like we were having a conversation. A nod to what we might discover, if we talked, if we could.

Two Eastern European women walked towards me. One in dark red and maroon. One in a white jacket over a black and white top. She had eye glasses that looked framed in crystal, like wings on her face. I looked up, smiled, and saw her look over her glasses directly into my eyes. Piercing but in a nice way. Like an aunt or grandmother looks at you. Inquisitive but cautious. Pleasant.

I passed a man who might have been of Thai descent - he looked like a shorter version of Larry King with an even darker tan. Big glasses. A heart-shaped face. He didn't smile at me. But he didn't frown. He seemed like a person that you could sit next to for a long time and stare at the Pacific Ocean. You wouldn't have to say anything at all. He'd j understand.

I saw surfers in the ocean from the Venice pier. They looked right up at me much like we were all meeting at Starbucks. One guy took off on his board. Here's the gang that was just hanging out.


I saw my new office. Take a look:


Then, I saw a black woman in a red sweater fishing next to her young son in a red hoodie. He was bouncing up and down as if he would hook a fish by sheer energetic will power. She smiled at me, the smile of a mom to another mom, that look of pure hope and pride.

A middle-aged all American man walked by me, flannel shirt slapping, ball cap on head, a good morning grin shared with me.

I thought how boring to be us, me and the American guy, just plain old Americans. No discernible ethnic origins. I don't think anyone can look at me and imagine any wondrous heritage. I look like a middle-aged white women. A few freckles that could be seen as interesting. iPod earphones stuck into the sides of my head. Oakley sun glasses. Triple Venti latte in hand.

Kind of just plain me.

But you know what makes me different, maybe, perhaps? I look at people in wheelchairs. I make eye contact. I concoct fascinating human stories from the faces I see. I'm sure the lady in a dress and black suit jacket and 4 inch heels that I passed on my way back was enroute to her way to her job as an up and coming CEO. I hope that man going through the trash is a collector. And that the athletic looking guy in the yellow jacket, who said excuse me when he jogged by, is going to be at the Olympics in Chicago.

Something else about me is that, no matter what, in my heart, deep down, where it matters, I hope I made someone's day.

And lastly, what I really hope doesn't make me different, is my hope that all the citizens in our country continue to love our differences. All of them. Our myriad colors of skin. Our eye glasses of all shapes and sizes. Our origins. Our roots. Our beliefs. Our wheelchairs. Our bikes. That our food courts have Barbecue, Mongolian, Thai, Italian and Subway!

That we are as different as night and day.

Marcia's advice for today: Look at people in their eyes even if you have to bend a little.

Marcia's 'listen to' song for today: Instant Karma by John Lennon

marcia update, marcia update

Hi everybody. Here's the latest news. Most of you know that the most important thing an out-of-work person can do is find-work. What's the opposite of 'out-of-work' anyway? So here I am. I made land fall on the west coast. (Per dictionary.com, that's, "the land sighted or reached.") I'm hanging out in Venice Beach, sojourning down to Pt. Loma in San Diego some days, eating sushi in L.A., and hanging at the Hudson Bay Seafood Restaurant in Pt. Loma where you can sit harbor side, eat the best fish tacos ever, and watch the fishing boats haul in their mother lode each day. See picture above that will make your mouth water. I gather they also have scrumptious donuts made onsite in the mornings but I've never managed to get there when they have any left!

Most mornings, I beach wander and plan my strategy for the day.

Then, I assure you, I do get to work on the Marcia-Must-Find-Work-Project. I am discovering opportunities, and best of all, my incredible network here in Southern California continues to support me, push my resume to others, and in general keep my spirits up in the midst of my job search journey.

Thank you all! Oh I must share with you a sign I saw down the street. No deep, golden meaning. Just a cool sign. Did you ever think you'd see a sign like this? Here's to incredibly super tsunamis of good fortune for us all.

Marcia

and sushi sushi sushi

I didn't always love sushi. Years ago (many many), I lied to a young man saying, "I love sushi," and proceeded to marry him. One day, in a fit of venting, I yelled out, "And I HATE sushi." I suspect it was more a moment of, 'I hate everything,' but it seemed the appropriate time to begin to dismantle one of the foundational blocks of our relationship.

If you've been in that mode, that process of breaking the glass walls of a loving partnership, you know years can go by before the real crash occurs. My, "I hate sushi," moment was a very early on predecessor of things to come. But it did elicit the response I wanted. Ahhhh, the sweet moment of success when you thoroughly pull the rug out from under - or in this case, the placemat off the sushi bar.

But you know how when you do that, when you pull the rug out, you've won but you're also left feeling uneasy, off balance, and you spend much time afterwards waiting for the other shoe to drop? Not your own shoe necessarily but you know it's coming. No one wins an argument without losing something else. The comeuppance for me, the just deserts, was that sushi was not mentioned ever again. When looking for dinner options, it was not suggested. If passing a heretofore favorite sushi bar, eyes averted in a different direction.

Sushi was never again offered.

I found myself missing being greeted at sushi bars with their rousing chorus of, "Ko-neeeee-cheeee-wah!"

I wanted to get up from a sushi bar and turn to the Japanese chefs and say, "Ar-i-gato gez-im-us," in order to enjoy their big grins at my attempt at a Japanese thank you.

But, oh my, it is hard to give in, isn't it? To step back with humility and say that maybe, perhaps I was a bit harsh, that after much thought, I was in fact 'having a taste' for sushi. That the thought of a bowl of fresh steamed edamame was wafting through my consciousness. As odd as it seemed, could I admit that sudden pangs for raw fish were entering my being?

To fall on my own sword and say, "I'd like to go for sushi. Dough-Zo." (That's please.)

Then, alas, this stronger than I could bear desire for sushi came when I was pregnant with Daughter Number 1. And so began, after a sheepish admission on my part that I might like some sushi, a journey into the culture of raw fish that has stayed with me through Daughter Number 2 and to this day. The penance I now pay for this is that both Daughters have been sushi mavens since toddler days. Yes, we were those annoying parents, with a two year old taking up a seat at the sushi bar and another one in a back pack turned front. My children were those impish darlings smashing rubber banded chopsticks at each other. Rice droppings covered the floor wherever we sat. When many parents had children who screamed for Happy Meals from McD's, I would beg mine to want a meal that cost only $2.99. "No," my daughters would plead at seven years of age, "Can't we have sushi?"

Over the years, it became a mainstay of our culinary life. Mine as well. It grew on me to the point that I do, I admit, I do love sushi! Ar-i-gato!

It's not a surprise that both daughters live in California and eat sushi for breakfast or lunch more often than not. Daughter Number 2 often gets looks of adoration from sushi bar chefs as she 'shoots' a half dozen raw quail eggs, her true favorite order at the bar. Daughter Number 1's first choice is a full-on plate of raw white fish called, 'Is-Zoo Zoo-Cur-i' which, if you ask for a bite, she gives you a look that begs the question - can't you get your own?

In Chicago, it's not that you cannot find sushi, and it is good, but the Southern CA culture of raw fish is much more embracing. Most of the restaurants in Chicago, in true Democratic fashion, have added a player to the game - the waiter who takes your order even at the sushi bar. This little additional cog in the wheel, this person standing next to you with an order pad, well, for me, it really zaps the warm hug of ordering from the sushi bar chef. How do you say to a waiter, "You pick it, make me something special." Or ask the waiter, "What've you got tonight?" When I've tried, it takes the fun out of it to see the waiter's quizzical look or them turning to the sushi bar chef and asking for me.

This is just me, my own weird want, but that deprives me of a moment of connection, the look from the sushi bar chef showing that he respects my request, that in fact, wow, on occasion, what I asked for was deemed 'way cool'. Sorry to say this, but going for sushi was kind of depressing for me the last few years in Chi town. Not bad. Just not a soulful high.

Now that I'm back in L.A., I've got to tell you, I've returned and found a 'raw fish phenom!' Whereas, in the past having a sushi meal was a big bucks investment, now sushi is AVAILABLE. Every couple blocks, in most L.A. neighborhoods I've passed through, there is sushi. Fancy sushi. Expensive sushi. Cheap sushi. Fast food sushi. Sushi alone. Sushi with Thai. Sushi sushi sushi. A quick google search and up comes at least a dozen places within a couple miles of me. Look at the list below. And thank you to Pazzaz Sushi for the cool pic above. If you are nearby, I had an incredible meal last week at Sushi Koda on Sunset in the Junction. The chef, Josh, is kind of a talker, but he's into it and that makes it all the better. Or, go to the Century City Mall and see what they've done to the marketplace. Wow! Sushi and much more. (Hey all my ex-BA friends, remember when we worked near there:)

It's superb to be back, surrounded by sun and good food, and lots of raw fish.
Happy meals.

Sushi-Gen · (213) 617-0552 · Directions
Sushi Roku · Website · (323) 655-6767 · Directions
Takami Sushi & Robata · Website · (213) 236-9600 · Directions
Sushi Sasabune · (310) 820-3596 · Directions
Sushi Go 55 · Website · (213) 687-0777 · Directions
En Sushi · Website · (310) 477-1551 · Directions
Mori Sushi · Website · (310) 479-3939 · Directions
Mia Sushi · Website · (323) 256-2562 · Directions
En Sushi - www.ensushi.com - (323) 664-1891 - 12 reviews
Niko Niko Sushi - maps.google.com - (323) 953-8900 - 19 reviews
California Roll & Sushi Fishi - maps.google.com - (323) 666-1400
Sushi Kaiho - maps.google.com - (323) 666-1019 - 6 reviews
Pizzaz Sushi - pazzazsushi.com - (323) 644-0771 - 5 reviews
Saito's Sushi - maps.google.com - (323) 663-8890 - 23 reviews
Pazzaz Sushi - pazzazsushi.com - (323) 662-0038 - 1 review
Zen Sushi Restaurant - maps.google.com - (323) 665-2929 - 28 reviews
Mia Sushi - www.mia-sushi.com - (323) 256-2562 - 67 reviews
Koda Sushi - maps.google.com - (323) 663-1048 - 15 reviews

Marcia's advice for today: 鮭が上流に泳ぐ (that's sink or swim)

Marcia's 'listen to' song for today: Lovers in Japan by Coldplay

Street Signs

Oh my God, I truly had forgotten how nice it is to be in a state that recognizes that when it comes to driving, 'we are all lost.' I lived in the L.A. area for over 15 years and I do know it pretty well. I know that the 405 goes south to San Diego. The 10 goes east. The 101 to Hollywood, etc, etc. Sunset Boulevard may look kind of stark the further east you go, but go west from Dodgers Stadium and you will hit super trendy areas like Silverlake, then Hollywood, and then it will begin to curve and take you through postcard pretty areas like Bel Air, Brentwood and on into the Palisades. And if you want an insanely gorgeous drive hop on Mulholland Drive most anywhere like from Topanga to the Valley - you'll wish you could stop, sit on a porch, and 'codge' forever. (If you missed my blog on the joy of codging just imagine a happy, old codger sitting in the late afternoon, just sitting.)

But with all the twists and turns of the roads in L.A. and the many times you quickly turn left or right just to get off a traffic-jammed street, it's way too easy to get turned around and upside down. I'm forever twisting my head left to right and towards the back window looking for the sun and repeating in my head, "Rises in the east, sets in the west," while realizing I'm heading the wrong direction.

Thank you L.A. County and all of California for SIGNS. You lead us, point us, give us the road forward. I'm not talking about only highway entrance signs. If you aren't familiar with CA, if you are a road traveler, I assure you that you would appreciate the many signs on these roads. When I'm driving and begin feeling that anxious, oh my goodness, not sure where I am, maybe I'm lost, queasy sweat thing break out on my skin, I take a breath (a very Zen thing to do in L.A. despite what you may think of the air) and I know that in a block or two a sign will appear and I'll know what to do. Another thing to note, u-turns are pretty much legal anywhere here. So, see a sign, realization hits, 'got to turn around,' make a u-turn. Sweat dissipates. Queasy stomach relaxes. And, I'm back on the road, driving righteous, headed to my destination.

Oh, alright, it's not perfect here. Way too many cars. Streets aren't so clean (we need a Mayor Daley and his brigade of Polish street cleaners or Mayor Bloomberg and his clout). But I'm telling you, directional signage is significant and important. It's why I'm here. It's what I'm looking for. No, not little Armenia. Not Hollywood. Just some signposts so I know I'm going the right way.

Not so much to ask for, is it?

Marcia's advice for today: Watch for signs.

Marcia's 'listen to' song for today: I Don't Know by Lisa Hannigan (Sing along, "If you walk my way, I could keep my head, we could creep away...." Dance along, too. It's mega fun.)

Toilet Seat Covers

I've been away from California only a few years but I'd forgotten some of the real perks of living here. Critical benefits immediately recognized:

Toilet Seat Covers
Street Signs
Sushi

So, let's talk about Toilet Seat Covers.

If you rarely leave CA or if you live elsewhere, you may not enjoy the superb benefit of paper toilet seat covers in 'every' public rest room. Yes, every! I'm not sure how CA has managed to pull this off for as many years back as I can remember. But as soon as I entered CA and pulled off to use a restroom, the deep down real joy returned with going into a bathroom and finding, there on the wall, voila!, was the paper seat cover dispenser. Californians, take note, with all the things you have lost due to this economy, the toilet seat cover police must still be on the job.

I don't know how it is that I very rarely have found a seat cover dispenser that is empty. I'm not Pollyanna and I'm sure it happens. But having spent the last few years in a city where seat covers are rare, and certainly not required by law, this is a great luxury. I also think that the state of CA must have managed to put the fear of God into public establishments because they still fill the dispensers! Or, it is possible that the business owners in CA really do care. Just like the cut indentation in the paper seat cover, the truth may lay somewhere in between.

(Oh, thank you to TradeIndia.com for the perfect pic above.)

Marcia's advice for today: Take nothing for granted.

Marcia's 'listen to' song for today: Fitz and the Dizzyspells by Andrew Bird

More Pics From My Travel Album

Here I am about to leave Western Spirit Ranch in Parker, Colorado. There's nothing like me, myself and I in my Miata. My car loves the open road. And folks on the road love us. People passing by always smile at me in this little red car. I think it's spiritual. My car just stirs people's hearts, I can tell.
This is part of the The Capitol Reef Inn & Cafe in Torrey, Utah. It's an amazing stone structure. I'd like it to be my house! I just stopped for a moment but from their website, "The Capital Reef Inn Cafe is a special treat--fresh, natural and local foods deliciously cooked to your satisfaction. Healthy meals--lots of fresh vegetables, local fresh trout, brown rice, whole-wheat rolls, no additives, no preservatives, low in fat and sugar. Open 7am-9pm for breakfast, lunch and dinner." I'd say I'm stopping in for a meal next time for sure.