Sacrifices and Uncertainties
(and computer jinxes)
Sorry for not publishing last week. Computer problems kept me offline but frustrated, mystified, and irritable. (Thank you, Mr. Roget.) The silver lining of that particular dark digital cloud was a renewed awareness of my dependence on my computer and internet access. Now that I have my computer back with the problem never 100% identified but apparently subdued, I can resume my normal routine. But you can be damn sure I am also looking into a digital Plan B. (“B” in this case, standing for backup equipment, not just files.)
About that computer problem, it was the worst kind of problem, an unidentifiable jinx that acted without warning to shut down my computer, to be restarted and shut down, restarted and shut down repeatedly, then work perfectly for a few minutes or a few hours or even a couple of days before the next disruption. No discernible pattern, no discernable trigger. Incredibly frustrating and infuriating. Three different IT professionals tore it down and ran tests and could not find the problem.
The problem? Let me start with an analogy.
Me: Doctor, I fell down and hurt myself.
Doctor: Where does it hurt?
Me: Everywhere. I touch my nose and it hurts. I touch my knee and it hurts. I touch my shoulder and it hurts. Everywhere I touch, it hurts.
Doctor: Why you damn fool. You have a broken finger.
Since my computer has been operating flawlessly and without disruption for several days now, I am cautiously optimistic that the jinx has been exposed and expunged. Each time, I took the computer to a technician, they tested it thoroughly and found no problem. The last one kept it three days in his lab and returned it with an apology and no charge. The clue that we all missed? I took the computer to them, but without the power cord I used in my home. The solution - Apparently. Only more time will tell. - is a break in the power cord connecting the computer with the wall outlet. When the third tech suggested replacing the power cord at my home, the jinx immediately disappeared. Who ever heard of a simple cable failing? Who woulda thunk it? In thirty years of using a number of computers, I have never heard of a power cord with an invisible, internal break. Yet, it appears that is exactly the cause. And, of course, as soon as you clearly identify the problem, the solution is usually obvious.
Lessons learned: Always have backup. I already knew that. Fortunately, I have that habit of backing up data so nothing was ever lost in this fiasco. Only time and my patience and most of my sweet girlish laughter. It reinforced an old, old habit I learned many years ago. My professor in a programming class was old school. Early, early computers were so unreliable that he learned - and insisted his students learn also - to save his work every ten lines. That way, the most work you could lose in case of a computer failure was ten lines of code. Still a good habit. It saved me from even worse blood pressure spikes in recent days.
However, this incident also reminded me of just how dependent I had become on my single reliable device and internet connection. Beginning immediately, I will set up backup devices to duplicate every function that has previously been housed solely on my main computer. I learned this lesson - the hard way, as usual - when we had frequent disruptions in the supply chain during the pandemic years.
So, for those of you who expressed concern at the non-publication of this newsletter last week - and further concern when messages were not replied to - my apologies. But I am back, and, hopefully, a little wiser for the experience.
Yes, I’m back. A little shaky and shaken (not stirred) and with a hefty digital backlog to fill up those empty hours for the next several weeks.
For this week, let me resurrect yet another article from the past, dealing with a different type of uncertainty and loss of control or predictability.
And, for those who missed me last week, did you miss me enough to send a few bucks to my Buy Me A Coffee page?
(Bonus points will be awarded to anyone who can tell me the origin of the term “bucks” to mean the US dollar.)
Sacrifices and Uncertainties
It’s not always a simple, linear sequence, this process of becoming an expat. There are lots of blind curves. Decisions often must be made without a clear and obvious best choice. The relocation involves, as Harold Blaisdell wrote, “… to look upon oneself is to come face to face with an appalling array of contradictions. What one seems to be is refuted by that which lies just beneath the surface, and outward manifestations of character represent little more than an uneasy truce between opposing forces of nearly equal strength.” Blaisdell may have been looking over my shoulder as I was going through the many steps of leaving my hometown and becoming an expat.
Obviously, the basic go/no-go decision to become an expat is not easy. But, after that monumental first step – deciding to go for it - comes an endless sequence of further decisions, often involving equally valuable but mutually exclusive options. As the Lovin’ Spoonful sang so many years ago,
Did you ever have to finally decide?
And say yes to one and let the other one ride?
There’s so many changes and tears you must hide.
Did you ever have to finally decide?
Sometimes a story is the best way to illustrate a principle. This is an excerpt from my memoir China Bound about my own experiences. I had just gone through a marriage breakup and my life was, shall we say, unsettled. That was when the allure of the expat option first became viable. Many who are somewhere along the expat path will recognize some of these landmarks.
In the past, several of my Chinese student friends from the local university had mentioned the idea of me going to China to teach English. When they brought it up, this had sounded faintly intriguing but I had far too many commitments. Utterly impossible. Now, in my newly free state, I could at least consider it. Despite my initial misgivings, this possibility certainly met the criterion of being something new and a complete change from my previous, unsatisfying life. I began to think about going to China for a year or two, getting a job teaching English.
This was not, however, a decision to be made lightly. As soon as I began thinking about going to China, my mind was immediately filled with “opportunity costs”, that is, the things that I would be giving up, perhaps forever, if I made this move. In addition to not knowing anyone in China, I thought of several specific reservations about leaving Rolla.
First, because my family had lived in the same area for generations, Missouri was home to me. Wisconsin writer Gordon MacQuarrie once wrote, “There is no feeling like that first wave of affection which sweeps in when a man comes to a house and knows it is home.” This area was my home. The houses, streets, hills, and scenery I saw every day triggered memories going all the way back to my childhood. The local hills and streams were familiar and reassuring; I had climbed those hills and waded those streams all my life. In this small Missouri town, I had experienced July’s broiling heat and February’s winter blizzards and everything between those extremes. At daybreak on summer mornings, when I saw the early morning fog filling the valleys between the endless rolling hills, or when I saw the grey and black bare trees on those same hills in winter and early spring, I knew that I was home. For me, they were beautiful and comforting. If I left, I would certainly miss those foothills of the Ozarks Mountains.
Second, from a more practical standpoint, the idea of moving to China would mean giving up everything I had accumulated to that point in my life. When my marriage ended, one of my resolutions was to simplify my life. I was determined to eliminate many of the possessions which had come to control me and to demand so much of my time. Thus, when I drove away, I left behind everything except for my personal items. There would be no more completely filled five bedroom/four bathroom house, no more two cars and motorcycle in the attached two-car garage, no more front and back yards to take care of, and no more pets with their accompanying pleasures and problems. Basically, there would be no more stumbling over, around, and through the answers to that age-old tax-time lament of “Where did all the money we earned last year go?” Still… moving to China would mean packing my entire life into two suitcases. Was I really prepared to eliminate everything?
Third and probably the greatest single concern I felt about this possible move to China was that I would be leaving my society. Except for living a few years in the Dallas suburb of Carrollton, Texas, I had spent all my life in Missouri. Moving to China meant that I would be venturing into a totally different culture with unknown political, legal, and financial systems. Some people are adventurers; they relish new experiences. For me, however, there is nothing that inspires paranoia like the prospect of being a stranger in a strange land. What if I get sick? What if I inadvertently get in trouble with the police? What if I encounter hostile residents? What is the food like? What are the bathrooms like? Will their shoes, clothes, and furniture fit me? Will I be welcomed or will I be resented? Will their laws seem antiquated and unfair? In particular, would I feel smothered by the crowds in overpopulated China after living in a small town like Rolla? What if I want some comfort food?
The remainder of the summer passed. I settled into my new residence and was still periodically thinking about going to China to teach but no final decision had been made. Then, one glorious September afternoon, the full implications of moving to China suddenly became much more real to me.
That day, I went out on my motorcycle for a short tour around town. It had been a long, hot, stressful summer. Now, I was simply enjoying a beautiful fall afternoon. On this cool autumn day, the light breeze made riding conditions absolutely perfect. The bright sunshine, the lush greens everywhere I looked, and the comfortable familiarity made riding my motorcycle a sensual experience. Yet, as I rode, I gradually became conscious that I was considering leaving all this behind. In China, I would have no motorcycle – and probably no car or even a driver’s license. There would be no motorcycling up and down familiar hills, no leaning through the curves, not even the simple pleasure of just riding around town.
That afternoon was when I realized that my motorcycle represented only the very tip of the iceberg. Moving to China would be so complete and so dramatic a change that my entire current lifestyle would have to be abandoned. The change I was considering would peel away all the layers of convention, habit, and daily rituals – including those that were useful and comfortable. Indeed, some parts of the change might be distinctly uncomfortable.
Then I remembered how I had felt so desperately empty and unhappy in my old life. While I had resolved not to do anything rash during the transition period, I had to acknowledge one fundamental truth as I pondered my new life course. Specifically, I was thinking of the old saying that, “If you keep doing the same old things, you’re gonna keep getting the same old results.” Clearly, something had to change - something basic - if my new life was to be any significant improvement over the old one. I was determined that I didn’t want to find myself doing the same old things, merely at a new address. I wasn’t going to continue doing the same old things and getting the same old results. That day, still on my motorcycle, I made my definite decision. By the time I returned home and parked my bike, I was ready to make a commitment. Good or bad, I would go to China and begin a new life.
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Wow. That little trip down Memory Lane prompted some interesting flashbacks for me. One of the greatest benefits of journaling is that we create a time machine that will take us back to seminal events in our lives and the sensations we experienced while they were happening. But the time machine works only if you record those incidents at the time, not attempt to recall them through the filters of imperfect memory and Disneyfication. Beware of selective editing; it’s the hidden form of confirmation bias. Remember my story of my first experience with fine Swiss chocolate; I told it as I remembered it… years later. So it was nice to read this excerpt that perhaps was not a perfectly accurate and complete description of a moment but was honest and authentic. Because, when we are right in the midst of it, we rarely realize that we are at one of life’s cusps as I was that September afternoon.
But time machines, like all machines, require lubrication. So please send a little lubricant to my Buy Me A Coffee page to, in some cases at least, buy me a coffee.