“We’re going to make millions.”
I was at the office of my Romanian friend Remus the other day.
“Hey, look at this,” he said. “I have a great business idea I’ve been working on.”
“Ok,” I said. “What is it?”
“It’s this website. Take a look.”
“That looks good.”
“Thanks, it’s similar to one in the US.”
“What does it do?”
“It distributes these products by extending money to members to buy them at stores that our members sell to on the website.” (more…)
I want a time machine. Yes, maybe someday I will use it to become rich. But right now, I want it for something much more satisfying. I want to be able to undo my random kind deeds and polite behavior when it turns out the person does not deserve it.
You see, I’m tired of handing money to a cashier only then to hold out my hand for change and watch as she places the money on a tray, less than 2 centimeters away from my upturned palm. I’m frustrated by the fact that I hold doors open to let others pass first, especially women, only then for them to say nothing. Do you think, somehow, I’m obligated to do this? (more…)
“Yes, the food is cold.”
Like a power-saving bulb that takes a while to light up, I have only recently realized the similarities of countless conversations I have had since moving to Romania nearly four years ago. Here, in composite form, is one with my Romanian friend Remus.
After Remus complained about politics for the entire 30 minutes on the way to the restaurant, we finally entered.
“Wow, this restaurant is ugly,” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “But it’s better than other places.” (more…)
While walking down the street in Bucharest recently, I got into an argument about politics with a man I had seen on TV. He began to poke me in the chest as he got more and more angry.
“Please stop that,” I said.
“Stop what?” he replied.
“You’re poking me in the chest,” I said.
“No, I’m not,” he answered, his finger striking me hard with each syllable he spoke.
“Yes, you are. And it’s beginning to hurt.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“You’re poking me.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Why are you lying?”
At that point, I forgot all about the original disagreement.
“It really does hurt,” I said, as the spot his finger had chosen was now getting sore.
“What hurts?” he asked, his finger still poking.
Just then a friend of his walked by.
“Hello,” he said. “What’s happening here?”
“Could you please ask your friend to stop poking me in the chest?” I pleaded.
He looked at his friend, who continued to poke.
“You must have done something to deserve this,” the friend said to me.
“You see?” I said. “He is poking me!”
“What did you do to make my friend angry?”
“We were just arguing. I don’t remember why. But what bothers me now is that he won’t stop poking me.”
“You must deserve it. That’s why he’s poking you.
“You see,” I said, turning back to the first man. “You are poking me. Your friend just agreed.”
“It’s not me,” he said flatly.
“What?” I said, looking at the friend again. “You see that he is. But he keeps saying he’s not.”
“Well, if he says that he’s not, then he’s not. My friend wouldn’t lie. And if you call him a liar, then you deserve to be poked. And I suppose, that’s why he’s poking you.”
***
While sitting in a park recently, the man with the finger happened to stop by.
“You like this park?” he asked.
“Yes, I come here quite often.”
The next day I came back and there were workmen cutting down all the trees.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“We’re not doing anything.”
“Yes, you are cutting down the trees.”
“So what?” they all said.
“Why are you doing that?”
“Doing what?” they asked.
“Cutting down the trees.”
“They are your trees and you planted them illegally.”
“They are not my trees. And I didn’t plant any of them.”
“But you like them, right?
“Yes,” I said.
“And you also like to come here?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Then you must have planted these trees so they would be here where you like to come to sit.”
“But I’m not the only one to come here. Thousands of people come with their families. If you cut down the trees, they won’t have a park.”
“That’s not our concern. They are yours and they are illegal.”
“But they are not mine.”
Then the other people came running.
“Why are you cutting down the trees?” they all asked. “Our children play here. If you cut down the trees, we won’t have a park and they’ll have no place to play.”
“Yes, help me stop them,” I said.
“It’s not our fault,” said the workmen. “We’re doing it because of him.”
The people looked at me. “It’s all your fault,” they sang out. “You must have done something wrong. And because of that, we’re not going to help you.”
***
Earlier today I was walking through the old part of the city.
The man with the finger who had the friends with the saws was doing a dance.
“Watch me, watch me,” he was calling out to everyone. “This is how they dance in all the other countries. This is how they dance in all those other places.”
Just then, a group of tourists walked by.
“What are you doing?” they asked the man.
“I’m dancing the way they dance in other countries.”
“Really? Which other countries?” the group asked him.
And the man listed many other countries where, he said, they danced just like this. “Yes,” he said, “I’m just like the top dancers in all those other places. Soon I’ll go to meet them and we’ll all dance together.”
“But we’re from those other countries,” the group of tourists responded. “And that’s not how we dance. That’s a ridiculous dance.” And they all walked away, laughing.
“Yes, it is how they dance!” the dancing man yelled out. “And besides,” he shouted, “I’m not really dancing!”
And in this statement, there was finally some truth. It was not really a dance – just some tired old steps he learned from his parents.
endit
[Originally broadcast on Dec. 18, 2009, on The Frank Show, here.]
As I – as we – close out this year, I feel blessed to be part of this community, this Bucharest, this Romania, to be friends of my few new good friends, to have met people I admire, people I wish I knew better, people I have been honored to meet, to be friends of my wife’s friends, and mostly thankful to be family to my wife’s family. There is a life in Romania that too few Romanians seem to appreciate. But inwardly, they recognize it, for it is what keeps them smiling, it is what keeps the children playing and the fathers and mothers coming home, happy merely to see these children smile. There is a life here, a spirit here, that is made all the greater for the knowledge and memories it has of life before, life in a place that no longer exists as it did.
But like a ghost of a life that is gone, the shadows of a darkened history remain.
And I’ve come to realize that that reality can only be unexpected to an American. This land remains sadly the offspring of its history. Indeed, Romania is a child suffering the sins of the father. It has been a sad realization for me, but in the end, unavoidable. I see it in the attitudes of people, some of whom I work with, others I’ve met, some of whom I’ve read about or have seen on TV. There is a sadness in this country. There is an insecurity that many of my guest have touched upon. Mostly, it is something that people not from here, or people who have worked elsewhere, have come home to recognize.
No, I am not made sad by it. Christmas and New Year have a wondrous way of evoking a warmth of kinship, of humanity, of humility, with sadness and then hope. Hope that is contained in a new year about to begin. Hope that proves to us, through its existence, that there remains life and spirit despite all the pessimism. And sometimes, even, there is a sense of despair. I’ve seen that in a shrug that says, well, that’s just the way things are. I’ve noted it in the attitude of people as they tilt their head away from people sleeping in the streets. I’ve recognized the beginnings of it — I am ashamed to admit, in my own bristling attitude toward children – children who come toward me begging or reaching into my pockets to try to steal what they can. There is a sadness that still lies thinly veiled beneath so much here. It is beautiful to see in the way we recognize the depth of humanity in a painting’s sad eyes. Yes, it is a wellspring of great humor, for there is humor in all things, and seldom so bitter and biting than when it emanates from past suffering. It is the laugh of fate, of cruel hopelessness in a culture that is sure to continue, and one that is convinced in too many ways that it will fail. It is a joke that only those who have lived the times in a community can understand.
But it is a sadness to be sure. Why else, I conclude, should people resign themselves to so much? Why, I ask, does corruption flourish, if not because of a belief that nothing but conniving strength and fear can win? Why should coercion and deception be the currency of business — if not because there is an insecurity about competing fairly? Why should we risk losing, or succeeding, when we know either way, we have concluded a game that has no rules? One must trust in the value of oneself, to believe that through ability and intelligence that winning is possible even when pursued with purity and fairness. One must find that success can come without backroom deals, without mendacity, without Machiavellian tactics. It is insecurity, borne of a despair that survival is based upon, not cooperation and trust but, only hidden motives and clever disguise.
When that happens, yes, we gain that superficial currency from the other. But in the end, we gain nothing. For winning at a game that can provide no eternal value, is not a game to win, it is a foolish game made sad because it is so misguided.
So I will end this year by voicing my hope for the New Year. That businesses that deserve to, will continue to fail. That people, who can only play along the edges, not down the middle, will continue to struggle. That this economy, if not faced directly and dealt with realistically, will continue to flag. And then, as we begin to see success and progress, perhaps later in the year, I hope those who have survived will lose some of their insecurity, will shirk off those sad coattails of the past, and will see the future somehow differently than it appeared in the past. I hope that true competition will flourish, out in the open.. That people here will see a future as others in the world see it, one that comes with surmounting more modern travails and possessing the confidence that this society, this country, is equal to the best in the world. And because of that, we all can succeed even if – especially if — we compete honestly and openly, not merely climbing on top by relying on the worst inside us, but winning by presenting the best we have. That is my hope for the New Year and my prayer that it can come from this Christmas season as we look at our blessings, not our failings.