Is life just too hard now?

 So in my former career as a newspaper columnist, it was more or less my job to  ponder The Big Things -- you know, the things that people think about at three o'clock in the morning, or when they watch the evening news, or when they're sharing a bottle of wine with friends and modern issues come up. That stuff was my bread and butter.

Probably what makes me different than the Average Jane or Joe is that the journalist in me is always on the lookout for something that connects seemingly random stories together. You have to be careful with this, because it can lead you down conspiracy rabbit holes if you're not careful. But sometimes,   a + b +c = d does in fact work. Other times, not so much. 

What I've been thinking about recently are things like the homeless crisis, mass shootings, people becoming more extremist in their political views and opinions, and the Trump Presidency. So what's my over-arching theory on why all these things are connected? It's this: Life has gotten too difficult now, on some level. And everything I listed above, whether triggered by rage, frustration, or a nostalgic longing for an America that no longer exists, is how people are dealing with it. 

While there's no question we live in a time where certain things have never been more convenient, we are more disconnected from society than ever in other ways. Sure, online banking is fast and convenient...until you have an issue which requires you speak to a live customer service representative, in which case you will need to mow through layers of computerized voice technology before you can find a true, live human voice to speak with. 

As for our phones and computers, there is no question how many more things we are able to keep track of now, whether it's our kids' whereabouts, the current location of a package we ordered, or whether or not we paid the electric bill last month.

But take away those devices, just for a few days, and we're no longer able to function in the world. This naturally leaves us feeling vulnerable and even anxious -- our entire lives are maintained by machines now, with breakable parts and limited lifespans.

I'm sure many of us have seen someone have a meltdown over a dropped phone, and we all get it. Because a phone is SO much more than a phone now. It's your life in there. 

Let's face it, ours is the first generation that has not had other live humans as their first line of defense to help us out during difficult times. We have machines. Heck, if you call your pastor in on a crisis nowadays you'll probably have to go through his voicemail first. That's just the way it is.

Look at our parents' lives as an example of how much simpler it used to be: They paid their rent or mortgage and the gas/water/electric bill all by US mail or in person, and shopped for groceries at the local grocery store. They didn't pay for cable, because it didn't exist, and regular TV was free. Not everyone had a car, often a couple of limited means shared one and just lived close enough to conveniences that it didn't matter. Married couples could generally get by on one income. Medical bills didn't bankrupt anyone because insurance was better AND both hospitals and medical insurance companies operated as non-profit entities, generally run by religious denominations. 

Life may have been more limited in some ways, sure. But it was simpler. Much simpler. 

I think a lot of Donald Trump's win in 2016 and the fact that about 65 million Americans voted for him again in 2020 is tied into just that. Trump personified the values of 1960's America, and that appealed (and still appeals) to a lot of people troubled by life today. (never mind the issues faced by minorities and women in the 60's, nostalgia generally focuses on the best of an era, not its issues).

I think some homelessness may be tied to the same root problem. At a certain point, life became too hard for many of these people, and they opted for the simpler life of tent dwelling rather than trying to deal with the complexities of 21st century America. Because, contrary to what many think, your average homeless encampment is filled with more than just the drug addicts and mentally ill. There are many people, not unlike ourselves, now choosing to remain houseless, car-less, bill-less, and tax-less. They have less comfort, but more peace. And we need to ask ourselves...how that is possible?

As for the mass shootings, I can tell you this, shared with me by a zoologist friend. When you cage up a few primates in a zoo enclosure, they generally establish a pecking order fairly quickly and do very well together for as long as the group remains stable. But if you keep adding additional primates to a point where the enclosure becomes overcrowded, behavior changes. Eventually a significant portion of the members (mostly males) will begin waging war on the others, often in explosive anger. They're still being fed, and they still have shelter. They are just over-stimulated. They're not picky when they choose their victims, but usually choose other members of the group too old, small, or vulnerable to fight back. And they will kill if allowed to do so, as their way of coping with the stress of their situation. Sound familiar?

Perhaps we just have too many monkeys in this cage, and we're asking too much of them -- us. Would a life that is simpler, with more personal contact, make a difference in our society? Would less technology and more person-to-person interaction help relieve some frustration and anger? I don't know, but I do know that these shootings were almost non-existent 50 years ago, and I think we need to ask ourselves why. 

We also need to ask ourselves whether the conveniences a contactless life outweigh the disadvantages, especially after this pandemic. It's a discussion we need to have. But more than you and I, it needs to be discussed as a society, so we can see if there's a way to re-engage with our neighbors and those we do business with in real life,  rather than via message boards, phone menu systems, and text alerts. 

Our sociological survival may depend on us listening and speaking to each other -- as we've done for eons -- in person, live and in real time.

Freshly Washed

So here we are smack in the middle of 2021, the unofficial start to the Roading 20's -- 21st Century Edition. I don't know about you, but for me 2021 just feels...more, somehow. Like the world has been freshly-washed and hung out in the sunshine. All the good things seem magnified. Lunches, graduations, shopping trips and vacations feel more joyful than I remember them. Strolling around outside feels even better than I remember it did in 2019 and 2020. 

Perhaps taking a year off from normal life reset some kind of magic button and we're realizing the joy in things we once took for granted, or even resented, Exhibit A being close proximity to our fellow man. Or maybe it's finally casting off the fear of sickness and death now that we're all (mostly) vaccinated. This all being the case, this summer should be one for the books.

I took my first post-pandemic trip a couple weeks ago, from Oregon to California. Even the airplane ride was nicer than I remember; flight attendants noticeably less bitter and resentful, in-flight pretzels that seemed fresher and crunchier. Is that even possible? We flew direct from Portland to Santa Barbara, and I have to admit I felt a wave of joy wash through me when I stepped out that quaint little Spanish tiled air terminal and smelled that warm and windy air again. And bonus points to you, California, for not being on fire at the time. 

We spent a couple of days in Santa Barbara, a place where I spent a good deal of my weekends back when I lived in Los Angeles, and what amazed me was how little it changed -- well, the waterfront and beach, anyway.  I know the city has grown, but it's still quiet at the beach on weekdays, and still a magnet for the most physically fit and beautiful Californians who dwell among us, the water just as warm and the temperatures just as lovely. 

After a couple of days there we headed north to Paso Robles, where we spent the next five days reconnecting with old friends, enjoying the sunshine, and visiting all our old haunts. We ended in Cambria almost as much as Paso Robles, just because, well, Cambria is always a fun place to visit, and the hiking around that area can't be beat.

Paso Robles has changed a lot since we left, and not necessarily for the better, but we did get to enjoy some ziplining in Santa Margarita and the Sensorio light show outside Paso. Downtown Paso is a bit worse for the wear, and so many old stores have been replaced with bougie piano bars, expensive rustic-looking restaurants and boutiques I couldn't even count them all. 

In a way, seeing all that gave me some closure with leaving, because sometime in the three years since I'd been gone I think I'd idealized it a bit, and seeing the reality of it reminded me that while 2012 Paso Robles WAS a town I loved living in, 2021 Paso is not. There's just too many inconveniences that come from living in a "wine country destination," so I'm happy we got out when we did. But it has become a true tourist destination now, which is probably great for the local economy.

Safe to say, we've just begun our traveling now that it's safe to move about the country. Our next excursion is heading to Walla Walla, WA for some touring around and wine tasting. It will be interesting to see how it compares to Paso Robles in terms of pricing and accommodations. But with our mid-week airfare to Santa Barbara just $89 bucks each way, I'm thinking my old escape destination of SB may live again as my new one. I could certainly see sticking my toes in the sand and warm water some mid-February morning and forgetting all the clouds and rain of the Willamette Valley. 

So stay tuned. Like many of you, I think we're going to have a fantastic 2021, doing all the old things but maybe in a new, and more appreciative way. 

Took the train back...beautiful scenery!