Buddhist Marketer

Eightysomethings are the new black

I was in New Haven yesterday for the kickoff planning session for my ten year reunion.  During introductions, the Class of ‘44 reunion chair quipped:

I just hope enough of us live another nine months.

After a round of “Oh geez!” nervous laughter, someone who works at The Association of Yale Alumni assured him there are around 300 members still around from that class.

I’m shown here with the ultra-plucky, superbly pantsed octogenarian Fred Knox ‘49. Unfortunately, trou like the pair he’s sporting, embroidered with 9Y9, will run a bit north of the reunion budget.

The first principle of adults behaving badly

Why come humans be makin’ bad decisions?  Why do we stock up on Bad Idea Jeans?  I’ve got a theory.

As mentioned earlier, I was tipped off to a lecture by Mr. Dr. Professor Tyler Cowen entitled “What Should You Worry About” delivered to an audience of New York City Objectivist types a couple of weeks ago. As Mr. Dr. Professor Tyler Cowen attempted to get through his list of (a) things we worry about too much and (b) things we worry about not enough, and why, I began to wonder if there might be a thread connecting some of the dots.

• We save too much
• We are too willing to pay too much for healthcare
• We are in a subprime situation*

Of course, given that my Buddhism is enjoying a renascence not unlike my mathematicism, hypothetical thread is admittedly potentially fruity-rooty and not markedly different from perhaps stating, “These Events Are All Things That Happen To Humans! Hark! Now Where’s My Red Carpet?” Fine.

This heralding angel (!) did not get an opportunity to sing her inquiry to Mr. Dr. Professor Tyler Cowen because the grand poobah of the evening’s Social Interactions, a festively-panted Victor Niederhoffer, tour-guided the microphone to folks I suspect are Regulars. But this was their party and I was just a high-heeled interloper, I decided, so rather than jumping up and hovering near the podium for twenty-some minutes to ask my question (the strategy employed by a baby-faced undergrad), I figured I would just run my hypothesis by MDPTC as he signed the book I was about to buy (and which I have since flown through and am currently on p. 167, which contains the subheading “Superbia,” and yes you should buy it).

Unfortunately, brightly be-pantsed Neiderhoffer, who based on data collected prior to the kickoff of Social Interacting seems to be lactose tolerant if not loving, hurriedly drew the book-signing portion of the evening to a close so that MDPTC and his amused and sparkly-eyed wife could get on a train back to the DC area.

So here are a few observations sparked by MDPTC’s talk, and my hypothesis regarding that which, underneath it all, might be connecting the dots. And while I can no longer pose the inquiry in a co-located, real-time manner to MDPTC, surely in aggregate all of you good-looking, pants-optional readers have opinions.

I suspect there is a correlation between:

• We save too much
• We are too willing to pay too much for healthcare
• We are in a subprime situation*

So, for starters: we save too much. We forget that our earning potential is likely to increase over time (A sub 2V). We deny ourselves immediate gratification and instead save for a future event that we may never live to see (A sub 1V). We put off the pleasure, put off the pleasure, worry worry fear now, put off the pleasure. Life can be lived tomorrow.

My theory is that this kind of behavior springs fundamentally from the following, A sub 0: It’s difficult to authentically experience the rich fullness of this moment.

For seconders: we are too easily swayed to fork over scads of cash for physician-encouraged medical “fixes”. Sitting butt-naked save a tissue-thin robe in front of a fully-clothed MD, we feel vulnerable. **  And this vulnerability in the face of a theoretically objective unbiased party? Oh, these immediate reminders of our often-ignored mortality make us want to preserve and extend life no matter the cost (A sub 2H). But of course, soon as we get our clothes back on and take the elevator down to the street we’re off to buy a corn dog for 99 cents from Nathan’s Famous, happily ignoring the fact that we only get so many heartbeats.

Ignoring our mortality is a convenient method for sub-optimally managing our allocation of time at t=NOW. We don’t fully live today and instead put it off for the future day that we may never see (A sub 1H).

But nobody works out the value of time: men use it lavishly as if it cost nothing… The whole future lies in uncertainty: live immediately.

– Seneca, On the Shortness of Life

And my theory is that this kind of behavior springs fundamentally from A sub 0: It’s difficult to authentically experience the rich fullness of this moment.

Thirdly: we want really big houses. We delude ourselves into thinking that the area under The Big House happiness curve is larger than it is, and so we git git git with the frenzy and finance a McMansion or the remodeling of the one we have with a big ole’ HELOC (A sub 2S). You know, because, keeping ourselves busy acquiring stuff for our big houses distracts us from the fact that we have sub-optimally managed for the expenditure of time = now (A sub 1S)… because …

It’s hard for us to authentically experience the rich fullness of this moment (A sub 0).

Now, I can’t figure out how to resolve the tension between A sub 1V and A sub 1S, and how this might relate to thug calculus, but really I’m wondering if you think there might be a common first principle — A sub 0 — that results in the above-mentioned three observations.

A0: It’s difficult to authentically experience the rich fullness of this moment

• A1V: We minimize the enjoyment of the very real today and save with the intention of enjoying a theoretical tomorrow
• A2V: We forget that as t –> ?, earning potential –> ?
• A3V: We save too much

• A1H: We don’t live fully today and instead put off for the future day that we may never see
• A2H: Immediate reminders of often-ignored mortality make us want to extend our lives regardless of cost
• A3H: We pay too much for healthcare

• A1S: Buying stuff keeps us busy from the fact that we are not optimally managing our time expenditure
• A2S: We think a Big House will make us happier than it actually will
• A3S: We are in a subprime situation

??? Hark? Singing? Red carpets?

* Hmm, this could be fun to announce to self when entering any venue that looks grimy. “Uh, oh; we’re in a subprime situation.”

**  Hmm, marketing idea: require all customers to walk around your store butt-naked save a tissue-thin robe and watch sales skyrocket! I mean, you know, assuming you can get any of them in the front door.

Ambivalence: the math

You are living as if destined to live for ever; you own frailty never occurs to you; you don’t notice how much time has already passed, but squander it as though you had a full and overflowing supply… How stupid to forget our mortality, and put off sensible plans to our fiftieth and sixtieth years, aiming to begin life from a point at which few have arrived!

– Seneca, On the Shortness of Life

Last week I learned an ex-boyfriend has cancer.

A stunner, for sure, but rest assured that this was not a long-term, serious-serious relationship. Perhaps it could’ve been, but after sixteen weeks of what I thought were four to five nights a week of contented companionship, I was dismissed over a bad eighties tune whose chorus wails, “I wanna know what love is.”

So, you know, I have conflicted feelings about the relationship, as well as this person, so naturally this additional data point was a gooey gremlin that I had no idea how to handle.

So, I called my big sister in Chicago.

“Rahnee?”

“Nita?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s up?”

“My fake ex boyfriend has cancer.”

“Hmm. You okay?”

“Hmm,” I reply. I sigh deeply and pause. “I’m not very good with feelings,” I remind her.

“That’s not true,” she counters, ever the Feely McFeelerson.

“Whatever. I don’t know how to feel about this. I’m annoyed that it’s cancer.”

She gets it. We’ve discussed this before, our grumbliness at The Cancer Card. It’s got a brand name, and when you say So And So Has Cancer it’s all so easy to collect sympathy points. Less easy when you say So And So Has Obscure Disease That Lacks An Association And That No One Has Heard Of.

“You know how you feel. Trust yourself. Don’t be afraid to feel. You have a right to your feelings.”

Grr. I hate when big sister tells the truth.

“I’m going to do some math,” I reply.

She laughs.

“Ha, ha,” I faux-laugh back.

I wasn’t kidding.

* * *

My first inclination is a deep feeling of ambivalence, of not being sure if I would even feel sad if he were to die. In a way it would be a nice closure, at last, for an abrupt ending for which I never received a reason, even a lame one.

But this can’t be right, can it? What kind of a crum-dum isn’t sure whether or not she cares if a man she once thought she loved croaks from cancer?

Maybe I am that crum-dum. Only one way to find out.

Equations.

* * *

The question is this: how does the addition of the cancer thing alter the area under my affection curve?

* * *

Step one is to come up with some events that transpired over the course of our relationship that triggered feelings within me, good and/or bad. This is a relatively easy task as I have a good memory. There was the first date, when we walked around McCarren Park as if in slow motion, yapping about existentialism and art and the ridiculous heat. Later I found out that directly after this date, he reported to all of his friends that he had “a hot new girlfriend.” It was a good date. I remember that.

There was also the second date, and then the emails back and forth while he was on a pre-planned solo trip to Mexico. Oh, yeah, and our first trip to the beach. Ah, and then the second one, with my kid sister in the back seat, and him obliquely referring to me as his girlfriend. That was a really nice moment.

The list is coming along now, and part of me is wondering, “Aww, I can’t be ambivalent about his having cancer. It would be sad if he died.”

But then, more data points. Me finding out about his meeting up with his ex-girlfriend without telling me. That damned Foreigner song at the cafe we always started our mornings at. Being ignored for a week before being officially dumped. And then, more recently, having my friendly suggestion that we do brunch a few months ago go ignored, even after I had given the music video he created / directed a nice shout out on my blog.

I’m feeling grumbly again. Grumbly and ambivalent.

But what is The Sum Of The Grumbly Factors vs. The Sum Of The Non-Grumbly Factors, I wonder?

Well. Now I must quantify each data point, I think.

To be continued