what are you afraid of?

I had a brief exchange with one of my co-workers. We secretly hate each other (well actually, we're both quite open about it) but we have some pretty stimulating conversations. I was commenting on the number of people in the gallery and how it was freaking me out. She asked if I had a fear of people - agoraphobia. We both paused a moment and decided her classification was incorrect. Agoraphobia is the fear of open spaces. This prompted me to try to look up the proper phobia. The list of phobias is endless and quite amusing in itself. Following is just a sample of the phobias beginning with "A:"

Ablutophobia- Fear of washing or bathing.
Acarophobia- Fear of itching or of the insects that cause itching.
Acerophobia- Fear of sourness.
Agateophobia- Fear of insanity.
Albuminurophobia- Fear of kidney disease.
Alektorophobia- Fear of chickens.
Alliumphobia- Fear of garlic.
Allodoxaphobia- Fear of opinions.
Amathophobia- Fear of dust.
Anablephobia- Fear of looking up.
Anuptaphobia- Fear of staying single.
Apeirophobia- Fear of infinity.
Atomosophobia- Fear of atomic explosions.
Aulophobia- Fear of flutes.
Autodysomophobia- Fear of one that has a vile odor.
Automatonophobia- Fear of ventriloquist's dummies, animatronic creatures, wax statues - anything that falsely represents a sentient being.

You have to admit to suffering from one or more of these to a moderate extent yourself. I know I have personally grappled with many of these. Show up with a dummy and I guarantee you I will run screaming into the night. And how many of us have stayed awake at night worrying about kidney disease? Huh? Come on, you know who you are. Well, perhaps some of these are a little bit of a stretch compared to others, but while we may laugh hysterically at some of these phobias, there is someone out there who is not so amused. I must admit that the list makes me feel downright healthy. I'll try not to be insensitive to the phobias of others, but secretly wouldn't it be funny to put together an ablutophobiac with an autodysomophobiac?

the day I stopped crying

I remember as a child how I used to cry whenever I hurt myself. I know this is a typical response to pain at a young age, but I also remember (oh, so many years ago) the day I stopped crying. I was playing in my cousin’s backyard and I was running towards the front of the house when I tripped on something. I went down very hard and very fast, skinning my hands and knees on the grass. It hurt as much as anything I had experienced at that point in my childhood (as far as my memory allows), but at that moment something clicked inside. I thought, “Yes, this hurts a lot, but I don’t have to cry about it. In fact, what does crying have to do with pain?” (Well, physical pain at least. I still cry sometimes when subjected to emotional or psychological pain, but if confronted, I will deny ever writing this. Also, show me a sad movie and I will practically weep. Again, I will exercise plausible deniability regarding this).

This disassociation of pain and crying has been just one of the many revelations I have encountered along the meandering path that is my life, but it was a startling one for me. Why had I wasted all of that time and effort crying when I could have just been nursing the pain with rocking motions and repeated "ouches?" Really. It was like that for me. Why does anybody waste the energy crying over pain (again, I reiterate, "physical" pain)? I haven't cried since that time; not when I inadvertently jumped through a sliding glass door on the night of high school graduation, not when I broke my wrist, not when I got the wind knocked out of me in Kung-Fu class. Crying is displaced energy and the act takes focus away from the matter at hand. If you are injured in any way, focus on the most efficient way of getting relief or aid as quickly as possible. Don't be wasting valuable time crying.

Now if only I can incorporate that disassociation with those other kinds of pain . . .

brand names - a word from our sponsor

As an active participant in the culture of consumerism, I've come to favor certain brand names. Best Foods mayonnaise (Hellman's in the east), as an example, is simply non-negotiable. If you don't have Best Foods mayonnaise in stock, forget about it. Ocean Spray cranberry juice is another. Any other brand just tastes like red stuff. And nothing beats the iconic Hostess Twinkie for classic junk food. Cheap imitators need not apply.

I'm sure this sort of discernment is not always justified. I do let my standards, real or imagined, slide occasionally, especially in these difficult economic times. I'm not as discriminating when I buy that container of chicken stock for my Cooks Illustrated recipe (although I AM conscious of the sodium content, which is actually horrifying if you look at the label. Personal caution alert: anytime you buy anything that's been processed, check out the sodium content. I think it might help you live longer, but again, I digress . . . ). Heinz Ketchup is yet another, although years I ago I swear it started getting runnier. Still, Heinz reigns supreme as far as I'm concerned.

Brand loyalty is an interesting phenomena. When and where does one reach a tipping point when one is willing to deviate from the tried-and-true choices and venture into sampling something new? For me, a relative "clinger" to my favorites, it takes a lot. A massive ad campaign that bombards the airwaves each night of the week is a good starting point. Well-designed, snobbish label and packaging design is another. A premium price is another attractive element for me. (Fact: when my wife did an internship in NYC some years ago for Elizabeth Arden, she learned that if one of their new product lines did not sell, they simply increased the price, which almost unfailingly led to higher sales). Coupon incentives and celebrity endorsements have no impact upon me whatsoever.

As consumers, we do indeed vote with our money and I usually vote for the incumbent. Occasionally, I do try new things when I am swayed by the factors mentioned above. Still, I have found that those times I do stray, I inevitably end up disappointed. The allure of something new is momentarily distracting, but soon dissipates with the first sampling. Keep on trying though, you manufacturers. I'm ready to jump on the bandwagon of customer loyalty as soon as you develop that next Twinkie. Until that time, I'll stick with my favorites.

the national theatre of the deaf

Many, many years ago I had the opportunity to attend a performance of the National Theatre of the Deaf. It was interesting that their tour brought them to Salt Lake City at that particular time, because I had just recently read about the group in an article in Smithsonian Magazine. (I have since come to recognize such occurrences as not just merely happenstance, but as signs of forthcoming moments of significance. I'm not sure if this is because I'm prone to wild flights of fancy in my advancing years or just romantic yearnings that have gone unchecked for far too long. Whatever the case, I attribute none of this to wisdom. Truth be told, coincidences are probably just coincidences. But I digress . . . )

The article featured time-exposure photographs of members of the company, signing and dancing in spectacular ways; their movement captured in sweeping brushstrokes of light and fancy. The photos evoked the group's sense of joy and unbridled energy.

When I arrived at the performance hall that evening, as I was taking off my coat to settle into my seat, I momentarily glanced towards the stage. At first I thought somebody was gesticulating at me in a welcoming way. It was a young woman. She had the warmest smile and bright, intelligent eyes. I did not recognize her and realized she was looking past me at somebody several rows behind me. She started to sign. I turned around to look at the recipient of her greeting and saw a young man, now signing back at her. They were carrying on a conversation! Across the crowded theater! I watched the exchange, fascinated. They signed, they smiled, they laughed. After a few moments, others joined in on the conversation from other parts of the theater. Their hands all moved excitedly as they each took their turn in the group discussion. There was a transcendent energy that emanated from all of them, exceeding any that would arise from a normal conversation among the hearing-enabled.

It occurred to me that their communication was more outwardly directed, entailing the use of their hands, their bodies and their eyes to a much larger extent than yours or mine would under similar circumstance. I wondered if there were less misunderstandings among the deaf for exactly this reason. They were committed fully to conveying their thoughts and ideas. We are not so blessed. Our conversations are more measured and guarded, perhaps not intentionally. We are more easily distracted by external factors. Our eyes wander off as we see something of interest in the peripheral corner of our vision, our listening is momentarily disrupted as a strain of familiar music plays in the background. We are much more susceptible to distraction because we can afford to be. This is sadly to our detriment.

As I sat down in my seat, still mesmerized by the conversation going on around me, it occurred to me that in this instance, I was the impaired person. Indeed, all of us who were not part of the world we had come to visit at that concert hall that night were the ones missing out on something wonderful, something magical.