Okay, so I did a blog recently about the economy because I am in Macroeconomics this semester and I said my blogs would be about what it is like to be my age and going to college, amongst other things. The ECO class is fascinating, although my mind really isn’t naturally wired in that direction and I have to spend double the study time to pick up the same amount of information as those for whom it does come naturally. And, speaking of that class, don’t get too stressed about the lingering unemployment numbers. Turns out that unemployment levels peak somewhere near the end of a recession and remain at or near that high level for at least a couple of years afterward. No amount of Gerry-rigging on the part of the government or promise-laden politicians seeking office is going to bring those numbers down much faster. Sorry to steal your thunder , Glen and all your fanatics out there blaming Obama because he hasn’t ‘fixed’ unemployment. The sad reality is that in November people are going to vote against the very ones who helped this recession not be as dire as it was heading out to be, just because they don’t know enough about how their own economy works to realize what a bullet we actually dodged.
But I digress. I meant this blog to give equal time to my other two classes, Developmental Psych and Student Development (which is a miserable little pie class the college forces on you so they can add a few $$ to their coffers. I don’t blame them – money’s tight, but if I’ve been a student for more than a decade and an adult for thirty-plus years, what do they really think they’re going to teach me?!) I’ve decided to explore the exciting psych topic of Nature versus Nurture.
How does that affect our free choice, I wonder? For instance, I chose to have a chicken salad sandwich today for lunch. My mother never gave us chicken salad growing up. I never even knew the stuff existed until I met my future mother-in-law and we had chicken salad sandwiches one day at her house. Can we say that because I somehow have a genetic propensity to love all things fat-laden, my choice was because of the mayo? Or was it because it was on sale at Food Lion? If so, can THAT be traced back to genetic survival instincts to conserve resources, or to my grandfather who once argued with a girl at the five-and-dime because she was charging us five whole dollars for a dress for me to wear to church? Burning questions.
How about my choice yesterday to be overtly annoyed and not too very nice to a co-worker in response to what I interpreted as his audacity in asking me why another co-worker had more “goodies” than he did? Was that because of his socially aggressive manner in questioning me about something that was, in my opinion, none of his business to begin with? Or did it have everything to do with the fact that my menopausal state was aggravated by my forgetfulness in taking my supplements for the last three weeks? Hmm… I tend to think that if I had called him the names I had running through my head and threw the phone back on the receiver with a cuss-word, one might lean more toward the genetics. (Temper runs in our family, especially when hormones are involved.) I have been, shall we say, a little ‘antsy’ the last couple of weeks. Nonetheless, perhaps he is still alive because my reaction was purely environmentally-motivated.
And speaking of miracle drugs, let me just say right here that if I hadn’t been turned on to B12 supplements in the last year, I would likely be on something much stronger and more psychotropic. Thanks, Mom. Turns out that little B12 vitamin every day keeps the raging Maxine inside from taking off her bunny slippers, grabbing her cane and hobbling out to take someone’s head off. Now, I’m just getting into the meat-and-potatoes of this whole menopause thing; so I’m not certain just how long the little pill will hold her at bay. But it seemed to work well for my mother and, again, we visit that whole genetics question and whether it won’t do the same for me.
So here’s another one for you. Why do we pick the mates we do? Why do we pick mates at all? When we’re my age and there are 7.7 million more women in the U.S. than there are men, how much of not picking a mate is because there aren’t any to pick and how much is perhaps a genetic self-preservation compulsion? I don’t know. I’m just asking. I see patterns repeated in my family over and over and cannot help but ask why. Why don’t we all communicate better? Why do we all engage in the silent treatment when we’re offended or hurt? And once the main players become silent, there is no armistice – the stage remains silent and empty because no one’s going to open that door again. And when we do talk to each other, lord, we spill our guts about everything!! Why do we all wait so late in life to figure out all the important things we’d have been so much better off learning at a younger age? If genetics can make a newborn responsive to rhythm, a mother’s touch, and bright pictures, then why can’t they lead us into better life choices? Is it because the environmental factors beat the hell out of us for so long that we forget to listen to our genetic codes after a while? I don’t know this either. I’m just asking.
Why would I have ever thought it was a good idea to get a curly perm, even if Barbra Streisand had one? Why would an unnamed member of my family think it was a really cool idea to get her nipples pierced? Or why did another unnamed member decide to play with fireworks when he knows he’s clumsy and accident-prone? (Blood loss, ER visit, angry wife…long story.) Why did I find love with a guy who rides a Harley, has long, long hair, piercings and tattoos across half of his body? Why did I think it was a good idea to go back to school at a time when genetics are really beginning to have their way with me and my brain is not always firing on all cylinders? And a see-through negligee! REALLY?! What thought process, if any, was involved there??? I guess I’m just going to have to keep going to class to find the answers. If I get any, I’ll let you know.
Meanwhile, I encourage you to ask your own why questions. You can even send them to me, if you want. I won’t know the answers either, but at least we can wonder together.
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