Tradition

I’ve been thinking about anger lately, and how there’s just so much of it. From the hate being thrown at Duchess Meghan Markle and Ukraine President Zelenskyy, to degradation of state officials who pass never-been-done-before legislation. Even from my own local elected experience, the anger and hate that arises from even questioning “tradition” has snowballed into genuine concern for mine and my family’s well-being. So much so, that I wonder if I have in fact changed, or maybe just broadened my perspective. I’ve always had a deep interest in the way people think and feel, and an insatiable curiosity for new ideas and the way others see the world. I have always traveled and have lived in so many different places…all with their own traditions and commonalities. “Home” truly is where the heart is, and it can be in many places. My lifestyle has given me a broad perspective on people and places. I’m American without the need to “own it.” What do I mean by that? Maybe just that I’m anything but traditional. And lately, it has made me wonder about tradition in general. 

I feel that this national and even worldwide divide we’re experiencing may be rooted in our need to either be traditional, or not. When we buck the system – or evolve, we often move away from tradition, and sometimes away from others who remain in our earlier mindset. Somehow, it’s not ok for anyone, but our hearts still lead us one way or the other. And if that’s the case for me, for you, for Meghan Markle or President Zelenskyy, then why do we hate each other’s choices SO MUCH? Can’t it be ok to embrace the fairy tale of a Royal Monarchy while also accepting the choices made by a Prince who simply wants something different? Ignoring blatant misogyny for a moment, we live in a free society and I’m certain that we don’t own Prince Harry’s choice to be with Meghan Markle, nor do we own President Zelenskyy’s choice to wear sweat pants in Congress. The fact that we form an opinion on any of these things proves the point that it’s really a sense of tradition at work in our own minds and hearts. 

While racism can never be overestimated, tradition might actually be the deeper more pervasive root to pull. So, I will keep asking my questions, even when I don’t feel entirely safe. I will keep telling you my perspective and I will keep hoping that you’ll share yours. I will keep expecting us to be and do better.

‘Fucking Bitch’

If it is not being said directly to your face, it is being said quietly under his breath as he walks away. And if not, it is at least in his thoughts. So yeah, of course it has happened to me. What woman hasn’t it happened to? In my mind, the sentiment loosely translates to, “You are not behaving the way you should” or, “You are not doing what I expect you to do [as you should].” I have heard it put that way too, mainly by male friends and family, who would never call me a name, but who are still stunned by a woman’s willful independence. 

Growing up, it is hard to know how much of who you are is because you are born that way, and how much you mold yourself into being. For me, being around boys always seemed easier than being around girls. I always had one close girlfriend at any given time, but I never learned how to be a “mean girl,” which meant I was excluded from those packs. Still, I had the respect of most. And I usually had a boyfriend, which helped. Back then, there were no rules about any of this. Short of an assault (and probably even then), there wasn’t anyone to complain to about bullying from boys, or from girls. Nobody taught any of us how to be.

After high school, I went on to college, which was not much different, except for the vast amount of choices. After college, I worked for a small publishing firm, and eventually went in the direction of Marketing and Project Management, mainly in the healthcare industry. Eventually, I worked for myself from home. Still, the rules pretty much remained as far as men and women. I felt that I certainly had more opportunities than my mother ever had, and I believed that women had already achieved equal rights. So, it was not until I turned 50 that I realized just how far from equal rights I – and all women, really are.

In a lot of ways, I feel tricked. I have wondered if the men in my life had always known what I apparently did not know. I was not equal to them. I had only learned how to live in their world. And I did not realize just how little choice I really had about that. So, when it happened again last week – the “fucking bitch” routine from a man I do not even know, I realized that I was actually hearing it – really hearing it, for the very first time. And it sounded different. But why? Have I changed? Have I forgotten how to “behave?” Let’s hope so.

I Had It

Eventually, my story will be the same as yours. I had it, and so did you. The variations in our stories may be wildly different, but the test – as long as it is a reliable test, will dictate the truth. 

During the second or third week of March, I began to have symptoms that seemed typical of the allergies I get every year in October and November. Aside from it being early Spring – and I never have allergies in the Spring, there were other subtle differences with my symptoms, mainly that everything about them was “dry.” In other words, none of the typical nose blowing and sinus infections that usually accompany my allergies. And yet, I constantly needed to cough – though, I was able to control it. I had a severe headache and it felt like a gorilla was sitting on my chest. So ok, I wondered if maybe I should be a little concerned. By this time in March, New Jersey was beginning to shut down, and there was so much work that needed to be done in my town. I seriously did NOT have time for this.

My husband, who owns a business in our town, was busy making sure their facility was safe for employees, and had implemented a sign-in procedure that included checking the temperatures of everyone entering the building. He suggested that I start checking my temperature as well, even though I had absolutely no symptoms of a fever. So I began checking my temperature several times a day, and it was always pretty much the same, around 97 degrees. Everything I had read and heard said this thing almost always involves a fever. I was relieved every time I took my temperature, and began to depend on that thermometer to keep me motivated to do the mountain of work that needed to get done. 

The days went on, one after the other. A week felt like 2 months, and it mostly stopped mattering what day of the week it even was. By the last week of March, I was exhausted. I had attributed the exhaustion to the long days of work, combined with lack of sleep. I had often moved from my bed to the couch in the middle of the night throughout the past couple of weeks because I couldn’t sleep, which was the case on March 29th. That night, the pressure on my chest was extreme. After moving to the couch, I had fallen asleep, but woke up at around 3:00 am to a severe pain in my chest when I inhaled. It was actually the inhale that woke me up. I sat up and became dizzy and felt like I was going to vomit. I drug myself to the bathroom and kneeled in front of the toilet, but there just wasn’t anything in my stomach to even throw up. I laid down on the floor of the bathroom for about an hour, until the nausea went away. It did, and never came back.

The next day, at 8:00 am on-the-dot, I called my doctor, not knowing how or if I would even be able to make an appointment. By this time, no on-site appointments were allowed. I also knew full-well that without a fever, I would not be allowed to test for COVID-19. There just weren’t enough tests to go around at that point, which was an incredibly strange feeling. I couldn’t believe that in the middle of a pandemic, choices were being made about who could receive a test, let alone who could receive treatment. 

After sitting on hold with my doctor’s office, a nurse picked up and began asking a series of questions about my symptoms. As I suspected, the lack of fever seemed to be playing into her decision about what (if any) steps could be taken. But there was one thing that had been in the back of my mind since the pandemic began. Technically, I am “immunodeficient.” I was diagnosed a few years ago with low levels of IgA, otherwise known as an Immunoglobulin A Deficiency. Part of what lead to that diagnosis was the repeated severity of sinus infections I often got in the Fall. Low levels of IgA effect the mucous membranes in your body, making you susceptible to infections, which can sometimes lead to pneumonia. Although not a serious condition, it is genetic, and there is no cure. The only real treatment is through courses of antibiotics to manage symptoms. In addition, a person with low levels of IgA can be vaccinated for pneumonia, which is normally reserved for elderly people. I received approval from my insurance company for that vaccine, and did indeed get it. Hard to know whether or not it helped with anything, but since then, I haven’t had a serious sinus infection. And I think this was the reason the nurse agreed to set me up for a virtual appointment with my primary physician later that same day.

I love my doctor. She’s great – not just as a physician, but as a human being. We both logged on for our first ever virtual appointment, which was awkward at first. But the kinks eventually worked themselves out until things were more or less comfortable. After going through my symptoms, she said she wished she could prescribe a test. But without a fever, she could not. It scared me, because I really would have liked a test. At the same time, I felt some relief that I had at least been evaluated. And because I trust my doctor, I was confident she didn’t feel that I was in danger. Instead, she prescribed an inhaler to treat the symptoms, which I used for a day or two. And then rather suddenly, all of my symptoms vanished. I haven’t had a single symptom since the very beginning of April.

A week ago, I received an email from the medical center where most of my doctors have their offices, including my primary care physician. The email said that if I was interested, I could have a free antibody test. I called the number and had to stay on hold for 63 minutes, which was the wait time to make an appointment. I was tested a week later, and after watching the lines faintly develop on the test cassette over a 10-minute timeframe, it determined that I am indeed positive for antibodies. And yes, it is one medical test that I was happy to have a positive result for. But is it reliable? I think it’ll be awhile before we know that for sure. All I can say right now is that this was my experience, and I’m sure more will be revealed.

I am headed to see my parents in FL next week, and will celebrate my 50th birthday “Corona-style.” We will rent a mini-van, and spend as much time together as possible, even if it’s just driving around. And while the celebration may not be exactly the way I might have planned, there is absolutely nothing I’d rather be doing. It’s funny too, because before all of this, my hair and nail appointments would have been all set up before the trip. And even though I don’t have the option to do those things right now, instead of feeling frustrated (or caged), I feel liberated by not having to do things I used to believe I wanted, and even needed. Will that sentiment stick when all of this is over? Maybe not, but I’ll enjoy it while it lasts. And I’m hopeful for better things on the other side.

P.S. To those who have lost friends and family to Coronavirus causes, I am so very sorry for your loss. Those experiences matter, and more will be revealed. 

New Jersey vs. Coronavirus

In New Jersey, each one of the 565 municipalities has their choice of how to manage its board of health. Some towns choose to work with their county Department of Health, while others are aligned with regional health commissions, who typically service a select cluster of municipalities. The state Department of Health is an entirely separate entity, which I know very little about. As a Councilmember in one of these 565 municipalities, there has never been a reason for me to even reference the state DOH.

At first glance, and given the choice, it seems like the preference would be to go with a smaller regional health commission, with easy and quick access to service for any health issue in your town. A one-on-one relationship with a “local” service provider who knows the ins and outs of your town, and who could address your needs more fully. Over time, a relationship would be established. The Administration of a municipality could pick up the phone and dial a direct number to their Board of Health Director.

Then, along comes a pandemic, something the current population has never experienced in our town, state, county, region, or country. New Jersey is home to some of the best healthcare in the world. We are saturated by world renowned physicians and scientists. And those in need of medical attention in this pandemic are receiving some of the best care available anywhere. But in a pandemic, the ability to manage is equal to the quality of care. So how do you best manage a pandemic? By receiving and analyzing accurate data. Who provides the data? Health Departments. But how can that data be reliably gathered and analyzed with so many different entities? It can’t. 

Home rule has been New Jersey’s greatest weakness in our battle against the Coronavirus. It is not necessarily the fault of the various health departments. It is just how we do business in the state of New Jersey. We are still suffering many deaths in this pandemic, and unfortunately, it could take months before we have accurate data on exactly how many, and where they all occurred. And without that, we cannot predict trends accurately. The numbers are inconsistent across the state, and long-term care and assisted living facilities have proven to be the hardest numbers to determine.

None of this is to cast blame. But as terrible as it is to lose so many people, this is an opportunity to do better. When it comes to our health, we may need a stronger structure in place, primarily through our state Department of Health. Clutching to home rule just is not worth it on this one. I am looking forward to contributing to change. I am looking forward to a better stronger New Jersey.

The Cops

Several years ago, my ex-husband and I went to a Bruce (Springsteen) concert at the Meadowlands. We were surrounded by a group of obnoxiously loud people, who were blocking my view, and clearly not giving The Boss their complete and undivided attention. Not cool. I cannot remember exactly how it all played out, but within a few minutes, my ex-husband had grabbed the 16-ounce cup of beer from my hand, and threw it directly into the face of one of these people. I still do not know how or why complete mayhem did not then ensue. I can only assume this person was in shock. We then complained to a nearby security person about this group of people, and he promptly reseated us in a much better row, closer to the stage. This is how things tend to pan out for my ex-husband. He is one of those people who never suffers an immediate consequence for really bad behavior. Instead, consequences come later – in the form of massive destruction.

A few days after the concert, my phone rang. I did not recognize the number, so did not answer. But there was a voice mail. “Hello, this is the NJ State Police. I would like to discuss a complaint that has been filed about an incident in the Meadowlands that happened last week. Please call me at this number.” HOLY SHIT! My heart sank, and all the blood rushed from my head. I had never been called by a police officer, but immediately assumed it must have to do with that beer in the face thing. The concert tickets were in my name, so if someone had filed a complaint, they knew our seats, and I suppose the police were able to access that info. I immediately called my then brother-in-law, an attorney. He was able to calm me down, slightly. He then called the officer to discuss the matter on my behalf, which indeed did have to do with the beer in the face. But he was apparently just trying to close out the complaint, and needed a brief statement from me before doing so. I then spoke to the officer, and that was that.

So what does this story have to do with municipal government? Not a whole heck of lot, except that it was literally the ONLY real interaction – or experience whatsoever, that I’ve had with police, before entering municipal government. 

A Blue Wave…or maybe a Tsunami

“The 2018 large turnout allowed House Democrats to win about 10 million more votes than House Republicans. That’s the largest raw vote margin in a House midterm election ever.” Harry Enten, CNN https://www.cnn.com/2018/12/06/politics/latest-house-vote-blue-wave/index.html

November 2018 will forever be known as the Blue Wave. And that is the year I decided to run for a Council position in my town. Given that our form of government is a “weak-mayor system,” there are six members elected to Council, each holding a three-year term. A Mayor is also elected, and holds a four-year term, but only votes in the event of a tie. More about this form of government can be found here: https://www.nlc.org/mayo ral-powers)

As the terms are staggered, there are two Council seats up for election every year. I was lucky enough to run with another woman – both of us rookies. If we had only known how historic that election would be, we might have taken it easy and campaigned a little less. But as with any election, you just never really know until you’ve either won or lost. And as this was the only election I have ever run in, I was not familiar with the typical turnout in my town. So at first, we really could not appreciate the astounding results, which meant that my running mate and I had both won in a record setting landslide, as did many others in the country that year.

During the campaign, we met so many amazing people. My running mate has lived in our town for many years, and with a total population of just under 5,000, she was able to introduce me to many residents. To this day, I miss that one-on-one contact we had during the campaign. After winning the election, I remember feeling like I wouldn’t know what to do as an elected official without hearing from residents on a regular basis. It does not seem right that we only knock on doors once a year. I have been tempted more than once to knock on a random door or two and just ask people what they need and want. Public meetings just aren’t enough either. People are busy, and it just is not convenient to attend. And as I soon learned, social media could not be used to speak to the public in the way I had always spoken before. Whatever is said on social media, as well as in meetings, and in emails are subject to the Open Public Records Act. Elected officials are asked not to respond in writing as often as possible. So I was elected to represent the people, but I can’t communicate with them. Really?

The Backstory

When I was first elected to Council in my town, I thought it might be interesting to learn about municipal government. I am originally from NJ, but fortunate enough to have lived in many other great states, including South Carolina, Arizona, Colorado, California, Minnesota, New York, and finally this little town in Central New Jersey (and yes, there is a “Central Jersey”). I came here in 2015, after living for eight years on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. In many ways, I left a part of myself there, and will likely never recover it. But I am in love with a man in NJ, who I have known most of my life, and being with him far out-weighed my love affair with Manhattan. Besides, the town I was moving to has a train station within walking distance from where I would be living – a direct line to the city, so I could always find my way back.

As a first step, I moved into an apartment of my own – a brand new building in the next town over. The apartment practically sat ON TOP of the NJ Transit rail line. It reminded me of home, and the train calmed me down every time it passed by. It was a good transition, except that I would need a car. After eight years without one, I could not fathom spending that kind of money on a giant hunk of metal. I put it off for as long as I could before finally breaking down to join the SUV-loving suburbanites. Conforming to norms is not my thing. But oh well, I loved this man, so bring on the KIA!

A little less than a year later, I moved out of that apartment, and into my boyfriend’s place – a townhouse in a meticulously landscaped community adjacent to an old canal. And it is beautiful. Turtles, birds, deer, and squirrels are my constant view. I was a runner then, clocking about seven miles at least four times a week. I was in top shape, and even a little too skinny, which is no small task for my body type. The loop in Central Park is just over six miles, and that had been my oasis for many years. It is the greatest place in the world, as far as I’m concerned. But the beauty of running along the canal blew me away. Yes, it is very different from running in Central Park, but the natural beauty of it is equal. And although I can no longer run, I am grateful to have such beauty around me. I love it.

At about this same time, the work I had been doing for the past dozen or so years had slowly been drying up. My biggest client – a corporate giant, had restructured its healthcare business, which had been my biggest account. This move nearly put several freelancers (like myself) and even a couple of agencies out of business. At the time, it was scary. I had built everything on that business, even though I always knew a strategy like that could easily burn me. And it eventually did. Still, I was proud of what I had accomplished. I had worked my ass off for many years, commonly billing 12+ hours a day. And I was able to save and invest a reasonable amount, so I did not need to panic about suddenly having so little income. I had no debt, and not many expenses, along with the support of an amazing man helping me though it all.

No longer in the city, my motivation for exercise and “clean” food started to wane. I moved less and I ate more – more pizza, more tacos, more pasta, and a lot more gin. Suddenly, skinny was gone. But I was also relaxed, for the first time in such a long time. I didn’t have kids (not by choice), so I had buried myself in work during those years. And while my friends now had kids that were growing up, they were busier now than I had ever been. None of my friends were nearby. In fact, no family or even a single friend lived in NJ. And without the stimulation of Manhattan, I began twiddling my thumbs, with tacos and gin.

One day, I noticed a sign on the window of a vacant building (one of many) on our Main St. It said that a gym would be opening in the next 60 days. Ugh. I am NOT a gym person. I am a runner. But I was not happy with the direction of the numbers on the scale, so after it opened, I decided to give it a shot. It was there I met the Mayor. She had joined for the same reasons the rest of us had, but also in a deliberate effort to support this new business. I thought that was pretty cool. I had never met a Mayor before, and I really liked her.

The Summer had passed, and Fall was beginning to set in. That’s when the canal is at its best, with all of the leaves turning colors. I was still running, but had begun to have increasingly more back pain. Whatever I had been doing at the gym was aggravating an old injury. I had been kicked by a horse when I was 10 years old, and had dealt with pain ever since. But it was much worse now. My running days were numbered, as I began to seek out doctors for help. Over the coming months, I received many injections, which offered little to no relief. And eventually, I had an ablation of the spine, where the nerve endings are burned in an effort to limit the amount of pain you feel. There is no guarantee these things will work, but I got lucky. For the first time in over a year, I finally got some relief. I was not cured, and I would never be able to run again, but I could finally get some sleep. I am an insomniac – for life, but the back pain had meant even less sleep than usual.

It was around this time that the Mayor approached me about running for Council. I had no idea what it even was, but was flattered that she thought I would be a good fit for an elected position. She made the requirements sound pretty simple. At a minimum, you need to attend two meetings a month, Chair one committee, and be a member of two other committees. So, at the most, there would be three meetings a month. Without a whole lot of thought or hesitation – kinda atypical for me, I said I’d do it. How hard could it be?

Welcome to Municipal Government

I am often so overwhelmed by how much there is to fix. Overwhelmed by how much has been left undone. I often wonder, “why me?” I did not t ask for this. I certainly was not looking for it. But I have lived my life compelled by what is right. The idea of people taking advantage of others is maddening to me. And yet I often wonder how much easier it would be if I simply did not know. It is the knowing that keeps me awake at night. And the things I had set out to do – all the good things, are buried by the multitude of things that have to be fixed first.