Hàng Ngày

Although my life is in most respects removed from the current financial crisis thus far (I still have a job, I don’t have a mortgage, I am not relying on my stock dividends to pay for my retirement in the next few years) I have taking more of an interest in the issue as friends, family, colleagues, and perfect strangers discuss their concerns on the subject and ask my opinion.

At first I wasn’t really sure. I am hesitant to throw my hat into any circle before I know exactly what it is the circle entails in terms of values. I am still uncertain and still lack all of the necessary macroeconomic expertise to understand the problem intellectually, but this is America after all, and even those with no knowledge whatsoever of a given subject are entitled to their opinions.

So here’s mine (or the pieces I’ve cobbled together thus far). My initial ideas about this whole mess stem from my reaction to a New York Times article I read yesterday. (click here to see what I’m talking about). The scene opens in Japan and the story unfolds of families who have weathered difficult economic times and adjusted accordingly. From Mrs. Takigasaki and her cottage soup solution to the high price of fresh vegetables to college student Risa Masaki who just wants “a humble life” and doesn’t indulge in expensive cosmetics or fashion, Japanese families, according to the story, have performed what Mr. Obama has been asking of all Americans since before his innauguration: Sacrifice. They don’t spend beyond their means. They save what they earn and prepare for harder times. Novel concept.

The attitude of the NYT article struck me and prompted me to write this reaction. The article speaks of a rising fear of deflation in the US: a downward spiral of price and wage driven deeper into the ground by people’s inability or unwillingness to spend money. I agree that we don’t want to fall too deeply into such a spiral. However, what disappointed me about the NYT article and about most of this conversation in general is people’s inability to think outside of the current economic system for solutions to the problem.

The tone of the article conveys the opinion that it would be almost morally wrong to find ourselves in a situation here similar to that in Japan. People should be spending. Our economy is based on growth, constant growth, and I feel that perhaps what this economic crisis has taught me is that maybe that economic model is just not working. (OK, macroeconomists and communist/socialist haters, have at me, this is your signal). I don’t exactly know what the new economic model would look like. I’m not an economist and my two economics classes in college certainly don’t qualify me to draft any sort of macroeconomic policy for the world. I guess all I’m saying is that maybe the solution could be found if we are willing to sacrifice a little more. Sacrifice not only in the sense of personal sacrifices that many Americans and others around the world have been forced to make because of hard times. But sacrifice in the sense of letting go a little of the principle that constant economic growth and consumption is the most practical model for our economy in the 21st century.

That’s my 2,000 VND (now worth about 12 cents US.)

Applications came in today. I was told application deadline day was crazy. It was going to be a flood, a deluge, a torrent of applications flowing into “applications@viaprograms.org.” Indeed the programs overall did well, many more applications than last year. Can we blame this on the declining economy? The increased visibility of VIA due to new marketing tactics? A collective answer to Barack Obama’s call to service and sacrifice? Perhaps.

But somehow, Vietnam was forgotten in this call. I didn’t even receive enough applications to fill the number of spots I anticipate having open in 2009-10. I pray that all of my current volunteers choose to stay on with VIA as opposed to coming back to the wretched job market that is the United States (not just because of number but because they are awesome!) But I know many of them are looking to move on to new experiences and this is perfectly understandable: they have served their 1-2 years and it’s time for a new batch of Americans ready for a cultural experience that will be jarring beyond their wildest imagination.

I am trying not to let this mild disappointment spiral into disillusionment and despair. I tend to feel things like this quite personally, especially given the amount of time, effort, blood, sweat and tears (ok, not much blood and no tears) I put into the recruitment process this past fall. I am trying to keep in mind what this is all for, but honestly, it is hard when one day someone tells me that I have to figure out a way to cut my program budget and the next day a collective someone tells me “people aren’t really interested in what you have to offer.” Not even to mention that “what I have to offer,” the opportunity to a deeply, potentially life-changing cultural experience, may not be something that many people want.

I’ve been reading The Fountainhead again. I tend to read The Fountainhead once a year, or at least every other year, just to keep me grounded. This is not to say that I subscribe to Ayn Rand’s philosophy. (Let’s face it, I work in non-profit, and not just any non-profit but a non-profit focused on providing other people with the opportunity to serve. It is almost the antithesis of her philosophy in many ways…) But I find value in her philosophy. I find Howard Roark fascinating because I think in many ways I could never be him. I admire him and I loathe him (how cliché?) I want to be him and I want people like him to disappear from this earth because I cannot be him. But why not? Days like today, when I feel crushed by the fact that my efforts to change other people’s minds and convince them that what I think is important is important, have all been in vain…I wonder. I just wonder, “What do I really want to be doing with my life?”

An old friend asked me this question back in November, when I was thinking about giving thanks, appreciating life and family, friends and connections, and contemplating my past, my present, my future. We were in his new apartment, boxes strewn about the floor, dust on the doorstep and walls an almost glowing white in the soft bulb lighting. I was sitting on the wooden doorstep that led out to his balcony overlooking 8th Avenue in New York and he was standing in front of me in a ragged white t-shirt and athletic shorts.

“If you didn’t have to worry about making money, and you had no ambition, what would you do?”

It took me less than two seconds to look up at him from my seat on the doorstep and say, “I would write.”

Last night my roommate asked me the same question. We were sitting in our living room after a quick dinner, at opposite ends of our inherited wooden table, each of us with our feet up on the chairs on either side. A relaxed evening after yet another long and somewhat frustrating and discouraging day at work. She was talking about her reasons for pursuing nursing as a career.

“I don’t understand people who say you’ll get bored if you don’t have full-time work,” she began, “I would find so many things to do with my time. I would love it. I’d garden. No, I’d farm. I’d cook. I’d read. I’d go on long bike rides. I’d spend more time with my friends.”

And then the question, “What would you do if you didn’t have to work?”

And the answer, “I would write.”

I know my writing may not be that good, but that may also just be self-doubt.

But I began this post thinking the end would result in asking my volunteers for support: “Please VIA volunteers, tell me that what we are doing is not in vain! Please tell me that what we are doing is meaningful and important! Please tell me that I am not living for something that is outside of myself!”

And somehow I ended in the recognition, or maybe the re-recognition (a word?) that what I really should be spending my time on is something not at all dependent on others, but an expression of my own emotions and intellect portrayed as zeroes and ones in cyberspace and squiggles and lines on paper.