Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Ori Yori Midori

...means that you have your pick, generally used with good-looking boys or girls, who have their pick of mates. I am not so good looking, and I do not know at this point whether I have my pick of anything except nice platitudes for rejection.
By far the most interesting for me has been a possible job opening up within the global arm of my company, in the U.K. I broached the possibility of this position with my wife this weekend, and we frankly couldn't keep our passions in check and the consequent fireworks flew.
Besides my obvious proclivity for digging in when someone tells me I can't do something, and my wife's equally obvious proclivity for telling me I can't do something, the thought of a big move out of the country is reason to pause and consider. Mostly it was me sitting in my back yard, looking at the beautiful little paradise that I had created. A year ago it was just dirt and weeds. Now it is a little paradise, with a beautiful lawn, lush flower beds and trees, a beautiful marble patio, a wooden deck, all courtesy of my hard work. When I started, one of my wife's friends asked 'why are you working so hard on your back yard? No one can see it.' This is a pretty Japanese thing. I told her that it was not for other people, it was purely for our own enjoyment.
My wife doesn't share this with me, and that is hard. I love to barbecue, and I bought a Weber grill about six months ago, which I try to use every weekend. My son is into it, too, but my wife is not, and invents reasons not to barbecue. See, for her it is not the beauty of our home, or it's mini paradise in the back that is important, but the idea of a steady, stable home.
I have thought this over, and come up with the following: My ancestors, only two generations back, were pioneers, giving up the comfort of the midwest and going to Oregon. Ok, maybe not comfort, but the point is that for them that movement was important. And their ancestors came from the east, and before that from Germany, Scotland, and Ireland. The inevitable push to the west is the common thread I have with previous generations, and one of the reasons I ended up in Japan, my sister, father, and mother in Alaska, and the most rebellious one, my brother, ironically, in California. The drive to keep moving is strong in me. Rolling stones gather no moss. Smoothe am I.
My wife has never lived outside of the city she grew up in, save our sojourn to what amounts to the northern suburbs. Movement is not a part of her psyche. Grasping for whatever security she can find, whenever and wherever she can find it is in her psyche, a pretty common thing here, especially in her parents' generation, growing up in the post-war poverty and deprivation. They passed that on to their children, and it has stuck. As a culture it is risk-averse, and change-averse in the extreme. Security, knowing where you will be in 10 years, these are the important things. Or so my wife says. My response is that there is no security in life, that we can't know where we will be in 10 years, unless we are psychotic and only focus on staying in exactly the same place we are now. This type of psychosis seems pretty attractive to her, and not very attractive to me.
I have another interview Thursday, the fifth this week, and another on Friday. It shall be apparent by next week exactly how good looking I am to these guys. Should be fun. But, like the garden that is not visible to others, the beauty that I see is more important.

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