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Archive for the tag “occupational upheaval”

06 Apr 2018
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42) The Despair of White American Gen-X and the 2016 Election

(Revised and Edited for better accuracy on 08 Apr 2018)

You are a dying breed… It’s the angry white guy. Total number of white guys over the age of 35 now in the United States… 19 percent. That’s all we are guys… that whether cheery our demise, our extinction, that’s what’s going on you know… we know it’s over for us. We had a good run. 10,000 years wasn’t bad. – Michael Moore Trumpland

As a single, white, college educated, middle-aged Gen-X woman, I know despair so well, ‘I’m in love with my sadness’ as the song goes. It is not because I am trying to be dramatic; it’s part of my generational landscape. I am one of the average Americans who suffer from depression living in a world I have never been able to fit into the general societal mold.

I’ve always been ambitious, not in the way that success means to people like Donald Trump. I’m not interested in money or things, with the exception of books and archival boxes. My income is just below poverty level and I am lucky to live with a family member, despite my education and coastal elite zip code.

My despair is more existential. It has nothing to do with a desire to preserve whiteness or bring back anything from the 1950s, with the exception of Chuck Berry. In my opinion, the planet needs color in humanity and if this is part of our evolution, then I am all for it. But, for many in my generation, there is a primal fear coated in thick nihilism that has grown into a populist movement the country has witnessed, but not quite the same as present day. There is a deep isolation and palpable anger that is festering from years of societal deterioration, often of their own making.

Two angry white men, Gen-X rappers Kid Rock and Eminem, represent a small cross-section of Middle America in the Trump era.

According to the Huffington Post, “Kid Rock’s rural hometown of Romeo, located in 82-percent white Macomb County, voted Trump in the election; Eminem’s home base of Wayne Country, the 55-percent white area where the city of Detroit is located, voted for Clinton.”

Source: Kid Rock/Twitter 05 Dec 2016

Eminem Flag 2018

Source: Eminem/Facebook

 

Fans of both musicians may listen to one or the other and not share the strong political views of the musicians themselves, but it is clear that this tearing apart of country is further pulling apart rural whites and urban whites. White families across the country are engaged in heated political debates at the dinner table or in my case, stopped talking altogether.

According to a Washington Post article in late 2015, “The mortality rate for white men and women ages 45-54 with less than a college education increased markedly between 1999 and 2013, most likely because of problems with legal and illegal drugs, alcohol and suicide, the researchers concluded. Before then, death rates for that group dropped steadily, and at a faster pace.”

Growing up in a white middle-class mountain community, I never lacked food, clothing and shelter, but my family was not a close one and rarely made the effort to connect beyond my father’s sister’s family and my mother’s older brother’s family. I have attended more family funerals than weddings and as each elder passed on, we became further isolated.

Most of my cousins on my mom’s side are spread out geographically and we saw each other a handful of times growing up. When my grandfather died, all of us breathed a sigh of relief, not because we didn’t love him, but because the world was more peaceful without him.

My older brother had three marriages and 4 children, all who live in different states. I never had the opportunity to truly bond with them as their parents went through bitter divorce, custody battles and moved far away.

I’ve often witnessed many white families are less unified than non-white families, at least from my perspective. My Armenian friend has 3 children with a large extended family who all live in the same city. My Hispanic co-worker has 4 grown up children and posts photos of beach outings and parties and dinners with her siblings and many aunts and uncles. My African-American co-worker has several children and runs a barbecue grill restaurant with his extended family. They are all in my generation and are devoted to family despite our shared struggles in the economy and current political environment.

Whether we like it or not, the future is not predominately white, and that is okay and all those jobs in the past are not good for our future. In my life, I won’t be having children. I’m content to see my non-white friends raising their children and I hope that one day, our future leaders will work harder to ensure that no one is left behind, that no one is forgotten or dying of despair and that we all rise together.

SUPPLEMENTS

How Eminem And Kid Rock Represent The White Political Divide
A group of middle-aged whites in the U.S. is dying at a startling rate
A new divide in American death

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Posted in Gen-X Culture, My X-perience, Uncategorized and tagged , , , ,
27 Sep 2015

29) I Am Sick To Death But I Still Fight

Angry girlEvery day, I fight for my soul. I try to feed it oxygen, but the air is stale and smells of gasoline and cheeseburgers and rotting garbage.

Every day, I fight advertising and marketing and spreadsheets.

Every day, I fight to find the good in humanity…

I fight to find courage to live.
I fight the sadness of a world falling apart.
I fight to find peace of mind.

With a shifting and restless planet, I take solace in knowing the earth is fighting through earthquakes and pyroclastic blasts, venting the pressures that hold it all together. I let the words pour out, like lava. Words burn holes through the brain, force out the impurities of conforming conventional wisdom.

I am sick to death of conforming to institutions and social norms that are corrupt.
I am sick to death of convention that lacks conviction that should be self-evident.
I am sick to death of the wisdom of tired old men talking business and trading greenbacks and depleting the last hope for democracy, something I believed in once upon a time…

The Constitution and its promise is an illusion, a false store front, high fructose syrup that sounds pretty on parchment, yet everything we do undercuts the foundation of those carefully crafted words. My vote means nothing, but I still vote.

I am sick to death of a world whose religious beliefs, politics, and monetary interests overrides social progress, education, science and the welfare of the planet and all its life forms.

I am sick to death that writers, historians, philosophers, teachers, and artists must fight for their very existence while football players, politicians, lawyers, stockbrokers, and those born into wealth are more influential, privileged, and praised in society.

I am sick to death of oil drills and greasy machines and backyards full of junk.
I am sick to death of plastic and Styrofoam and concrete.
I am sick to death of consumerism and money and GDP.
I am sick to death of buying things that have to be thrown away.
I am sick to death of driving and getting nowhere.

I am sick to death of women giving birth to children without thought or consideration to the massive responsibility involved in spawning a life form into a world lacking everything to sustain that child.

I am sick to death of suburban mansions piled in neat, manicured rows in the desert and SUVs full of burping, farting, wasting human beings that drive 30 miles to soccer practice and idle their engines in long fast food lines.

I am sick to death of college degrees and career aspirations and MBA’s that focus on making money as the ultimate goal.

I am sick to death of cardboard and packing tape and useless pretty things made in China multiplied by billions of air-polluting vehicles delivering the same useless pretty things to retail establishments that throw out large portions of what they bring in; all to sell at discount prices that are palatable for Americans that need cheap stuff to comfort themselves from the stresses of their daily lives who end up storing their cheap acquisitions in their garage.

I am sick to death of the blinding speed of daily life, police sirens more numerous than the chirping of birds, and the drone of air conditioners in a September heat wave.

I am sick to death of the thought that I could be armed with 500 guns and never safe from a nuclear bomb.

I fight to stay engaged, to have a voice.
I fight to love and not to hate.
I fight my thoughts that words are futile.

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10 Feb 2015
4 Comments

26) The American Dream is a Prison Cell

Growing up, I was under the illusion that my father was good with money and was conscientious about his investments and what he chose to buy. I learned later on that my father’s motivation was entirely based on my mother’s hormones. He would do anything to assure that she stayed with him, even moving our family when we were better off, financially speaking, to stay and pay off the home we lived in. All of this was hidden from my view; yet, I continued to think that he was making sound choices all along.

As I began attending college, I had to take out student loans, like the majority of other middle class students who were lucky enough to attend college. My primary motivation was that I had to pick something that would land me a job. Survival and independence was the ultimate goal. I often wondered why society calls it education, when the reality is to get a job and serve a life prison of work for pay to consume.

I first majored in Business. Like many young people, I was swayed by the idea that knowing business will be a guarantee to get a job and thus achieve success. As I spent the first year of college in business courses, a great anxiety slithered along the edges of my perception like worms in moist earth.

I didn’t like what I was doing or learning. The language was empty, calculating, devoid of the natural world. Dressing up, making appearances, walking the walk, talking the talk, my soul plunged into the void. Oxygen escaped through my pores every time I opened the doors of the creaking building.

The light disappeared into the polished floors of the hall; every classroom was filled with the templates of PowerPoint presentations, Excel spreadsheets, and cut and paste Word memos with cheesy clipart I had seen on thousands of student flyers stapled onto billboards. Being ‘creative’ was equated with changing the color scheme and typography on your spreadsheet.

Everyone dressed in smart suits and shiny, black shoes clicking as they walked, like the sound of register tape pounding out numbers and dollar signs. Some days, I would stroll down those halls, feeling sick, observing my fellow students regurgitate business principles and economic trends mimicking their pale faced heroes on the trading floor of Wall Street, going blind staring at an endless stream of financial tickers.

scantron

About this time, I saw the film, The Matrix. There was no color to this world, no life in it. After taking a marketing class, I realized that my DNA was fundamentally opposed to everything I was being taught. A storm passed over me, a kind of existential crisis. I tried desperately to study for tests. I was a poor test-taker to begin with. Give me an essay question and I can explain everything. Our tests consisted of multiple choice and true or false questions, just like all of the CTBS tests I took in grade school with many rows of dots on Scantrons.

I was never any good at them. I overthought my answers and had difficulty with the process of elimination. Elimination is waste and in my world, everything must be considered before being discarded. My Business Law professor told me I think too much. I was completely depressed. What can I do in this world that has meaning and real satisfaction? I can’t buck up to make this work without going absolutely mad or becoming a sociopathic asshole.

My roommate, Tracy, was also a Business major. I came home to our apartment in tears. After several cigarettes and a few beers, she pulled out the course catalog and showed me a major I had never heard of.

“I was thinking… you are really creative. Why don’t you see about getting into the Graphic Design program?” she said. “It’s still business oriented because you work in marketing and advertising, but you design logos and other stuff.”

I took one look at the catalog and knew that’s what I wanted to learn. I needed creativity. I needed more than black numbers on white paper. I needed color and hues and tints; I yearned for new ideas, research, strange juxtapositions and conceptual exploration.

Three years later, I was in my junior year in Graphic Arts taking a class on Ethics in Design. Once again, I found myself in a panic, questioning how I would make a living in this field and I began to worry. Even though I reclaimed my soul in the creative element, would I be chained to the whims of business interests, would the color of my world dissolve into oblivion with the incessant needs of my clients to sell things I didn’t believe in?

After all, I would have to engage clients whose bottom lines were engrained in their business plans and the bottom line is all anyone can focus on. Was I willing to sacrifice my creative energy to see it produce another useless consumer product, more waste, more of the same? Was I willing to use my design skills to manipulate the public in ways that inherently were wrong and completely unsustainable?

The answer was – No.

After graduation, I took a retail job as a temporary solution with the hope of planning my next career step. After a year, I signed up for a 401(k) and contributed more than was recommended, having educated myself on money and trying to save more than I spend, once again knowing the future was uncertain and I had to pay my student loans. I subscribed to Money magazine and drew up a spreadsheet, keeping track of my expenses and re-balancing my portfolio every year. I did this for five years, careful to plan everything out, how much I would save and keeping my interest income figures low, just in case. That all changed…

I was clearly the wrong demographic for Money magazine, so I let the subscription lapse. Money magazine was for people who had $5,000 to invest, a mortgage, a kid or two in college, and a nest egg of at least $100,000. Nothing in the articles represented anything I was going through.

Four years later and an economic upheaval in 2008, I began to focus less on money, and yet, I saved it because I needed to sustain myself even though I knew the system was absolutely screwed. I began to downsize my living to the bare essentials. I stopped servicing my car and driving only when I absolutely needed to. I became more reliant on my computer for communication than my phone.

Now, my lifestyle is still at bare minimum. I have enough money for my creature comforts; coffee, cheap wine and $1 books at the library bookstore. I pay for a phone I hardly use and pay off my credit card each month. Debt is my enemy; a prison cell and I’d rather just go without, not see my friends, not drive anywhere. I write every day, I read every day and I hope every day for a revolution of consciousness.

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09 Jan 2015

24) School Violence in the 1990’s

I was in 7th grade in 1987. As a middle-class white kid living in the San Bernardino Mountains, our school was mostly safe. One afternoon, I recall two girls fighting in front of my locker, pulling hair and scratching each other. I had to get my books for my next class, so I told them to knock it off and yelled for a teacher. There was never a thought in my mind that one of them might pull out a gun.

Bullying was a problem in 8th grade. A girl in my English class threatened to kick my butt over a boy I would talk to in class. She told all of her friends and before I knew it, I had kids telling me that she was coming after me and I should prepare myself. I was terrified. I told my mother that I was afraid to go to school. I dropped out and enrolled in a home school program.

We moved to the city when I was 15 and I enrolled at a three-year high school. Socially, I adjusted well to my new school, larger and more diverse than in my mountain hometown. Violence was always at the edges of my world, but our campus was open and we didn’t have armed security guards at entrances with metal detectors.

It was the late 1980s and pop culture gave us punchy, satirical references to school violence and teen suicide. Julie Brown’s music video, “The Homecoming Queen’s Gotta Gun” made the MTV rounds in 1987 in classic 80s fashion.

 

Heathers

Newspapers.com

Films of that era, Three O’clock High, Tuff Turf and the teen cult film, Heathers explored the violent tendencies as school violence became more frequent, particularly in white suburban neighborhoods.

Released in 1989, Heathers was a psychotic fantasy crossing over into a grim reality. Dubbed by the media as, “the ‘Carrie’ of the 80s,” Heathers probed the dark interior of teen angst and the many layers of contemporary suburban high school life.

Veronica, played by Winona Ryder, tries to resolve herself between the sinister world of the three Heathers, the most popular girls in school, and Veronica’s anarchist lover, J.D. (Christian Slater).

Slater’s character takes on an eerie foreshadowing to Eric Harris, one of the two boys responsible for the Columbine tragedy. Veronica’s character is desperate to seek justice in a world gone wrong, but feels the pressure to perform with the popular girls.

Courtesy of IMDb

Courtesy of IMDb

In 1991, the controversial film, Boyz N The Hood, was released. John Singleton, the film’s 23-year-old director, responded to accusations that his film prompted violence in several theaters around the country, “I didn’t create the conditions under which people shoot each other… This happens because there’s a whole generation of people who are disenfranchised.”

It was one of the first movies to show the plight of African-American kids growing up in the South Central Los Angeles, experiencing violence in school and on the street, every day. Cuba Gooding Jr.’s character, Tre Styles, reminded me of Veronica – both trapped in a cultural prison trying to find higher ground, to overcome the reality of powerful cliques, raging bullets, broken families and indifferent or absent parents.

Where Heathers was a morbid satire; Boyz N The Hood was stone cold reality. Veronica and Tre face an existential conflict, desperate to separate from the status quo, both revolting against a sociopathic, senseless existence.

14 June 1989 • Newspapers.com

14 June 1989 • Newspapers.com

From Boyz N The Hood, I learned that America’s black youth are completely neglected and left to fend for themselves. From Heathers, the message was clear: dethrone ineffective, exploitive leadership and stand up for those who are left behind.

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15 Dec 2014
1 Comment

23) Mortgage Meltdown: A Gen-X Survival Story

Elena was a hotheaded Italian woman in her late 30s. She dressed in breezy skirts, high heels and several layers of makeup darker than her neck, giving her the appearance of a mismatched mannequin. Elena was my boss. We specialized in “expert negotiation and arbitration of credit problems.” I was 21 and this was my first real job.

I worked in the office alone for two weeks while Elena was on vacation. Before she left, we reviewed several credit reports left over from the previous Director, who took cocaine lunches and quit without notice. He used Wite-Out over the bad stuff and faxed the changes to his clients. While Elena was in Florida, I contacted 150 clients to convince each one that we would service their files without the use of Wite-Out. Naturally, I was quite relieved when Elena returned.

We were a two-girl office under the umbrella of New England Financial Corporation, a company based in Riverside, California. NEFC was a fly-by-night that sprung up in response to the mortgage crisis in the mid-1990s. The small brick building lined with purple pansies was like a Norman Rockwell painting, a pretty front to hide reality. The economy was in the dumps and consumers were under water with their mortgages. NEFC offered a solution – for $2,000 they would short sell your home and guarantee no impact on your credit.

The atmosphere in the office was fairly casual. One day I walked into the storage room to retrieve a file. The Executive Accountant suggested we close the door so we could be alone, exploding in giggles. Earlier that week, he brought his newborn son and glowing wife into the office for show-and-tell.

It was worse when he was around the General Manager. They tossed out sexual innuendos, convulsing like Beavis and Butt-head until Elena would curl her lip and displace their comments with a sarcastic punch. Luckily, for us – our office was relocated.

The new office was on the 2nd floor of an attractive business suite in Grand Terrace. I loved my job. I wrote business letters, mailed dispute forms and kept the office organized. Every 20 minutes Elena would go outside to smoke, combing through the pages of credit reports, leaving behind red-kissed cigarette butts like dead soldiers on a battlefield.

Within five months, we made good progress on our client’s files and received few negative calls. The company partners offered to put me through paralegal school.

Then, one day in early April, Elena received a phone call from NEFC. They fired their secretary, a bulbous breasted young woman who would talk about Endometriosis while dropping salad in her cleavage on our lunch break. I was called in to take her place. Elena was pissed. We had a ton of work come in – all failed clients of NEFC – no charge. She was pissed about that, too.

“Why don’t you buy yourself a bottle of Wite-Out, Mike? I can’t remove your mistakes,” said Elena, slamming the phone in its carriage.

Reluctantly, I drove to the Riverside office. The last time I remembered being there, employees would stroll by on their way to the copy machine, shoot the breeze and watch the O.J. Simpson trial on the TV next to the coffee machine. No one was around upon my arrival. The constant ringing of phone calls from desperate customers infiltrated the building. The General Manager told me to take messages. I was the only person answering the phones. One client received a 1099 from the IRS moments after waking from a stroke in the hospital. He owed $42,000. Others had similar stories.

“Sir, I’m so sorry,” I told the man, “Unfortunately, there is no one here that wants to talk to you. I recommend that you do whatever you think is necessary to take care of your situation.”

On April 13th, 1996, the day was warm and sunny when I pulled into the entrance to NEFC. Several white, unmarked cars were sporadically parked in front of the building. I parked and walked down the pathway to the door. Two men with bulletproof vests greeted me. One tall, stone-faced man was from the California District Attorney’s Office and the other, from the Employment Development Department.

“Do you work here?” the DA guy inquired.

“Yes. I answer the phones,” I said.

A suited man with a clipboard took my name and instructed me to go into the conference room. We were kept for 5 hours, interviewed by the DA and EDD personnel as a group and individually. By the end of the day, four locations in Riverside County were raided and over 100 files confiscated.

I was escorted to a chair in the conference room and sat back to watch the show like a cat on a limb with coffee in hand. Two NEFC partners and the General Manager were sitting at the long conference table. They looked like prisoners facing a firing squad; their impending doom was palpable. Dark, wet circles formed under their arms and the ceiling lights reflected the sheen on their creased faces.

After the interviews, I was released. I was dying to talk to Elena and drove to the other office. When I walked up the stairs, Elena was walking out carrying a computer monitor.

“Get out of here,” she growled. They were raiding our office, too. Not wanting to go through a second interrogation, I walked past the broad window of our office and down the other stairwell. That night, Elena came back to the office and stole some furniture, a phone and a fax machine. She asked if I wanted to go with her and take some items as compensation for the paychecks we likely wouldn’t receive. I declined.

I never acquired my last paycheck. During the months that followed, I returned to my previous job as a part-time cashier at a gas station. I had to move out of my apartment. I stayed with several friends, sometimes sleeping in my car before my shift. Two years after, I left Southern California and moved to Oregon.

I learned a lot during those 8 turbulent months at New England Financial: always keep your nose clean, if a co-worker asks you to sit on his lap – it’s called sexual harassment, you can live on bananas and Top Ramon, beware of businessmen wearing tropical shirts and never mess with an Italian woman who has a twin sister.

Courtesy of Newspapers.com

29 Aug 1993 • News Record, North Hills • Pennsylvania • Page 43 | Courtesy of Newspapers.com

REFERENCES:

Company Profile for New England Financial Corporation. Updated 17 Jun 2014. Wysk.com Web. Accessed 19 Jun 2014.

Harney, Kenneth. Washington Post Writers Group. Title Transfer To Avoid Debt May Bring Tax, Credit Woes. The Seattle Times, 12 Nov 1995. Seattletimes.com Web. Accessed 19 Jun 2014.

Mulligan, Thomas S. ‘Credit-Repair’ Firms Raided in Riverside. Los Angeles Times, 13 Apr 1996. Articles.latimes.com Web. Accessed 19 Jun 2014.

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04 Dec 2014
5 Comments

22) Letter to Baby Boomers – Discussion

This is a response to a recent comment by Deane from my post, 20) Letter to Baby Boomers from Gen-X. Here is her original comment:

“At the risk of sounding blase about it all… I feel I must let you in on something quite disturbing. It took a while for me to decide if I truly wanted to step up to the microphone, after all , it is your house and I am obviously an intruder here. However, since it seems no one else has come along to stand up in our defense I figured “what the hell?”

I realize there are a butt load of things to be enraged about these days, not the least of which is how impersonal life has become since technology has advanced us to the point of instant communication on a grand scale with anyone around the world we choose, at any time we choose. I believe we have become jaded. It is too easy. Most of us were raised knowing we had to work for what we needed. Things were “earned”, not simply given. We didn’t misplace things on a regular basis. Telephones were attached to the wall by a cord that did not unplug in order to move to another room for privacy. We never showed up without calling first. There was a code of conduct we were expected to adhere to that made us have to consider what we said before we spoke in order not to offend others. If you screwed up you admitted to it. The way you behaved around others when your parents weren’t around was how you were remembered. And that mattered. I could go on complaining all day but I won’t because all of that was how we were SUPPOSED be, it wasn’t reality. We were not so different than you are now. We had our reasons as well. But there was one thing we didn’t have then… instant answers. No Google, no face book, no 24/7 access to knowledge. Everything had a closing time. The Seven Eleven stores were the beginning of the stay up late businesses. That was a huge deal for us. Our towns rolled up the sidewalks in the evenings and rolled them back out in the morning. Anything late night was age related and waiting to get to that age took forever. Our angst was punished and fighting back could get you “put away”. We fought back anyway. There were protests, riots, sit ins, etc. Many changes did come about from our efforts. Earth Day (originally known as Ecology Day)was our doing. Voting age changed from being 21 years old to 18 years old. Abortion became legal. Before then it was the “back alley abortions” or the “Mexican abortion” and both were horror stories no one wanted to have to experience. Free clinics offered free birth control pills that were actually free in the beginning. Parents had the last say in all things and children were not given access to legal representation when they were abused by adults. It was our word against theirs but the judges were always from their side of the argument. The things we did back then to cause the changes that finally occurred were hard fought and we never let up. They knocked us down repeatedly but we came back with new strategies to get them to listen. We had to convince them with logic and common sense because screaming only made them deaf to our words. But we kept at it.

Sometimes we need to be reminded of the work it took to get the changes we wanted back then. You bring those memories back to life and you will see how much faster the ice melts. Just make sure the cause you are working on has merit. Show us the benefits for the changes you want to make and try not to put the cost solely on the tax payers backs.”

This is my response:

Dear Deane,

I agree with you in many ways. I too, am a taxpayer. If I lived in your time, I would have been right beside you protesting in the throws of major social upheaval and many important changes did occur as a result of the protests, the activism and those achievements should never be taken for granted by any generation.

With that said, the beef I have is what happened after those pivotal years. It appears that many baby boomers turned their backs on the ideals they so passionately stood for and began shifting their efforts toward monetary pursuits in the late 1970s and 80s. It’s as if they threw in the towel. I can understand that things change; you start having a family and you have those demands as your focus. But, the thing that really bothers me is that these wonderful concepts like Earth Day didn’t become staples in the daily lives of many Boomers who so passionately wanted to change the world. Houses grew bigger, 1 car per household evolved to 2 or 3, more appliances sucking up energy and the consumption of cheap, exploited labor produced products; none of this being sustainable or in a good direction for a world facing serious environmental problems and overpopulation. As a nation, we didn’t get serious about the environment until 30 years after the energy crisis in the Carter years.

I completely agree that we have become impersonal in our daily lives. With so many gadgets and useless ways to suck up our time, we all forget the things that are most important: family, sharing, being in nature, living for the planet. With that said, there is a lot of sharing going on, just not in the conventional way that we grew up with and that may not necessarily be a bad thing.

When Generation X came along; like yours, we had none of the technologies of today’s world. Like you, I miss my phone that plugs in the wall and prefer going to the bank and talking face-to-face with a real person. I haven’t become jaded, I’ve always been. But, I am an optimistic realist as well. I believe that people can change and do. I also believe that we are in such a muddle of consumerism and entrenched in profit margins that it makes change difficult.

I adapted to the new technologies pioneered by Steve Jobs and Bill Gates (both of the Baby Boomer generation). Gen-X put these technologies to use in the 1990s and fell on their face with everyone else when the bubble burst.

I tend to disagree with things being easy today; only that information is more accessible. If I lived in the 1960s, I likely would have had an easier time continuing my education beyond a bachelor’s degree and gone full swing for my PhD. Unfortunately, I am not willing to take on any more student loan debt as I am already $38,000 in the hole and have been on Income Based Repayment plan (IBR) since I graduated. I put myself through school while working and live a very minimalist lifestyle. I don’t plan on buying a house unless I can buy it outright. I have just enough education to be qualified for a manager at a retail job with high stress and little pay. Not only has the middle class disappeared, the variety and mid-range jobs are also becoming extinct. Since I am 40 and already late in the game, my only other option is more schooling, more debt and no guarantee that there will be any career available to me beyond the Financial, Legal and Medical fields. The only way for anyone to improve his or her situation is to start his or her own business or become a gypsy.

I agree wholeheartedly that there is an extreme lack of manners, emotional intelligence and personal responsibility in the world today. I think it’s due to a variety of factors relating to our modern lives, the demands we place on ourselves and the simple fact that there is more of us competing with one another. I do not wish to offend, only to inform, as I feel our generation has very few voices.

I want to thank you for responding with a wonderful piece of dialogue and appreciate your viewpoint.

Most Sincerely,

Latchkey Lisa

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Posted in Letters, My X-perience and tagged , , , , , ,
03 Sep 2014
2 Comments

13) Letter to Neil Howe

The following letter was sent to Neil Howe, author of several books on America’s generations including The Fourth Turning: An American Prophecy – What the Cycles of History Tell Us About America’s Next Rendezvous with Destiny. Mr. Howe was kind enough to suggest that I might want to start my own blog if I planned to write “on an ongoing basis.” I thought it would be appropriate to share my letter with you.

Dear Mr. Howe,

I am in the process of writing an important article on Generation X and my personal experiences with the job market as it is today. I was hoping you might be able to give me some advice on where I might place it. I thought it would be a great piece for Forbes Magazine because it is an important statement on the generations and Gen-X in particular.

As a writer studying Generation X, I feel my voice is a unique and important one. I am a single, un-married female turning 40 this year; the quintessential latchkey kid with no prospects of a career other than as a writer.

My hero is Mark Twain and three big brothers raised me: Depeche Mode. My parents were of the Silent Generation and I am a latter-day-Xer, an outlier of the X generation. The fact that Mark Twain shares my generational experience upon learning this from 13th Gen, it further deepened my love for him and the reason I gravitate to his ideas. I always wondered why I loved the works of Virginia Woolf and Hemingway; discovering through your book that they are kindred spirits in another “lost” generation.

At 40, I have no children, no family and two houseplants. I live with my aunt, who I am grateful to every day for loving me and providing a roof over my head. I had a retail job of 7 years, at which I quit a year ago when I had several panic attacks and hit a wall. I made  $11.25/hour, which was comfortable for me. I didn’t care about the money, but the hours kept going down and I felt constantly abused by angry customers, too much product on the floor and worrying that I was alone at night at the cash registers in a gigantic store where anything could happen and did.

Nothing in college ever prepared me for this type of environment and I had to wipe my self-esteem off of the floor every time I left the building. Luckily, I found an online writing gig for 6 months. At first, there was plenty of work and I scraped by, cutting back on everything I did and savoring the small savings I had to get me through the year. Unfortunately, the work was sporadic and eventually dried up and I had to take my unemployment. Thank goodness for that!

I don’t mean to put all of this on you; however, I know that you understand our generation and what we are going through. I am extremely grateful to you for what you are doing in studying the generations and the importance of this information as we are in truly challenging times.

I thank you for your time and look forward to your reply.

Sincerely,

Latchkey Lisa

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Posted in Letters, My X-perience and tagged , , , , , , ,
06 Jul 2014
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12) Facts About Generation X

Gen X is the first generation for whom the global reach of technology began to allow a significant number of individuals to share experiences across national boundaries in many (but by no means all) parts of the world.
– Tammy Erickson, Harvard Businesss Review

AKA
Blank, Lost, MTV, Latch Key, Baby Bust, Slacker, Unknown, Punk

AGE
Born between 1961-1981, culturally as well as demographically.

NUMBER
Generation X are smaller in numbers – 61 million, compared with 81 million Post-World War II baby boomers and 85 million Millennials. These numbers reflect the U.S. Census Bureau population in 2010.

PARENTS
The majority of Generation X was born of the Silent Generation born between 1925-1945.

LATCH KEY KIDS
This generation was referred to as the first latch key kids. Unlike other generations, Often, Gen X children were home alone after school as both parents were working.

VOLUNTEERS
Gen X is the most philanthropic and volunteer-driven, close to 30% each year between 2009-2011 compared with other generations according to the Corporation for National and Community Services.

BIRTH CONTROL
Gen X is the first generation born and raised during the introduction of the birth control pill and the legalization of abortion.

INDEPENDENT
Due to high divorce rates of the parent’s of Generation X and being home alone, Generation X has adapted a level of independence that sets them apart from other generations.

This generation has watched more TV and as a result has probably witnessed more violence and murders than any generation in history. In addition, X’ers’ gloomy view of the world has been shaped by such numerous negative events as the Persian Gulf War, escalating crime, riots, AIDS, the nuclear threat, and pollution.
– International City-County Management Association, MSU

Teens Less Healthy Than Parents

“Never before has one generation of American teenagers been less healthy, less cared for, or less prepared for life than their parents were at the same age.”
– National Commission, The Spokesman Review

 

 

Some resent the baby boomers in a big way. They feel that the boomers spent too much time partying and messing up the world that X’ers have inherited. Now, the X’ers have to fix it, and they see the boomers as standing in their way. This view has made them highly cynical. – International City-County Management Association, MSU

SOURCES
Wikipedia – Generation X
Catalyst – Workplace Generations

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Posted in Gen-X Culture, Gen-X Philosophy, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , ,
26 May 2014

02) Turning 40 in 2014

I am 40 years old this year. I am just beginning. Seeds of cynicism have grown into clear and determined purpose…

Everything I have experienced is akin to waking up from a generational hangover –familial obstacles, false starts, occupational upheaval, delusional relationships and the constant interruption of WTF moments. No kids, no marriage, NO – to all of it.

When I turned 18, I believed that whatever happens, I must be held accountable – every mistake, every decision, every vote, every relationship, every failed opportunity. I adopted a three-part view of existence: the world I was born in, all that came before me, and my own life. This was the world I was born into…

40 years ago, the Rubik’s Cube debuted on the market pissing off all normal people except for those kids who would eventually become affluent in command line prompts in MS DOS, the Watergate scandal was in full swing as my mother put the groceries away and descended upon the hospital to bring me into the world, owners of automobiles were lining up to put gas in their tanks if they were lucky enough to find a gas station that still had gas, Stephen King’s first novel, Carrie, was on the printing press and women everywhere retired their wire hangers to the closet upon having access to legalized abortion.

Tricky Dicky

President Richard Nixon gives his resignation speech from the Oval Office at the White House in Washington D.C., on Aug. 8, 1974. Photo by: NBC NEWSWIRE/GETTY IMAGES, courtesy of mysanantonio.com

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