[Prologue

A lot of the time when I post something on here or even when I send out the odd mass email, I feel like campaign canvassers must feel working a corner. So many people look away, ignore you, seem annoyed, or sometimes they listen to you with that look that caged animals must get, waiting for their chance to get away. There is the rare person who listens and is enthused, and you are so grateful for this person. You give him your cell phone number and flirt shamelessly. Later you are embarrassed and you do not answer his call. You doubt yourself. What did he know about me, you think. He was mistaken; he pitied me. So it is sometimes when you throw out your last-ditch efforts at communication, only to be met with silence. Silence. Even the voices of those who reply soon fade out. Or so you tell yourself.]

My brother recently "graduated" from the advanced course of The Landmark Forum, basically a self-help/improvement seminar that goes for $440 a pop for one weekend. A charismatic and agreeable man named Jerry led the session. So much of it reminded me of church--the "we like to do [insert behavoir here]" tyoe stuff, and the way he stood up there, and the way we all laughed sympathetically at his jokes. Even the way the room was filled mostly with believers, and the few nonbelievers who had been invited (me, namely). And there was something like an altar call, where the nonbelievers are encouraged to sign up for the next Landmark Forum. My brother was extremely eager for me to register that night, offering to pay for me. I couldn't see any reason why not. I was slightly creeped out by the churchy vibe, and annoyed by the overuse of the verb "to be" (how are you being? how could you be being to change that?) but I could see some sort of change in my brother. So much of his bitterness and anger seemed to have evaporated. It was truly moving--astonishing--and I was weeping as he shared "what the Landmark Forum had done" for him, as Jerry urged at one point. He said something about being able to let go of the past, and to live practicing "loving acceptance." I couldn't believe this was coming out of my brother's mouth--he whose life passion seemed to be noisy opposition to perceived evil, or even perceived ignorance, and a stubborn clinging to the events of the past.

I walked over to one of the many registration tables and put down my name, my brother wrote a check, and I was escorted into the Introduction to the Landmark Forum. There a woman named Lisa (who was generally winsome) told us more about the Landmark Forum. We had to write down what was working and what was not working in our lives, what the probable future was, and what was missing, "the presence of which would make a difference." I could only think of the metaphysical, of the abstract, of the intangible, and wondered what other people were writing. One man shared that he had communication issues. At one point Lisa asked me to share what was missing in my life, and I answered, "Serenity about my worth as a person. Even if I am abandoned by some, I still matter. Telling myself good things." I started to weep again, thinking of my brother, and Lisa prodded me mercilessly while offering the box of tissues. "And if you were being serenity--how would that change your life? When would that make a difference?" with a smile like the cat who just ate the cream. I'm sure she meant well. I'm sure Ginny, a volunteer on my right, meant well when she shared with me that what wasn't working in her life was that she had credit card debt she wanted to control. I almost cancelled my reservation right then, feeling humiliated, but ended up transferring to one in LA in the fall. I didn't want to disappoint my brother.

Today I remebered the man who registered me. There was a section where you had to say what you wanted out of the Forum. I said something about security in friendships and loving people more compassionately. The man told me I had set myself up for good things with that answer. Before we were quite through registering, Jerry was up and talking again. So we whispered a few more details ("yes that's my address" "will you be paying in full tonight?"). When it seemed over, I started to watch Jerry. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the registration man lean towards me. So I leaned towards him, and he whispered, "It starts tonight." I looked confused; he clarified, "Your Landmark Education starts tonight. You can start changing the way you're being tonight." His eyes were sparkling, he was smiling so sincerely at me.

I came into this realm of self-help generally convinced that it was not for me, and in some ways, I still think that. Among other things, being happy all the time seems cheap to me. I have trouble admitting that anyone can help me in my perceived problems. And psychobabble--of which the self-help world makes ample, gleeful use--makes me roll my eyes. But like the registration guy says, it starts tonight. Every moment is new. Every person on the street is a joyful wonder and mystery. Every silence is an invitation. And I can decide whether to embrace them or reject them, to be satisfied or depressed. Maybe the Landmark Forum has already done its work in me.

Epilogue

I finally got a job today and I will probably quit after two weeks or so. Maybe. I need the money, God knows. But I have to work 37.5 hours/week, M-F, 9-5 (including my 1/2-hour unpaid lunch break) asking people to donate to Environment Oregon or to become a member. And I have to make quotas! <:-/

I went to Jordan's futsal game (Marriage Records I guess) and they were playing the Urban Honking team! Things got heated. It was a helluva game, 7-2 UH. Jordan wore short, flesh-colored track shorts (some of you probably know what I'm talking about.) It was awesome. Imagine the word awesome as Alisha says it in my

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