You Can Learn From Everyone, But Should You?

I grew up a Seventh-Day Adventist preacher’s kid at SDA college campuses. Until ninth grade, I had no non-Adventist friends. I learned to see the world the way my father preached even though I felt little connection with his preaching. I guess it was more his example and daily wisdom that formed my worldview. One of his key teachings was to stay away from wicked people. Deal with them warily when you must, but when you can, stay far away.

I grew up loathing drugs and alcohol and until tenth grade I stayed far away from those who indulged. They frightened me. In tenth grade, however, I went to public school for the first time and my classmate who lived up the road, Kevin McKee, was secular and his dad, Bob, liked to drink beer while watching sports on TV. I spent many a Sunday at the McKees and I learned to get over my fear of drinkers and smokers.

In 12th grade, I went occasionally to discos or dance halls. I’m not sure of the right term but there were high school kids there dancing. Dancing was a big sin in Adventism but I was drifting out of the church.

After graduating from high school, I went to live with my brother for a year in Tannum Sands, Australia. My brother was secular and I soon stopped going to church. On Friday nights, I often went to discos and bars. For the first time, I was regularly among drinkers and occasionally marijuana smokers. While drunks continued to frighten me, reasonable drinkers did not.

Tannum Sands was a blue collar community. Many people worked at the aluminum smelter. Unlike the first 14 years of my life on college campuses, I rarely met a PhD. I met some blokes who seemed a bit rough. Some were looking for fights. I stayed as far away as possible from them. People who used excessive profanity jarred me.

I came back to America, and from 1986-1988, I worked in landscaping. This was a rough crowd similar to the smelter folks I knew in Australia. We didn’t socialize much. We just worked together. I started using more profanity as I became desensitized by those around me. Part of me enjoyed slumming it with folks who didn’t graduate high school. I felt tough swinging a pick and shovel in the 100 degree Sacramento sunshine.

In the fall of 1995, I decided to write a book on the history of sex in film, specializing in the pornography industry centered in the San Fernando Valley. I was viscerally compelled to explore the world of illicit sex and wanted to understand its moral effects. I hoped that having a lot of sex partners did not morally desensitize you. That you could otherwise be an upright person. I was disappointed to find the brutal effects of sex work. People became hard. Porn was as bad for you as the squares said.

I wrote on this industry until 2007, regularly mixing with people I was raised to run from. Many of them abused drugs, alcohol, themselves and others. I saw that it all ran together even while many porners maintained righteous standards in some areas, desisting from lying, theft and criminality while engaging in charitable works and advocating for the same libertarian views I believed in.

I ran into some scary folks. Many were addicts who would use anyone to meet their addictive needs. Others were steroid freaks and violent. Many felt outside of polite society and therefore the normal rules did not apply to them. Growing up with a step-mother who was insanely angry half the month because of what was later diagnosed as PMS equipped me to walk through this minefield.

What surprised me was that these people who I was raised to regard as scum often had as much or more wisdom about life than I did. One guy, talent agent Regan Senter, set me straight one day, letting me know that I could not expect to find a decent wife while I focused my writing on this industry.

My subjects frequently led sex lives that most guys dream about and so they had fewer illusions about sex. They didn’t romanticize it. They had a sharp clarity about this basic human motivation. All around them were civilians trying to sniff the erotic fumes of the industry but the industry folks knew the real deal of promiscuity. They knew the upside and the downside of treating sex as a sport. I never ceased to be entertained and intrigued by their insights. (For examples, see my three books on the industry, including Lives on the Edge: Profiles in Sex, Love and Death.)

Much of the population appears primarily motivated by the thirst for sex, money and power. My subjects in some respects were way ahead in this game.

On the one hand, this world was the flip side of Orthodox Judaism. Here was darkness from a religious perspective, and yet its population tended to have fewer illusions and far more honesty about themselves than my co-religionists. In Orthodox Judaism, people try to hide their shortcomings and pretend to be far more righteous than they are. In XXX, most people don’t hide that they are messed up. They’ll embrace you as family. They won’t judge you for your kinks. They yearn for acceptance from mainstream society. Orthodox Jews, on the other hand, don’t yearn for such acceptance. They want to keep up walls.

Both Orthodox Jews and the denizens of XXX are prone to thinking that the outside world is out to get them. Both are insular worlds. Both draw big distinctions between their in-group and everyone outside. Both can’t be understood by those not in the dance.

I learned from my years in XXX that just because someone is an addict or a rapist or a felon, doesn’t mean he is any less likely to have keen insights into life and morality. They’re like the marriage counselor who’s been divorced three times. Or are they more like priests who give marriage counseling even though they’ve never been married?

Some pros I knew were proficient at turning girls out. They knew just the type of girl who could become a hooker and within a few minutes of conversation, they’d arranged her first trick. The pimps I knew were masters of the psychology of damaged women, never giving them too much attention so as to keep them under control.

Though you can learn from everyone, some things you’re better off not knowing. Some people you are better off not meeting. Some wisdom comes with too much downside and too much risk.

Most people have stunning clarity and wisdom about certain parts of life and are blind to other parts. They act sane in some areas of their life, such as work or love or sex, and act insane in other areas (most people tend to become unhinged in their search for love).

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Everything we do affects other people

Everything we do affects other people. If we hole up in our room and either read a book or watch TV or listen to a lecture or exercise or meditate, that choice we make is going to affect us and in turn affect other people. There’s no decision we make, no act we perform, that does not affect us and in turn others.

The person who chose to specialize in classical music is going to be a different person than if he chose instead to specialize in rap music. The person who spends his spare time reading books as opposed to watching TV is going to be shaped by that choice.

I’ve found that when I get up at 5:50 a.m., shower and go to shul to study Talmud and say the morning prayers that takes my life on a different course from my default option of sleeping in until about 7 a.m.. I make new friends. I do fewer things at night because I have to get up early. And because I’m at shul every morning, I hear about more things going on in the community, so I become more active in Orthodox life, more observant of Jewish law, and knowledgeable about Torah. As I study more Jewish text, that affects my thinking and my actions. As I become more active in Orthodox life, I tone down my blogging and other behavior to fit in with my new affiliations.

When I go to therapy every week, I’m accountable in a way I’m not without therapy. Knowing I’m going to be talking about my life with the same person every week affects the choices I make during the week. As I go through my day, I hear my therapist’s voice. I do some of the things she suggests, such as reaching out to people and joining in with community and reducing the things I do that interfere with me connecting to the people I love.

When you have a private addiction to gambling or food or cigarettes or exercise, etc, that masks and distracts you from yourself. You might get so wrapped up in working out that it distances you from others. You might find yourself obsessing about it so that you are less present in daily life. You might drive yourself into serious injury. You might seek to lose yourself in exercise so you don’t have to face your pressing problems such as lack of connection with others, failures at work or in love, etc.

I didn’t grow up attaching to other people normally, so I sought to attach to food, but the candy I wanted wasn’t always available. It was against the rules of my home. So I sort out reading and fantasizing instead as distractions. When I came to America in 1977 at age 11, I became fascinated by sports, and so I developed this life-long habit. I could’ve easily stayed fixated on history instead and devoted myself to scholarship. Instead I got hooked on the easy high of identifying myself with my favorite sports teams and numbing out. Later, I began numbing out to pornography, which had more negative effects on me than numbing out to sports.

Over the past couple of years, I’ve come to see myself as having various emotional addictions such as to love, fantasy, codependent relationships and the like. I’ve been fortunate that none of my addictions have caused me to break appointments, miss work or school, or drain my bank account. They’ve mainly been obsessions of the mind that limited my romantic relationships, and numbed me out in daily life so that I wasn’t fully present, that I wasn’t tackling my problems, that I was distracting myself from the challenges before me.

Every time we make a choice, even in private, we’re heading towards closer or more distant connection with the ones we love, with God, and with our best selves. I feel like a different person after I watch Brideshead Revisited as opposed to Breaking Bad or The Sopranos. Our entertainment choices affect us. I feel differently after listening to the BeeGees as opposed to Mozart. My state is different and one’s emotional state is going to shape one’s behavior.

I’m libertarian-conservative in my political views, but because I believe that everything we do affects other people, I believe that some choices libertarians endorse should be officially forbidden by society, such as illegal drugs, incest, drinking alcohol in public, driving while using a phone, etc.

The origins of my belief are religious. I was taught growing up as a Seventh-Day Adventist preacher’s kid that God sees all and judges all, even our most private thoughts and deeds. When I converted to Judaism in 1993 at age 27, I took on the belief that God’s primary concern is with our behavior, not our thoughts. In Orthodox Judaism in particular I got a sense of what it was like to live in deep community with others where your privacy is diminished and members of your community are routinely coming in and out of your home, restricting your freedom and getting up in your affairs. This conflicted with my libertarian outlook of the time that what we do privately is nobody’s else’s business.

In 1995, at age 28, I began writing on the pornography industry. As I interviewed members of that business, I saw how their choice of profession affected them. After a few years of this, I became convinced to my core that even our private entertainment choices affect us. Some time between 1998 and 2001, I published online my now famous quote, “Everything we do affects other people.”

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I’m Safe

I told my therapist I see things I could do to increase my connection to others, but I don’t care enough to do them. I asked her what do my clothes (I was wearing old black shorts and an old ratty white t-shirt) say about me. She said they say I don’t care. I read her my FB posts and she said that if someone doesn’t know I’m safe, they could be put off and want to distance from me. I read her my writer’s credo and she said it sounded like my most important beliefs.

So I spent much of my therapy tonight scrolling through my FB posts and reading the ones important to me. She was a tad surprised that I made this stuff so public but she figured that my FB friends know who they’re dealing with so the posts shouldn’t come as a shock.

I had a girlfriend who related that a friend told her when she wore sweats in public, she looked like she had given up.

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Inner Game

I’m writing out a long list of things I’m awesome at. Carlos Xuma recommends carrying this in your wallet to look at regularly and develop inner game.

* Admitting I was wrong.
* Getting help.
* Dealing with difficult people.
* Verbal skills
* Discipline
* Reliability
* Bravery
* Independence
* Objectivity
* Infiltration
* Opening people up
* Honesty
* Entertaining
* Nostalgia
* Focus

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The Homeless At Starbucks — Ghosts of My Christmas Future?

I look at the homeless in Starbucks and feel uncomfortable. Their clothes are ragged. My clothes are ragged. They occupy tables for hours, buying cheap refills. I occupy tables for hours, buying cheap refills. The staff tell us both, “I’m going to have to cut you off.” With me, the staff continue, “Just kidding, man.” They carry two tote bags, I carry one. They spread out their food, I munch on protein bars. They stare at pretty girls. I try to control myself. The homeless order the smallest drinks, I order treinta.

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The Moonies

I was 12 years old and living at Pacific Union College in the Napa Valley when the Jim Jones murder/suicide of over 900 people took place in Guyana. The religion had been big in the San Francisco Bay Area and suddenly we Seventh-Day Adventists were talking about cults and whether or not we were one.

There were many Moonies (members of the Unification Church) near us and I heard that Moonies were a cult. They operated a golf course in Pope Valley, Aetna Springs. During summers in high school, my friends and I used it frequently.

One Sabbath afternoon in eighth grade while I was living apart from my parents who were in Washington DC, I took a drive with the Muth family and we ran into this Moonie kid Mrs. Muth knew and I got all excited, thinking he’d have horns or be terribly deformed or something and I was stunned when Mrs. Muth talked to him like he was a normal human being.

I never had any non-Adventist friends until my dad got kicked out of the Church’s ministry in September of 1980. I never knowingly met a Jew until arriving at UCLA in the fall of 1988. I didn’t grow up relating to the world at large. It seemed like a scary place.

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Pilot of the Airwaves

My parents left me behind at Pacific Union College in January 1980 so that I could graduate in June with my eighth grade class at the church elementary school. I stayed with friends of the family and had a lot more room to do the normal things forbidden by my parents, such as listen to popular music.

I’d put my radio under the pillow at night and listen to KNBR and one of the first songs I enjoyed was Pilot of the Airwaves.

I wasn’t able to attach normally to people, so the radio was my closest friend. Its music elucidated everything I was feeling and its news informed the things I thought about.

During these months, I decided I would make my career in journalism where I could penetrate to the core of what was going on. It was a way I could force myself into being included. I’d be such a powerful writer that people would have to accept me or they’d get on my bad side and I’d slash them in my columns.

I thought I was going to be a big star in either the newspapers or the radio or TV and I would earn a hot wife.

I grew up a Seventh-Day Adventist. Dancing was strictly forbidden. I’d listen to popular music and feel a yearning to move but I didn’t know how. I was just filled with strong awkward drives I couldn’t express. I still don’t know how to dance. I really need to learn to dance to disco. I want some Studio 54 type experiences, without the coke.

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My 14th Birthday

I turned 14 on May 28, 1980. It came towards the end of my eighth grade at Pacific Union College Elementary School. I’d been staying with friends of the family for the past five months so I could finish the school year with my mates.

In the lead up to my birthday, I said some stupid things to my hosts. When they would inquire about my birthday, I said they better not forget it because I was expecting big presents. I was just joking but it was an awkward thing to say. Still, once I began the gag, I felt locked in to it.

One of my requests — not granted! — was that for my birthday, I ought to be allowed to watch as much TV as I wanted for 24 hours. I honestly thought I would enjoy watching TV for 24 hours straight. TV was the coolest thing I could imagine. Unable to attach normally to others, I attached to things like the radio and TV and fantasies of grandiosity.

I didn’t grow up with a TV, but when I moved in with my hosts in January of 1980, they had a color TV, and I could watch an hour a night. I loved it. I was fascinated. And I could fit in better with the other kids at school because I could talk about what was going on.

Australian Seventh-Day Adventism was a much more conservative and restrictive variety than the Californian one where people were more likely to own TVs and to listen to pop music (sins according to much of Australian Adventism). Now that I was away from home, I got to enjoy more of life. The fun stuff, it seemed to me, was forbidden by my parents and yet enjoyed by most of those around me.

My birthday coincided with a class field trip to the beach and various boys threatened to dunk me for all the obnoxious things I said and did. I grew frightened. When we got to the beach, I quickly changed, discarding my underwear and just going with some loose-fitting shorts, and ran off from the crowd, afraid I was going to get drowned. I hated having my head held underwater. I had some near drowning experiences in early childhood and was still traumatized.

Eventually, my best friend Andy came to rescue me. He said no one would hold my head under water. I calmed down and then I started acting silly and playing with my shorts in front of the girls. “Are you wearing underwear?” he asked me later. “Yes,” I lied. “It didn’t look like it,” he said.

I was close with my male host but felt embarrassed at the prospect of him coming along to the field trip and I asked that he stay home. I hurt him.

I think back on my 14th birthday and I feel bad. When the day of my birthday came, I was all over the map emotionally, vibrating from frightened to giddy. I was careless with the feelings of others. I was the recipient of much love, attention and gifts that day but I went to bed feeling awkward. I hadn’t been gracious. I’d been off-key with my attempts at humor. I inadvertently hurt someone I loved because I didn’t want the possible awkwardness of including him in the festivities, fearing my classmates wouldn’t think him cool.

A couple of weeks later, I graduated from eighth grade and never lived at Pacific Union College again (except for two-month summer stays during high school). Now when I go back to PUC to visit, I never find any of my former classmates. We’ve all moved on. But my awkward feelings, clumsy dealings with others, and off-key jokes hang on to me like the San Francisco fog.

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Dumpster Diving

When my parents left me behind, thank God!, at Pacific Union College in eighth grade (1980) so that I could finish the school year with my friends, my friend taught me to dumpster dive behind the market for old donuts, cakes, pies, cookies and the like. They were magnificent.

My friend liked to dumpster dive behind the Post Office for pornography but I was afraid of indulging that appetite so I wouldn’t look.

One time, he was dumpster diving behind the men’s dorm circa 10th grade, when campus police drove up and asked what we were doing. The police knew my friend, knew his parents, and they knew what he was looking for. They were cool. They left him alone once they ascertained he wasn’t making a mess. He was just going through the mess looking for the gold, and he found some, but I was too holy to look.

I would never have known about the delights to be found in the dumpster if my friend hadn’t clued me in.

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Don’t Be Horrid, Horrid Boy!

Much of the time, I’m working hard to not say anything ugly. When I’m in the presence of someone good and holy, for instance, I keep telling myself, “Don’t say anything horrid, Horrid Boy.”

What does this mean that I’m yearning to say bigoted things? That I’m yearning to shock and awe?

I think it’s connected to Eroticized Rage, which means getting a charge from breaking the rules. I often look out my window at the windows of other apartments and think it would be swell to quietly check out the dirty deeds going on there (I’ve never done this, but I feel the temptation, so I understand Peeping Toms).

I’m dying to transgress and to invade, some nights I have to tie myself down to stop from taking over the Sudetenland. I get a thrill from the temptation of breaking the rules, from the thought of invading someone’s boundaries and privacy and taking what I want.

I think it is a reaction to smothering mother figures in my earliest years and to a famous and impossibly righteous preacher daddy. I guess I developed in my childhood an unquenchable desire to lash out but couldn’t safely express this until I became an independent adult and then I got online and it poured out in a vicious torrent I can barely stand to think about today. I feel like the Orthodox Jewish version of the Marquis de Sade. I hope if I can just pour it all out, I’ll heal.

The more connected I am to good people and to God and to Torah and to my true self, the less driven I feel to transgress in these ugly ways.

A fire out of control, just another fool
You touch me and I’m weak, I’m a feather in the wind
And I can’t wait to feel you touching me again

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