This is the day when things fall into place

A brief story about the power of social media. Or maybe the value of connecting, reconnecting. Who you know. The ending of one chapter, the beginning of another. A shift of gears. A new day. A move from a red square to a black one. Is it the Phoenix or the egg?

I’m stalling.

See, the thing is, I reconnected with a friend, a former colleague on Facebook. This friend knew that I was out of work and suggested I apply for a position with his employer. And so I did. And. And….

I got the job. I mean – I got the job!!! (Throws confetti into the air, runs around in circles making incoherent noises. Halts, realizes that she’s going to have to clean up the confetti, shrugs and resumes pandemonium.)

And it’s not just a job. It is a position I really, really wanted.

I start in a couple of weeks.

After being out of work for two years and two months (you bet I’ve kept count), I’d pretty much given up. My friend’s timing was perfect. Having him as an internal reference surely helped. Without his connection, I may have been overlooked for this position because of my old job titles, but during the interview process it became clear that my best skills were well-suited for this position.

In other words, I’m beside myself with joy and gratitude for my friend who knows from experience what a toll long-term unemployment takes on a person.

Thanks to all of you for the support, kind words and patience as I’ve struggled to hold on to the belief that things would turn around. There were many days when this blog felt like the only thing I’d accomplished, if you could call it an accomplishment.

When it comes down to it, I’m here because you’re here.

Thank you, all of you, for being here.

This is the day when things fall into place

A brief story about the power of social media. Or maybe the value of connecting, reconnecting. Who you know. The ending of one chapter, the beginning of another. A shift of gears. A new day. A move from a red square to a black one. Is it the Phoenix or the egg?

I’m stalling.

See, the thing is, I reconnected with a friend, a former colleague on Facebook. This friend knew that I was out of work and suggested I apply for a position with his employer. And so I did. And. And….

I got the job. I mean – I got the job!!! (Throws confetti into the air, runs around in circles making incoherent noises. Halts, realizes that she’s going to have to clean up the confetti, shrugs and resumes pandemonium.)

And it’s not just a job. It is a position I really, really wanted.

I start in a couple of weeks.

After being out of work for two years and two months (you bet I’ve kept count), I’d pretty much given up. My friend’s timing was perfect. Having him as an internal reference surely helped. Without his connection, I may have been overlooked for this position because of my old job titles, but during the interview process it became clear that my best skills were well-suited for this position.

In other words, I’m beside myself with joy and gratitude for my friend who knows from experience what a toll long-term unemployment takes on a person.

Thanks to all of you for the support, kind words and patience as I’ve struggled to hold on to the belief that things would turn around. There were many days when this blog felt like the only thing I’d accomplished, if you could call it an accomplishment.

When it comes down to it, I’m here because you’re here.

Thank you, all of you, for being here.

The Not So Great Depression

It feels like one of the cats got my tongue. I’ve haven’t been able to think of anything to say. I partially blame the medication I’m taking. It makes me feel so even. It’s strange. MathMan suggested that perhaps what I’m feeling is actually normal and because my moods have been so rollercoasterish I don’t recognize it. Normal.

I thought about that. He could be right. Maybe I’ve been functioning for a long time with a low grade depression using a patchwork of coping methods to get by. Sometimes stressors made it worse and I would feel a deeper sense of gloom and then things would clear. For several years MathMan has patiently waited for me to accept that I might need some medical intervention. He endured my blues, my acting out, my upswings like a champ. Like a champ who knows how to retreat into work, how to deliver a verbal ass kicking when needed, and how to pick around the psychic minefield that has been a life with me.

I have sometimes asked myself which of us is the sick one. Twenty-four years. That man deserves a certificate and a $20 Applebees gift card for perfect attendance.

The tipping point came when the coping skills no longer worked. Food didn’t work nor did writing or a variety of other distractions. I was moving deeper within, becoming fearful and anxious about everything, looking for any excuse to not leave the house or have contact with people, losing sleep and gaining weight. I didn’t leave my bedroom unless I absolutely had to, “forgetting” to go to the mailbox to get the mail many days in a row, letting the grocery stockpile sustain us to avoid trips to the store, not answering the phone.

And then came the job interview and I had to get out of my head and push myself. I did it. It felt good to get out of the house and into the city, to talk to adults and to revisit the ways I had actually once been a productive, thriving, successful executive. That I’d once been able to do a vast array of things including running a household.

That was a little like touching fire. I’d spent the last two years not letting myself think too much about the professional life I’d had because having it yanked from me made me angry. Oh sure, I tried to focus that anger, to put that energy to work finding other positions, but with each passing month and a visit to the Department of Labor to sit fidgeting and fretful with the other people who just wanted a job, I became less focused and more dispirited.

When you’re looking for a job, you start with what you know. Then you expand. You look in other fields, other cities. Then you lower your expectations. And lower them some more. Then you look for seasonal work. And in case you believe the fallacy about unemployment being a deterrent to people finding work, know this – at least in the State of Georgia, you have to show that you’re seeking work. You must report to the Department of Labor monthly and show a list of the jobs for which you have applied and they have to be jobs within reason. I couldn’t say that I was applying for jobs to be a nuclear engineer, for example.

When nothing came of the interview and then the holidays were looming and my unemployment insurance was running out and the job listings dwindled, I went into full retreat. How were we going to manage on MathMan’s salary alone? What do I have to do to get a job? What can we sell? Do we find somewhere less expensive to live? How can we even afford to move? What the hell, you mean we can’t take all the money out of the 401k? It’s MathMan’s money for fuck’s sake. All of it. No matching. We’ll pay the taxes and penalties, just let us have the money because we can at least pay our rent for the next few months. Shit.

My high tolerance for pain evaporated and I cried uncle.

The doctor gave me two prescriptions – an appetite suppressant which I’ve taken before, and an anti-depressant. The rationale being that although the anti-d is supposed to be weight-neutral, Cute Dr. J. didn’t want me to gain. He knows me well enough to know I’m going to feel better if I’m more fit.

Here’s how I know the anti-d is working. In the past, when I’ve taken this appetite suppressant, the kids have called it the angry pill. For good reason. Without it, I can be a bit, um, mercurial. With it I was like Bobby Knight with a lit firecracker stuck up his butt. I might have even thrown a chair or two.

But not this time. I’m like some Zen master of serenity. I’ve heard the kids talking about it when they think I can’t hear them.

“Oh, man. When is she finally going to blow?”

“I don’t know, but I hope I’m not home when it happens.”

“She should have gone crazy when saw the mess in Sophie’s room. Look at her. She’s just lying there on her bed watching TV. No screaming, no raging around, no throwing things in the garbage. It’s kind of freaky.”

“Oh, yeah, well she didn’t even say fuck once when Mitt Romney was lying about the President in his speech.”

“Not once?”

“Nope.”

“Has anyone talked to Daddy about this?”

“Hey, you guys. I can hear you!”

One of them appeared at the door. “Are you mad?”

“No.”

“Okay. We –”

“It’s fine. I know.”

If this is normal, it’s going to take some getting used to and I  don’t mean that in a negative way. At my last doctor’s visit, he doubled the dosage. It’s taken me a week to feel less foggy. Writing is difficult. Much of the time, I feel passionless, dulled. I lose minutes staring out the window.The political discourse that would have once had me in a frenzied lather results in a minor froth. I’m the flat beer on the emotional spectrum.

And oh my word, I finally had to ask MathMan to use a taser on my G-spot because either this medication has moved my orgasmic cheese out of my ever-lovin’ reach or I’m a guy suffering from Low T or Low Testosterone. Which obviously, I’m not because when I begged him to tase me, bro, MathMan didn’t have to move any junk to get at it.

I may have just wandered way off track.

The point is I’m having to relearn normal, I guess. The upside is that I’ve already shed fifteen pounds. That feels good. Working out feels good. Sleeping well feels good. Not running on adrenaline all the damn time feels good. Not losing my shit over little things feels good. And that taser? Well……..

Looking back at this post, I guess it’s Lisa – 1; Cats – 0. Please don’t tell the cats. They’re sore losers with sharp claws.

xoxo

The Not So Great Depression

It feels like one of the cats got my tongue. I’ve haven’t been able to think of anything to say. I partially blame the medication I’m taking. It makes me feel so even. It’s strange. MathMan suggested that perhaps what I’m feeling is actually normal and because my moods have been so rollercoasterish I don’t recognize it. Normal.

I thought about that. He could be right. Maybe I’ve been functioning for a long time with a low grade depression using a patchwork of coping methods to get by. Sometimes stressors made it worse and I would feel a deeper sense of gloom and then things would clear. For several years MathMan has patiently waited for me to accept that I might need some medical intervention. He endured my blues, my acting out, my upswings like a champ. Like a champ who knows how to retreat into work, how to deliver a verbal ass kicking when needed, and how to pick around the psychic minefield that has been a life with me.

I have sometimes asked myself which of us is the sick one. Twenty-four years. That man deserves a certificate and a $20 Applebees gift card for perfect attendance.

The tipping point came when the coping skills no longer worked. Food didn’t work nor did writing or a variety of other distractions. I was moving deeper within, becoming fearful and anxious about everything, looking for any excuse to not leave the house or have contact with people, losing sleep and gaining weight. I didn’t leave my bedroom unless I absolutely had to, “forgetting” to go to the mailbox to get the mail many days in a row, letting the grocery stockpile sustain us to avoid trips to the store, not answering the phone.

And then came the job interview and I had to get out of my head and push myself. I did it. It felt good to get out of the house and into the city, to talk to adults and to revisit the ways I had actually once been a productive, thriving, successful executive. That I’d once been able to do a vast array of things including running a household.

That was a little like touching fire. I’d spent the last two years not letting myself think too much about the professional life I’d had because having it yanked from me made me angry. Oh sure, I tried to focus that anger, to put that energy to work finding other positions, but with each passing month and a visit to the Department of Labor to sit fidgeting and fretful with the other people who just wanted a job, I became less focused and more dispirited.

Was it time to revisit what I could offer potential employers? Some job searchers have even gone as far as taking online college classes in hopes of updating their skill set and making themselves more competitive in a new industry. On average, a job hunt can last as long as twenty-one weeks. The effects – multiple rejections and the resulting blows to one’s self-esteem – can leave a long-lasting impression on the individual.

When you’re looking for a job, you start with what you know. Then you expand. You look in other fields, other cities. Then you lower your expectations. And lower them some more. Then you look for seasonal work. And in case you believe the fallacy about unemployment being a deterrent to people finding work, know this – at least in the State of Georgia, you have to show that you’re seeking work. You must report to the Department of Labor monthly and show a list of the jobs for which you have applied and they have to be jobs within reason. I couldn’t say that I was applying for jobs to be a nuclear engineer, for example.

When nothing came of the interview and then the holidays were looming and my unemployment insurance was running out and the job listings dwindled, I went into full retreat. How were we going to manage on MathMan’s salary alone? What do I have to do to get a job? What can we sell? Do we find somewhere less expensive to live? How can we even afford to move? What the hell, you mean we can’t take all the money out of the 401k? It’s MathMan’s money for fuck’s sake. All of it. No matching. We’ll pay the taxes and penalties, just let us have the money because we can at least pay our rent for the next few months. Shit.

 My high tolerance for pain evaporated and I cried uncle.

The doctor gave me two prescriptions – an appetite suppressant which I’ve taken before, and an anti-depressant. The rationale being that although the anti-d is supposed to be weight-neutral, Cute Dr. J. didn’t want me to gain. He knows me well enough to know I’m going to feel better if I’m more fit.

Here’s how I know the anti-d is working. In the past, when I’ve taken this appetite suppressant, the kids have called it the angry pill. For good reason. Without it, I can be a bit, um, mercurial. With it I was like Bobby Knight with a lit firecracker stuck up his butt. I might have even thrown a chair or two.

But not this time. I’m like some Zen master of serenity. I’ve heard the kids talking about it when they think I can’t hear them.

“Oh, man. When is she finally going to blow?”
“I don’t know, but I hope I’m not home when it happens.”
“She should have gone crazy when saw the mess in Sophie’s room. Look at her. She’s just lying there on her bed watching TV. No screaming, no raging around, no throwing things in the garbage. It’s kind of freaky.”
“Oh, yeah, well she didn’t even say fuck once when Mitt Romney was lying about the President in his speech.”
“Not once?”
“Nope.”
“Has anyone talked to Daddy about this?”
“Hey, you guys. I can hear you!”

One of them appeared at the door. “Are you mad?”
“No.”
“Okay. We –“
“It’s fine. I know.”

If this is normal, it’s going to take some getting used to and I  don’t mean that in a negative way. At my last doctor’s visit, he doubled the dosage. It’s taken me a week to feel less foggy. Writing is difficult. Much of the time, I feel passionless, dulled. I lose minutes staring out the window.The political discourse that would have once had me in a frenzied lather results in a minor froth. I’m the flat beer on the emotional spectrum.

And oh my word, I finally had to ask MathMan to use a taser on my G-spot because either this medication has moved my orgasmic cheese out of my ever-lovin’ reach or I’m a guy suffering from Low T or Low Testosterone. Which obviously, I’m not because when I begged him to tase me, bro, MathMan didn’t have to move any junk to get at it.

I may have just wandered way off track.

The point is I’m having to relearn normal. The upside is that I’ve already shed fifteen pounds. That feels good. Working out feels good. Sleeping well feels good. Not running on adrenaline all the damn time feels good. Not losing my shit over little things feels good. And that taser? Well…. mustn’t grumble. Too much.

Looking back at this post, I guess it’s Lisa – 1; Cats – 0. Please don’t tell the cats. They’re sore losers with sharp claws.

xoxo

Dogpile on the Rabbit

Last week I received two gifts I’d like to return – the rejection letter from the job I interviewed for and the official letter telling me I’ve exhausted all 99 weeks of my unemployment insurance. They came the same day.

I immediately started looking around the garage for things we could sell. Sophie, the youngest, most succulent of the Goldens, sidestepped up the stairs and locked the door behind her.

MathMan aka Dr. Hofstadter regarded me warily. Waiting for the storm.

I tossed the letters aside and went back to the task at hand.

“You okay?”

“Mmmmhmmmm.”

No one said anything for a moment.

“I guess it’s good to get all my bad news at once,” I said as I stomped on the next soda can waiting to go in the recycling bin.

Bob Lefsetz.

Tree Stand Philosophy 101. My brother’s blog.  He always was the favorite.

My very brief, positive review of The Buddha in the Attic. 

The rabbit hole I fell down today.

And then this.

I.U. is losing as I type this, but the game has been exciting. A metaphor for life?

Animals in Midlife Crisis and one more.

Dogpile on the Rabbit

Last week I received two gifts I’d like to return – the rejection letter from the job I interviewed for and the official letter telling me I’ve exhausted all 99 weeks of my unemployment insurance. They came the same day.

I immediately started looking around the garage for things we could sell. Sophie, the youngest, most succulent of the Goldens, sidestepped up the stairs and locked the door behind her.

MathMan aka Dr. Hofstadter regarded me warily. Waiting for the storm.

I tossed the letters aside and went back to the task at hand.

“You okay?”

“Mmmmhmmmm.”

No one said anything for a moment.

“I guess it’s good to get all my bad news at once,” I said as I stomped on the next soda can waiting to go in the recycling bin.

Bob Lefsetz.

Tree Stand Philosophy 101. My brother’s blog.  He always was the favorite.

My very brief, positive review of The Buddha in the Attic. 

The rabbit hole I fell down today.

And then this.

I.U. is losing as I type this, but the game has been exciting. A metaphor for life?

Animals in Midlife Crisis and one more.

Unemployment Diary: Shortfalls and little sins

On Monday I put on dress clothes. Underneath was a torture device otherwise known as a foundation garment and a pair of pantyhose that have been in the drawer for so many months, they no longer recognize the shape of my leg. Good thing putting on pantyhose is like riding bicycle. You don’t quite forget.

I applied lipstick. Not my usual red, but something more subtle and understated. I put on conservative jewelry and made sure my ankle bracelet didn’t peek out from under my pants when I sat down. In that moment, I was glad that I’d forgone that chest tattoo. With a rack like mine, I’m not supposed to wear high necklines. It’s a rule, so say my daughters who’ve watched plenty of What Not to Wear.

I walked out to the garage careful to avoid any contact with the cats. I was wearing black and didn’t need to be flecked with cat hair. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw how clean the car was. MathMan had made a special effort to have it tidied up. I would be pulling up to valet parking and I wanted to make a good first impression.

This would be my first in person job interview since February 2010 and I was nervous as hell.

All the way there, I thought about what I would say, the examples I could give for how I was the best qualified person for the job. It’s a position outside of my former career industry so it feels like a long shot to begin with, but I  kept telling myself that I had years of related experience and therefore had no reason to be so nervous.

You know your strengths and weaknesses, I told myself. Play to your strengths.

And yet, it felt like so much was riding on this. It’s only the fourth interview I’ve had in two years. The further south on I75 I traveled, the more monumental this interview became.

I arrived and introductions were made. Everything was going well.

And then the first question of many more to come was asked. It was, of course, the one question that would expose my most critical weakness.

I admitted I didn’t have an immediate answer to the question, but that I would know where to find the answer. Then I saved myself with a follow up comment.

“Oooh, that’s good. Yes,” the interviewer said with a smile.

Phew!

Okay, I told myself, the worst is over and the interviewer hasn’t cut this short.

The rest of the situational interview went well, I thought, and I had plenty of experience to draw from for each answer. I didn’t spill my glass of water, curse or lean over and pick lint off the interviewer’s suit. (He was dressed impeccably.) My handshake was firm and my personality warm.

As I drove home, I listened to MSNBC. They played a clip of some doof or other repeating the mantra that the unemployed need to just go get a job.

Were it that easy. The unemployment rate in Georgia is 10.2%.

It still feels like a long shot. I’m trying not to make myself crazy wondering if I’ll hear back from them. I haven’t taken to ironing yet so maybe the steps I’m taking to reduce my anxiety are working.

If I don’t hear from them by next Monday, I’ll be putting out the following alert:  Send laundry.

Give me something good about your week. What’s gone well?

Unemployment Diary: Shortfalls and little sins

On Monday I put on dress clothes. Underneath was a torture device otherwise known as a foundation garment and a pair of pantyhose that have been in the drawer for so many months, they no longer recognize the shape of my leg. Good thing putting on pantyhose is like riding bicycle. You don’t quite forget.

I applied makeup and lipstick. Not my usual red, but something more subtle and understated. I put on conservative jewelry and made sure my ankle bracelet didn’t peek out from under my pants when I sat down. In that moment, I was glad that I’d forgone that chest tattoo. With a rack like mine, I’m not supposed to wear high necklines. It’s a rule, so say my daughters who’ve watched plenty of What Not to Wear.

I walked out to the garage careful to avoid any contact with the cats. I was wearing black and didn’t need to be flecked with cat hair. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw how clean the car was. MathMan had made a special effort to have it tidied up. I would be pulling up to valet parking and I wanted to make a good first impression.

This would be my first in person job interview since February 2010 and I was nervous as hell.

All the way there, I thought about what I would say, the examples I could give for how I was the best qualified person for the job. It’s a position outside of my former career industry so it feels like a long shot to begin with, but I  kept telling myself that I had years of related experience and therefore had no reason to be so nervous.

You know your strengths and weaknesses, I told myself. Play to your strengths.

And yet, it felt like so much was riding on this. It’s only the fourth interview I’ve had in two years. The further south on I75 I traveled, the more monumental this interview became.

I arrived and introductions were made. Everything was going well.

And then the first question of many more to come was asked. It was, of course, the one question that would expose my most critical weakness.

I admitted I didn’t have an immediate answer to the question, but that I would know where to find the answer. Then I saved myself with a follow up comment.

“Oooh, that’s good. Yes,” the interviewer said with a smile.

Phew!

Okay, I told myself, the worst is over and the interviewer hasn’t cut this short.

The rest of the situational interview went well, I thought, and I had plenty of experience to draw from for each answer. I didn’t spill my glass of water, curse or lean over and pick lint off the interviewer’s suit. (He was dressed impeccably.) My handshake was firm and my personality warm.

As I drove home, I listened to MSNBC. They played a clip of some doof or other repeating the mantra that the unemployed need to just go get a job.

Were it that easy. The unemployment rate in Georgia is 10.2%.

It still feels like a long shot. I’m trying not to make myself crazy wondering if I’ll hear back from them. I haven’t taken to ironing yet so maybe the steps I’m taking to reduce my anxiety are working.

If I don’t hear from them by next Monday, I’ll be putting out the following alert:  Send laundry.

Give me something good about your week. What’s gone well?

The Fundamental Attribution Error

Source

The Fundamental Attribution Error. Sounds like a Big Bang Theory episode title, doesn’t it?

It’s actually a psychological term describing how we use internal factors to explain what happens to someone else while we apply external factors to explain the things that happen to us.

Ari Melber covers it in this video. (Here’s hoping that the ad preceding the video won’t be for a financial institution.)

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/32545640

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

This is a different world, a whole new ballgame. Let’s rein in our assumptions. The last thing we need is to support policies based on judgments that aren’t founded in reality and facts.

Take the unemployment thing. I didn’t lose my job because I didn’t do it well. I lost my job because the organization was tied to construction and we suffered serious revenue losses and my job was eliminated and outsourced. The guy sitting next to me at the Department of Labor the other day didn’t lose his job because he didn’t do it well. He lost it because the place where he worked doesn’t have enough demand to keep four techs employed and he was the last one hired so……

If you lose your job, it’s not going to be because you woke up one day and said “Fuck this steady paycheck shit. I want to struggle and live with financial insecurity. I’m going to stop doing my job well.” If you lose your job, it’s going to be because this economy is getting meaner and leaner and someone has figured out how to keep their business running without you. Should that unfortunate thing happen to you, may anyone you encounter understand that your lack of a job is not your fault. And if they can’t then may they have the decency to keep their mouths shut. Or better yet – to help you find your next job.

As Melber says at the end of the video, it’s time we call out this lack of compassion and understanding. We need to ask the people who still want to believe that large numbers of Americans don’t want to work – would rather struggle to survive than get up each day and go to work – that question: Really? That’s your argument?

I dick around with Fundamental Attribution Errors all day long. Sometimes they keep me warmer than the cats curled around my feet. Seriously, the sanctimony I can pull together when presented with something like an episode of 16 and Pregnant or those people with forty-two children. Mind you, I’m not advocating we limit the number of babies a woman can have or the age at which she can have them, but it still doesn’t make it right when I indulge in that kind of judgmental thinking.

There’s a lot of ignorance (that Put Me in Charge screed, for example) perpetrated on social media, but there’s plenty of clever thought, too. One of my favorites is this:

The Fundamental Attribution Error says that if you’re not wealthy, it’s because you don’t work hard enough, didn’t choose the right career path, didn’t plan well and aren’t smart enough. If I’m not wealthy, it’s because the government takes all my money in taxes and gives it to lazy, poor people.

What are your fundamental attribution errors?

The Fundamental Attribution Error

Source

The Fundamental Attribution Error. Sounds like a Big Bang Theory episode title, doesn’t it?

It’s actually a psychological term describing how we use internal factors to explain what happens to someone else while we apply external factors to explain the things that happen to us.

Ari Melber covers it in this video. (Here’s hoping that the ad preceding the video won’t be for a financial institution.)

 

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

This is a different world, a whole new ballgame. Let’s rein in our assumptions. The last thing we need is to support policies based on judgments that aren’t founded in reality and facts.

Take the unemployment thing. I didn’t lose my job because I didn’t do it well. I lost my job because the organization was tied to construction and we suffered serious revenue losses and my job was eliminated and outsourced. The guy sitting next to me at the Department of Labor the other day didn’t lose his job because he didn’t do it well. He lost it because the place where he worked doesn’t have enough demand to keep four techs employed and he was the last one hired so……

If you lose your job, it’s not going to be because you woke up one day and said “Fuck this steady paycheck shit. I want to struggle and live with financial insecurity. I’m going to stop doing my job well.” If you lose your job, it’s going to be because this economy is getting meaner and leaner and someone has figured out how to keep their business running without you. Should that unfortunate thing happen to you, may anyone you encounter understand that your lack of a job is not your fault. And if they can’t then may they have the decency to keep their mouths shut. Or better yet – to help you find your next job.

As Melber says at the end of the video, it’s time we call out this lack of compassion and understanding. We need to ask the people who still want to believe that large numbers of Americans don’t want to work – would rather struggle to survive than get up each day and go to work – that question: Really? That’s your argument?

I dick around with Fundamental Attribution Errors all day long. Sometimes they keep me warmer than the cats curled around my feet. Seriously, the sanctimony I can pull together when presented with something like an episode of 16 and Pregnant or those people with forty-two children. Mind you, I’m not advocating we limit the number of babies a woman can have or the age at which she can have them, but it still doesn’t make it right when I indulge in that kind of judgmental thinking.

There’s a lot of ignorance (that Put Me in Charge screed, for example) perpetrated on social media, but there’s plenty of clever thought, too. One of my favorites is this:

The Fundamental Attribution Error says that if you’re not wealthy, it’s because you don’t work hard enough, didn’t choose the right career path, didn’t plan well and aren’t smart enough. If I’m not wealthy, it’s because the government takes all my money in taxes and gives it to lazy, poor people.

What are your fundamental attribution errors?