Category Archives: Behavior

A Parable

A Parable

I sat down on the wooden bench so that I could watch the birds and listen to the stream. It wasn’t my intention to engage the older man sitting on the other end, his walking stick in his hand.

After a minute, he asked me what was on my mind. No introduction and no small talk to precede it. I’m accustomed to being the one to engage in such a manner. 

Without preamble, I told him the truth in the simplest way I thought possible.

“I can tell you the answer, but you won’t believe it,” he said, nodding and shaking his head.

“I’m game. Let’s hear it.”

“You need a mirror.”

I knew he wasn’t referring to my appearance. 

“Yes. You’re metaphorically saying I am the source of my problems. Because I damn well know what they are and choose to tread water.”

“You are not a tree. You were created mobile. But you were also given reason and memory. It seems to me that you believe that your past controls you. Action is what is required. That coupled with remembering that thoughts have no power unless you give them such.”

I smiled. “Easier said than done!”

He smiled back at me. “No, it is easier done than said. Thinking is the problem. You know who you are and what you need to do. Now get up and do it. It’s going to be hard either way. Wouldn’t you rather reach my age and feel like your life reflected your choices rather than trying to find a way to make the unworkable work for you?”

I set silently for a moment. The old man continued to look up at the trees and watch for birds. 

As I stood up, I nodded toward the man.

“I’m walking now. Thank you.”

“Don’t stop,” he said and smiled.

The birds above us took flight from the cover of the leaves and darted away. 

Love, X

Christmas Is Us

I write something like this each year. We all have our own idea of the Christmas season – and some have none. For those with faith, it is the hallmark of charity, love, and kindness, enveloped by the majesty of the celebration of their faith. For others, it is a secular celebration of family, friends, surprises, and time spent together. It is also a time of unreachable loss and loneliness precisely because our memories of love and family can’t help but be tinged by the nostalgia of times no longer within our reach. For others? It is a struggle of choices to afford to surprise their children, family, and friends with gifts worthy of their attention. 

Regardless of its significance, we all own a piece of the Christmas season. Even the Christians wisely appropriated the winter solstice celebration to change the celebration of the birth of their savior. It does not lessen its profound meaning for them. 

“The Gift of the Magi” is my quintessential Xmas story. Both husband and wife sacrificed what was most valuable to them to give the best gift possible. 

We all have within our reach the ability to give everyone the gift of joy and acceptance. No matter how they choose to celebrate. 

Each year, most of us universally agree that the ideal of Christmas lies not in things but in moments and thoughts of others, in profound observation of faith, and in our ability to celebrate collectively.

Regardless of why or how we are here, we are all here with our respective lives, beliefs, and attitudes. 

Let not the harshness of personal conviction blind any of us to the joy of having a season in which we need no further excuse or justification to surprise one another, to be appreciative, and to find a way to look past the differences we each exercise during our celebrations. 

Love, X

.

Justice?

It seems as if legal systems forget the consequences to victims. In this particular case, the person in question was rightfully convicted in more than one criminal case. Each case involved a woman confronted with the potential for further harm. His release pending appeal puts each previous victim in the position of fearing for their safety. 

This isn’t a case of someone accused yet not convicted. The record is established and his actions are well documented. Each of his convictions result from behavior that should not be condoned in a civilized society. Releasing him pending appeal on a particular case after he’s already pled guilty to other charges regarding other women is a misstep of our collective sense of justice.

Eric P. Osborne, approximately 46, of Stratford, Ontario in Canada was convicted of sexual assault in August of 2023. As a result, he was given the maximum sentence possible for the summary conviction, less time served, along with many other conditions including registering on the sex offenders list and providing DNA samples. 

Mr. Osborne also has a history of other convictions for crimes committed against other women. He pleaded guilty to those charges.

As of Monday, Nov. 27, 2023, he is at large in the community again pending an appeal. 

He may not seem dangerous at first but the public is encouraged to question the legitimacy of his statements and be wary.

X

Rough Hands (Guest Post)

Rough hands
Scrubbed clean
Spots of blood
Bare to be seen

Nervous smile.
Rosy cheeks.
Hand in mine
On leather seats.

Red hot heart
Pumping high
I thought I
Might call him mine

Blue blue eyes
Smiling sad
This is so good
I’ve got it bad.

I see flags-
Crimson red-
But his touch
Goes to my head.

I pray – I do
This is true.
Sparks and light
Please come through.

I don’t know
What to do
If he’s done-
Already through.

I’ve got too
many souls
Been close to
Too many holes.

And I’m still
Alone in the dark.
I’m still
Alone in the dark.

Those rough hands
Lit a spark.
So roll credits,
This fades to dark.

Worry

I was challenged to write words that might frame the idea of worry differently: 

Worry is the embodiment of arrogance.

To worry is to borrow time from tomorrow and waste it in the now.

Though I do not believe that God intervenes, instead of worrying, ask yourself if you’ve used your intelligence, time, resources, and money to minimize whatever it is you are stressing about.

If it cannot be changed? Acceptance. It must be acceptance grounded in action and surrender simultaneously.

If it can be changed, do not squander with the universe has given you. If you believe that you were molded in the creator’s image, it is your duty not to waste that which you have been given. Work the problem as best as you can.

Worry is arrogance because it implies that any amount of present preoccupation with stress will yield a different result. 

Even if you do everything right, life will still hand you problems that aren’t your fault. You can consume your energy wanting it to be otherwise or questioning the fairness of it. Yet, the same result awaits you. The same sun that provides illumination also darkens. 

If you use such words, worry is the sin of gluttony. You’ve focused on the idea of you to the point it consumes you.

Do what you can with what you have. 

To worry is to believe that our feeble fingers can overcome obstacles by doing nothing. 

Worry is the roommate who eats all your potato chips and never pays rent. 

If you are lucky enough to be one of the few who can dispel worry, your life will be different than the rest of us. We are human batteries, and most of us are drained by our own thoughts; immobilized and wasteful of the time and energy we’ve been given.

Love, X

A Wish

I unwrapped a day today, like I have thousands of times. Each morning, the gift of the hours is at my feet. One of my wishes? To remember what it’s like to go under and wonder if I’d see the light on the other side. To stop focusing on nonsense and drama that carries no weight. To appreciate the people, food, places, and things in my life. Why is it so easy to bring shadows to sunrise? To question the point, motive, and meaning of just being alive? As if it’s not enough. Anyone squinting their eyes will see only shadow and narrowness. Wide-eyed appreciation for the rhythm of breath and oxygen is the most basic miracle possible. If you start with that, the ephemeral idiocy of wanting anything else dissipates like the first wisp of steam from your morning coffee. I want this ability now more than ever.

Love, X

The Last Tree

The Last Tree

The picture is of my Dad, Bobby Dean, standing on a horse. Of course. I poorly colorized it a few years ago.

One day, I’ll abandon safety and climb my last tree- but I won’t know it’s the last time I’ll do it. I’ll laugh as I look down at the people passing below me. I’ll feel the wind blow over me among the branches. A squirrel might chatter at me for being too close to its nest.

Well-meaning people sometimes chastise me for my avocation of ascending trees. They are right. There is a risk. But I don’t know of any other adults who take the time to climb trees. It’s unlike skydiving, where the risk is primarily virtual and unlikely. Those who cluck at me for enjoying it don’t understand the sublime moments of being in the trees.

I might fall and break an arm. I might fall and crack my neck.

One day, though, I will look back on my last time in the trees and want to trade an arm for the chance to be there again.

And that’s true for so many things in life. Whether it’s being barefoot in the cold creeks, walking through the grass where unseen reptiles slither, or ordering a bitterly acrid cup of coffee, one so rich that my teeth will blacken momentarily. I’ll have my last kiss. Enjoy my last walk.

So, if you see me in the trees, take a moment to quell the urge to remind me that gravity could pull me out of it. Traffic might be my demise. My arteries might invisibly pass a clot and knock me silent to the ground. An unlikely second plane might find me unexpectedly as it spirals. A shadow in the dark early morning might demand my wallet.

The last tree I’ll climb started growing decades ago. It all started with the pine tree and gnarled other trees along the drainage ditch in front and behind my grandparents’ modest house in Monroe County. Grandpa didn’t care if I climbed trees – or even found my way to the tin roof. To him, boys climbed things, and sometimes, a working man lost fingers in the long cutting belts of the dangerous lumberyards.

The last tree is waiting for me.

Love, X
.

Subversive

This isn’t a vaguepost. It’s an observation about how I interact with the world, which evidently runs afoul of many people’s attitudes. We need a ‘pass’ sometimes, wherein we can just stand and shout, “WTF, dude? Explain this to me.” Sometimes, the person in question might apologize and say, “I needed to get my entire foot in my mouth. I am so sorry. That was stupid and petty of me.” People are going to misbehave, have a bad day, or just suffer the same affliction of quickness and not thinking twice that I do. If we did have a ‘pass’ option, at least we’d know if they react angrily that we aren’t dealing with someone interested in communicating authentically. Ain’t nobody got time for that, much less the sanity of long-term exposure.

We can’t know someone’s intentions most of the time. That’s why it’s more important to observe behavior rather than words. But there are times when “nothing” actually happens, but someone has consciously or unintentionally demonstrated a horrific outlook. In those cases, words have significant power. Last week, I heard a story about an example of this. Anger flared inside me righteously and briefly. The person being treated poorly and demeaned will never know about it. But I do. And I’m stuck with the knowledge, knowing that the person and people involved revealed a sliver of the “real’ them in their behavior. It wasn’t mere pettiness. It was hostility on a basic level. They pulled back the veneer and let their mask slip. Witnessing or knowing such an attitude is inside a person fundamentally shifts my ability to trust such people. This is so much of the reason that I have lingering problems with people I know to be racists. If they gossip to you, they’ll gossip about you. If they treat others with subversive hostility, they’ll do the same to you. It’s just a question of when. Most prejudice stems from the false idea of superiority. Superior arrogance lends itself to a lot of rationalization regarding behavior. In most cases, we never hear about it because they recognize that such behavior or words are reprehensible. They conceal and camouflage the “real’ them. I’d rather deal with outright hostility in most cases. You can avoid a snake in the open field or when it announces its presence; the ones hiding in the grass at your feet mostly can’t be avoided.

Love, X
.
PS That’s my cat judging me for not kicking the heat up to maximum. He ain’t 7 feet off the ground for the view.

Unbearable Certainty

I walked into the E-Z Mart store with very few collected small winning lottery tickets from swinging for the fences with the impossible Megamillions and Powerball.

Instead of taking the cash, I told the clerk, “No, I’d like them back in $1 fast-play lottery tickets. I’m feeling very lucky today. I know I’m going to win.”

She laughed and smiled.

“No, I’m serious. It’s time. Remember? A plane will fall on you on a long enough timeline, and you might win the lottery.”

“Well, remember who sold them to you when you win.”

She printed off the tickets. I was shorted 3. While I was standing to the left of the register, I looked at the very first printed ticket.

Though you think I’m joking, the first line of the first ticket was a winner. Had I bought a higher denomination ticket, the amount would have been five times what I won. To think I’d have to work almost ninety hours to net that much money is preposterous.

The clerk is a believer now.

I’ve never had to file a claim form with the lottery. What I won won’t be enough to make much of a dent in my debt. But there’s no better feeling than to waste a tiny bit of money to get such a return. I haven’t gone to a casino or wasted my money gambling on anything substantive since very early 2021. Living single without a roommate and having emergency surgery tends to take the money out of your pocket.

Do you want to hear something even crazier?

I’m going to win something even bigger. I hope the work crew I throw in each week will win, just like everyone else buying tickets foolishly. I can’t imagine a better, more satisfying irony than to work like a mule for 18 years being eclipsed by something as impractical and impossible as a lottery. I’d love to look around at people and just experience the moment of incredulity. If such an impossible outcome ever happens, I’m going to need to block the work doors to prevent them from stampeding out of there.

Today, I won “a” lottery. A small one. It didn’t hurt my afternoon feelings at all.

I included a screenshot of an email I sent myself on Sept. 18th.

Love, X

Fortuitous

“The world won’t treat you better just because you’re a good person.” 

It’s a nice reminder. The corollary to this is also true:

“Just because you’re a bad person doesn’t mean you will ever suffer the consequences for it.”

Even if you do everything right, you might still fail.

And if you do a buffet of stupid things, the odds grow increasingly against you.

Then there’s fate, luck, or whatever you might label it. Despite it all, I’m lucky. 

On the anniversary day of my emergency surgery, I changed my desktop monitor wallpaper to the first picture I snapped once I realized I was not in purgatory. (Admittedly, my presence in the hospital bed might qualify. Both for me and the people supposed to be caring for me.)  I’m not sure how many times over the intervening days I’ve stopped and looked at the picture. 

Oddly, it mostly stopped me from saying, “Time is short,” with such frequency. It definitely has not abated the mental recitation. It had to have been in my subconscious the other day when I sprinted past a safety point for my body. It didn’t occur to me that perhaps my explanation for why I had several 200+ floor days on my Fitbit should be attributed to it. 

I spent too much time thinking about September 28th, 1991 as well. And about the two terrible head traumas I had as a child. I’m not including the punches from hands that should not have inflicted such anger. Those hands grew silent, as happens to all of us.

What’s my point? I don’t have one. There may well not be one, and I’m okay with that. 

Love, X

.