It’s all perspective. The custom painting in my kitchen alcove expresses it well: “Black Hole Sun-The same sun, yet filtered by negligent eyes, renders darkly all that shines.”
I can worry about the moronic changes in my professional life or look at the parking lot below and consider all the recent ill-advised shenanigans from those who traverse it. I can also turn and look through my large screenless windows into the living room and watch my cat shoot across the uneven levels of the massive cat castle like a feline projectile. Güino doesn’t concern himself with the outside world. His perspective is limited. Given the massive amount of information and bustle I experience on a given day, I think he’s winning in a way that I can’t.
I had infinite energy this morning. So I burned it off like useless gas derivatives being lit at the top of oil refineries.
A lot of our lives are like the burned gasses. We spend so much time and energy wanting to control or direct the world around us. We’d be better off focusing on the immediacy of things and people around us.
This post is partially personal and also a metaphor. Or analogy. Although I know the difference, I don’t care about grammatical accuracy. If this post is all over the place, you can thank me later for taking you around the world with my shotgun storytelling.
In 2005, I visited my brother north of Chicago. He brought out a giant bag of tortilla chips, one suited for his appetite. Then, he brought out high-quality horseradish and made a two-ingredient dip. Although I’m laughing when I write this, my brother Mike might have held me down with one of his giant paws of a hand and inserted a horseradish-laden tortilla chip into my mouth had I persisted in refusing to try it. I grabbed a chip and loaded it. My brother’s eyes widened, and he laughed like a hyena because he knew I would eat the whole bite. Though it burned, it was delicious!
“See, you dumb bastard? I told you you would like it. This ain’t the horseradish Aunt Ardith kept hidden in a side shelf.”
Although my brother was one of those people who thought he was always right, I had to give him credit for insisting I at least try horseradish. The worst that could have happened is that I still would have hated it.
All these years later, I think about that. He did the same thing with guacamole after I refused to have some freshly made guacamole at what used to be my favorite Mexican restaurant in Springdale. Guacamole was the equivalent of turkish delight from C.S. Lewis’ Narnia tales.
I am now a world class aficionado of pico de gallo. For too many years, I assumed I wouldn’t like it because my mom made me automatically distrust onions. Onions were the second component of her one-two punch of seasoning, which consisted of onions and cigarette ash. It was a story of culinary violence in the South, never knowing if the potato salad or mashed potatoes would have fantasy-level chunks of onions.
The above anecdotes hint at much of our problem. Because I was naive and poor, I was rarely exposed to a wide swath of food, much less quality. My cousin Jimmy’s house was the crucible of exposure to many foods. Because of my dad, Bobby Dean, almost literally making me eat food at gunpoint, some of my first exposures to some things were less than ideal. That’s putting it mildly. Some of the food at my house was the equivalent of the discarded version of what you would find behind a dollar store grocery aisle. That explained my aversion to morel mushrooms.
And also horseradish.
I don’t remember how old I was when I first tried horseradish. I remember the time that soured me on it. It turned out to be old and nasty by any standard. So, it’s no wonder my first exposure was the equivalent of eating a goose-poop-filled donut. I was lucky to have Aunt Ardith and Uncle Buck. Without them, my life would have been much worse in several ways. Visiting my cousin Jimmy always guaranteed that I’d be well-fed and get to try a variety of things. I like to joke about the horseradish because it was one of the few times that Aunt Ardith convinced me to try something exotic (to me). She had the best intentions, unlike my dad. If he got a hint of an idea that I didn’t like something, you can be sure that I’d be eating a bucket of it. Aunt Ardith and Uncle Buck did their best to tell Dad to jump off a cliff when he behaved that way around them.
We have parallel aversions to many things resulting from our initial exposure. Look at most relationships, and you can see that it’s true. You had your heart broken. You repay your future self by carrying the mistake and believing that all relationships will turn sour. Or you think most people grew up without the love and caring everyone needs. You carry your words into the future, and all the potential people you meet indirectly pay for the wound. You either avoid deep relationships or insist the system is rigged and broken. The concept of relationships isn’t the problem; it’s us. You’re letting your version of horseradish tarnish your future with other people.
Life is horseradish and guacamole.
Be open to new things.
Be aware that you may have blinded yourself or made truth from experiences that should not be extrapolated into cynicism or isolation.
Although it is true that people rarely fundamentally change, it is possible both in outlook and preference.
Changing is, in part, acknowledging that the things, habits, and ideas that once defined you no longer do.
Only healthy people change their minds and their lives.
PS During this crazy election, I’ve had a few laughs because of my brother. He’s been gone for four years. In his later life, one of his proclivities was to be a blowhard, much in the ilk of Bill O’Reilly. My job was to be the liberal and sentimental brother that drove him crazy. And as I was fond of telling him, the person left standing gets the last word. Since I bought gallon by the ink, he didn’t have the temperament to keep up with me. If he were still alive, he’d be pissed off at me constantly. But I miss it. Not the anger of the last few years; that period owes its shadows to alcohol and unresolved trauma. I miss the undeniable intelligence of my brother, even when he used it to wither my well-intentioned arguments. I absorb a lot of the election craziness and play a dialog in my head, one in which my brother is the one repeating conspiracy theories and horrible rhetoric. My brother taught me that if you can’t argue the facts, you pound the table. If that fails, flip the table.
PSS I chose a different picture for this post instead of one of my brother. Both pictures are of joy and of family time. Even though there was a backdrop of unease during both visits, each of the pictures reveals both youth and connection. In one, my niece Brittany charges toward me as I stand by a pond outside a cabin on King’s River. I got deathly ill from food poisoning on that visit, and Mike’s police K-9 got violently snakebit while we were all swimming in the river. Behind Brittany, as she runs, my deceased wife watches happily. The other picture from another visit is of my nephew Quinlan kicking my ass as the three of us wrestle like savages. I’d forgotten that their dog was watching from the doorway. The third picture is of me and my brother. Mike had his wife bought me a plane to ticket to visit them in Illinois. I love the picture despite the goofy look on my face. It documents my brother’s vibrancy in the “before” part of his life. Mike bought me tickets for two such trips, and his doing so proved that he loved me and also missed me. It was before the branching of his life; the picture captures what could have been the case for the rest of his life had he made that choice. My niece is a mother now, and when I think about the fleeting speed of life, I get a glimpse of the idea that nothing stands alone in our lives and that each moment unfolds from the previous one. We don’t see its unfolding or interconnectedness until later.
The universe definitely has a perverted sense of humor. Perhaps It is providence that it wants to repeat a lesson or theme until it sinks in. Possibly it is coincidence.
The other morning, I wrote a post sharing myself and my thoughts. As happens, someone reacted very badly to it – and rightfully so from their perspective. But their reaction was based on a misunderstanding, one that punctuates what I was trying to say. I wish I could have given them a hug. It wouldn’t have solved anything, but silent human acknowledgment is often more than we need. She accused me of being self-righteous. It stung and triggered a defensive reaction. Which of course means that she’s right. We only react when something challenges us. I earned myself self-righteousness. It does not serve me well and of course I understand that it makes me unlikeable to some people.
I had so many alcoholics in my periphery that their stories overlapped. It’s because at the heart of it, it is the same story repeated in an endless loop, like trying to ride a unicycle while drinking hot tea.
All of us are out here in the world staying busy, earning a living, and avoiding facing the idea that in so many ways we are small children camouflaged as adults.
By coincidence, someone on my periphery was secretly struggling with the consequences of someone else’s choice to dive into the bottle. Her story overlaps with mine. Although she didn’t say it in that way, I could feel the ambivalent resentment and love reverberate. It’s a feeling I know all too well. It’s why I wrote the Bystander’s Prayer that sometimes comes back around to me on the internet.
There are people around you right now who need hugs and attention. But what they’re getting is the temporary allure of things that distract them. The distraction comes with a price, one paid incrementally and almost always ending the same way.
The things we choose to numb us end up isolating us. If not in person, definitely in our own heads.
Sunlight cures almost all of this. Setting aside secrecy. Embarrassment. Shame. Not changing is a choice. We’re supposed to be honest and open, starting with ourselves. The fact that we can’t be adroitly explains why we cannot be that way with other people.
For all of you out there who sometimes need a song blasting on the way to work… Find “A Symptom Of Being Human” by Shinedown. I’ve listened to this song multiple times with a critical ear, trying to pinpoint what exactly this song embodies that provokes an emotional reaction in me. The closest I can come Is that it invokes a nostalgic feeling without being tied to a specific time period. It’s a song about mental health and having empathy for every human soul who crosses your path. Even toxic bastards, managers, baseball fans, and registered voters. It’s Thursday which means you’ve made the mistake of delineating your days as if one has more importance than any other.
“It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose. That is not a weakness; that is life.” Captain Picard. I come back to this quote often. Lord knows I am not guilty of doing everything right.
When I went skydiving recently, I signed many waivers, ones that consistently reminded me that I was giving away all control. The back of my parachute harness made this clear; almost anything can happen when you jump out of an airplane. Not just human error but a million mechanical or environmental things. The universe is not a safe place. The truth is that almost anything can happen when you’re on the ground, too. Your organs can spontaneously fail, an invisible aneurysm can surrender, or a vehicle can come from nowhere and turn out the lights without warning. You can wake up to find someone you love has departed, whether through the door or into the unknown place that waits for each of us. A plane can fall from the sky, even if it is piloted by the most expert of those who chose the job or avocation. You can trip on the sidewalk and break your neck, even on a beautiful sunlight-filled day.
I knew in real time when I leaned out of the open plane into the sky that THIS was the moment I’d waited for. Not the 30 seconds of freefall, nor the minutes of floating down with the parachute, watching how everything looks different from such a height. Don’t get me wrong. When the instructor asked me how it was to jump out once we were floating, I enthusiastically shouted, “Holy f@ck!” It was already over by the time I struggled to hold the harness on my chest and keep my arms and head tucked safely. The unspoken thing about skydiving is that you’re going to get back to the ground – one way or another. Likewise, you’re going to end up somewhere in life, even if you don’t make conscious choices.
The next part is tough to admit. I jumped out of selfishness. The day I was in the tree, watching a plane go over, I just knew I had to jump. I waited to be nervous or afraid, even on the long ride up into the beautiful afternoon sky. The only moment that I really wanted was to experience leaning out the door and knowing I had to let go. The moments during and after were window dressing and distractions from wanting to KNOW what would go through my head. It wasn’t fear because it didn’t feel real in the way that we think about reality. It was surrender.
Even if fear had overwhelmed me, I still would have fallen out. Oversimplifying it, the result is the same. There is a lesson in there. The result for each of us is the same, ultimately. It’s the in-between and how we either enjoy the moments or are dismayed by them. Overthinkers and anxious people spend too much time concerned with appearances, control, and things beyond our control. Your face, mind, and body are the ones you have; work with what you have, change what you can, and release the rest of the nonsense into the void. I can preach it because although I understand it, I don’t consistently practice what I preach. That pisses me off.
When you are prone to anxiety or worry, you’re really not seeing that you are trying to be in control of things that aren’t in your domain to do so. Both anxiety and worry take energy and focus away from what it is. Cognitively, I get it. But if you can accept the idea that although you live your life perfectly, the results are not going to be perfect. So why do we expect things to go moderately well when we know we aren’t doing things correctly? There’s nothing you can do about it. This sort of visceral understanding can either mobilize you to action or it can freeze you in your tracks, maybe forever.
I say I jumped out of selfishness because it’s true. I’m hoping that the moment of looking out into the sky clogs my head with the absurdity of worrying about the infinite list of things that cannot be controlled. I’ve been in the headspace before where I was completely detached. It’s liberating, but it is also dangerous.
I’ve reminded many people about this because it infects many relationships. Pay attention to what your person says they want or need. They’ll repeat it – until one day, they go silent. That silence equals danger.
Some days, there are so many triggers I feel like I’m at a gun show. I wish I had the capacity and audacity to consistently see the truth in my reflection. It’s one thing to intellectually know that the past is a shadow behind you in the mirror and another to nod at it and give it the finger. It’s true that the past is our shadow. That’s all it is. A phantom and needless stone that we carry in our pocket instead of putting it down. I often think of the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I know each day often gives us the miracle of a new attitude if we simply decide it. People are going to carry in their heads an image of you that no longer exists. Fighting it is idiocy. If you can accept that is truth, you should be able to accept that swatting away the shadow in your head is equally possible. I think a lot about my sister because her scenario highlights the hypocrisy I practice. All she can do is stay on the new path and let time do the rest. I call myself a hypocrite because I catch myself judging her against the backdrop of her previous life. It’s a natural and normal reaction but one that serves no one. The optimistic people among us know that radical change is possible. The practical side of us nods towards the idea that we know it’s not likely in many cases. We’re all going to fall down in the mud. It really does boil down to whether we will wipe it off and keep going. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t listen, hear, or see someone managing to salvage their life or sanity. Some days are the opposite scenario. The same circumstances turn one person into a cynic and another a saint. All we need is Rocky music playing in the background when these things happen. X .
After doing what I had to do in order to do what I want to do, aka work, and doing a blizzard of chores… I could not resist the call of the creek. I followed one of the little tributaries until I was certain I would break my neck doing so. Even though it’s 80 plus, the water is a bit chilly and my feet started feeling as cold as a senator’s heart. I could not quite make it to a tree with at least two dozen huge crows in it. It sounded like a management meeting wherein everyone was arguing about what color the cover sheet should be for the new TPS reports. Light breeze, the sound of the water cascading, and would-be managers cawing crazily in the overhead canopies of the trees. Maybe because it’s been a while since I’ve walked down the middle of the stream beds… It’s hard to simultaneously bear a grudge against the workday while experiencing such a familiar feeling. I tried hard to find something to gripe about. But the water cascading kept telling me to be quiet and be still. If you’re not prone to overthinking, you might not understand the imposed stillness. X .
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 