If you ask the average adult in what month the Earth is closest to the sun, you’ll be surprised by how many people don’t know. If you push them to guess, they’ll likely cite a summer month.
While I truly believe that scientific vocabulary and the inane insistence that we memorize such terms is foolish, the fancy-pants term for the closest point to our sun is the perihelion. And it occurs in early January. We’re the furthest from the sun six months later, in early June. That point, too, has a fancy name derived from old languages. If you want people to remember it, why not “farpoint?”
The seasonal changes are caused by the tilt of our planet.
I think it is much more valuable to understand the concepts without the need to know the scientific terms we’ve assigned. It is more valuable educationally to understand the concepts than to identify the bottle of words we use to label knowledge.
Failing to understand such basic concepts as the ones I’ve cited lead people to incorrectly believe they understand climate, weather, and other phenomenon in our world.
This same observation applies to multiple things in our world and society. Minimal understanding often gets expressed as certainty regarding fallacious ideas and concepts.
I pulled over to see if I could capture the sound of songbirds near the junior high a block or two from where I live. I left my car running and was standing several feet away from it with my phone pointed up.
A neighbor from one of the nearby houses was leaving her house. I saw her come to a creeping crawl not too far from where I was.
“Hey, what are you doing?” She asked me. Her tone was pretty brash.
Because I was in that kind of mood, I walked quickly and stopped about 10 ft away from her vehicle.
I turned my phone toward her to show her the interface for the Merlin app.
“I’m a volunteer for the American Wdlife Association. There’s a large tiger running around within a quarter of a mile of here. I was using the app to detect sounds so we could locate it before anything weird happened.”
Her face froze because I said it in the most serious tone I could manage. Oddly, she didn’t say another word to me. Her driver window went up and she drove off.
I waited until she was decently far away before I burst out laughing.
What makes going to the movie so special? It could be the excessive butter that leads to gas-propelled walking and making you regret every decision you’ve made in your adult life by eating too much of it. The kernels that plague your teeth and make you reaffirm the decision that, yes this year, you need to go to the dentist. It could be the occasional narcissist who thinks that we need their phone lit up in order to see that they are checking their Tinder for people who are really into selfishness. Rarely do you see a brain surgeon at the theater. I really doubt that Chad or Karen needs to check their phone every 16 seconds.
And that leads me to one of the most joyous things about theaters. It is one of the last remaining places that we are supposed to pretend that our life doesn’t require our personal and immediate attention. We get to focus on a fantasy world, feel our heart race, and even feel a tear sometimes form in the corner of our eyes. Without the distraction of devices. We’re just sitting and absorbing a collective story that brings us happiness.
I’m old school. I want to see and hear the nuance on the screen and to dive in to an alternate reality for a couple of hours. To feel the spark of creativity and originality fire in my brain as I watch and listen. And that requires focus. No matter how people defend their restlessness, entertainment without focus is a diluted shadow of the experience when you aren’t aying attention.
I know people roll their eyes at me when I tell them I don’t get bored. There’s no secret to it. Even if you’re sitting alone on a quiet porch, there’s an entire world within your view. And another one inside of your head to match it.
It’s being in the moment and giving each moment your attention. I can’t help but think that so many people are sitting in the passenger seat of their car ignoring the world as it passes by. At the fulcrum of most people’s lives are their phones. They are the best communication and entertainment devices ever invented. But you have to remind yourself that for every second you are distracted by your phone, you are missing the world and the people standing right next to you. If if first come first serve is truly important to us, then surely it follows that the people already with us deserve our undivided attention.
And that’s one of the reasons I love movie theaters. We haven’t quite lost the expectation of being in the moment and focused.
Like all experiences, a great movie that is shared takes on new life. Much in the same way that doing something together has the same result. All of us can list seminal movies that changed us in small ways. None of it could happen without allowing the magic of imagination and focus to envelope us.
Yes, we also get to eat a bushel of popcorn and drink so much soda that we are afraid we might not make it to the bathroom before the movie is over.
The morning was colder than expected, and I hadn’t dressed as warmly as I should have. I’d put my feet in the creek until I couldn’t feel them anymore. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted infrequently, its hoot carrying through the early winter air deceptively. On a whim, I decided to climb one of the leafless trees as high up as I could manage. I was careful as I climbed and took my time. Falling in the dark would be an unwelcome surprise. I sat across a large protruding limb with my feet hanging in the darkness. Enough moonlight to see dimly diffused through the branches of the tree. It was beautiful and peaceful, and it still surprised me that more people didn’t attempt to experience it. They were too busy focused on two dimensions, disguising their disinterest as a concern for safety.
“Hey X, it’s too early to be up in the trees!” The voice sounded like that of a young boy. I craned my neck around to see him. I recognized Joshua’s voice despite it sounding completely different. I’d never heard his voice disguised in a younger person’s body.
“Tell that to the owl,” I wryly answered.
“Good point. But owls are designed to be up here.” Joshua laughed.
“I am too, or I wouldn’t be able to up here enjoying the view, Joshua.” I knew he was grinning at my reply.
“Let me come down so that you can see me, X.” I heard quiet movements in the tree next to me. Within moments, Joshua sat about twenty feet away from me.
“X, I know you were thinking earlier this morning about the world and how insurmountable everything seems to be.”
I nodded. “Yes. War. Hunger. People suffering needlessly. I keep waiting for the universe to intervene, even though I know it doesn’t work that way.”
“Remember what I said about truth? It’s deceptively simple. The universe, as you choose to call it, its already given you intelligence, which is all that’s needed to solve every problem in the world.”
I shook my head. “I don’t see it. People getting cancer, going without healthcare, fighting, all of it.”
“Disease, all of them, they can be prevented. But it takes focus. Resources. Intelligence. You have that in abundance. What you don’t have? Focus or the will to pool your resources to enhance education and research. The cure for cancers is amazingly close. But your collective ability to make it happen is absent.”
I laughed. “We can’t stop fighting over imaginary lines in the sand.”
“You could end hunger within two years. There’s enough food for everyone. And resources exceeding your needs. But you spend so much on defending against one another. A quarter of what you waste on defense would solve it. Forever. There will come a time when you’ll understand. But it will take another war to threaten your ability to see how childish your attitudes are.” I could hear the resignation in his voice.
“Everyone preaches compassion and care for one another, but when it’s someone outside their neighborhood, it doesn’t matter.”
“X, that’s it! It’ll stop once you realize that caring for your neighbor means everyone in the world. How you treat one person is how you treat everyone.”
“But…” I started to object.
Joshua rarely interrupted me. “You’re waiting for the universe to intervene. It is not interventionist. All of you are like the man waiting for someone to rescue him from the flooding rooftop, ignoring the boats that pass. You have everything you need in this world. It’s on you. That’s the gift.”
“Joshua, I feel like I’m not supposed to ask, but WHO are you really?” I didn’t expect an answer.
“I am who you say I am. If you’re looking for a title or a neat little box to identify me, I can’t help you. Who do you think I am, X?” I knew Joshua was being cryptic and smiling.
“I think you’re not as good a climber as me, Joshua!” I stood up and began climbing. I heard Joshua’s sneakers scrape against the tree he sat in. I knew he was following me up.
After a couple of minutes, we’d both reached as high as we dared. I looked across at Joshua. His face was illuminated further as the moonlight reached his face. For a brief moment, I saw myself standing in the tree across from me.
Joshua laughed. “I’ll be around, X. I’d tell you to be safe, but I know that there’s no such thing.”
I turned to look at the moon directly for a moment. When I looked toward Joshua again, his tree was empty. I stood in the tree for a few more minutes, listening to the owl and feeling the cold permeate me. Cold is always temporary, and insight is forever.
I found myself at the grocery store at 6 a.m. I wanted to go earlier, but COVID ruined such earlier adventures. I had no shopping list and was letting my whims propel my feet around the store. As usual, I spent excessive time in the sauce aisle; I can eat cardboard, provided I have sufficient things to dip it in.
Eventually, I searched for kale, lettuce, or mustard greens in the produce aisle. While sorting the lettuce, I heard a man behind me clearing his throat. Assuming I was in someone’s way, I turned and stepped aside.
An older man stood about five feet away. In his hand, he held a single green apple.
“Good morning, X,” he said and twirled the apple in his fingers.
Three weeks had passed since I last saw the man who once answered to the name Joshua. He looked different, something I realized would probably be the case each time I encountered him.
I knew not to engage in small talk. Whatever his reason for finding me, passing the time idly wasn’t on his agenda.
“You can’t be sure how the apple tastes, can you, X? It could be bitter or brown on the inside. No one enjoys that.”
I nodded. “Yes, we do focus on the appearance and just trust that it’s delicious.”
“Nature and evolution have designed things so that beauty attracts. It’s the way of things. Everything here is probably safe unless you’re allergic.” He smiled slightly and waited for me to formulate a reply.
“The same is true for people, Joshua. I wish it weren’t so.”
“X, beauty attracts. Even in the wild, that’s how it works, for either mating or consumption. A bird sees a brilliant red berry and swoops to eat it, not knowing it might be poisonous. Or if it does eat it, the same bird passes the seeds far away, ensuring the plant survives. It’s fascinating. Beauty has its purpose but beguiles when it conceals something else.”
I moved slightly closer to the produce bins and out of the aisle. “Sometimes I wish I were blind around people. It would make life easier.”
Joshua shook his head. “If you’re hinting at love and attraction, you’re right. Beauty attracts – but it doesn’t keep us close. A famous song once said that a pretty face doesn’t make a pretty heart.”
“No truer words have been spoken, Joshua.”
“It’s why you are designed with primal instincts. But it’s also why you have reason to overcome emotion. If you practice, you learn to see what’s on the inside of someone before taking a proverbial bite.” Joshua softly laughed. “We know how that usually works out.”
I laughed in response. “Our senses are designed to bring pleasure and seek out flavor, aroma, and beauty. We can eat our favorite meal, but if we smell barbeque, our desire for it almost cancels out what we’re having.”
“Ideally, you find someone who attracts you and has the capacity for love, humor, and understanding. But if they are like a bad apple, you won’t know until you bite. The error falls on you when you recognize the taste is off, but continue to let beauty dissuade you from getting another apple. You keep eating the same apple or keep picking up the same kind.” Joshua grinned slightly.
“If that’s the case, how do you know you’ve got a good apple, Joshua?”
Joshua smiled. “By observing their behavior, as I’ve told you before. It’s always in the behavior. Good people behave lovingly, have compassion, and don’t engage in complexity when dealing with others. They are who they say they are, and they do what they say they will. Beauty will fade. Character and who they are will not diminish with time.”
“What kind of apple do you recommend today?” I wasn’t sure if I was speaking metaphorically. I’d let Joshua decide.
“There are so many varieties of apples, X. Some of the best ones look less appealing but conceal a lot of flavor. You’ll know when you bite and find one suited to you.” Joshua smiled.
I smiled as I moved toward the display of apple varieties. As Joshua watched, I chose two random apples from six bins and put them in my basket.
Joshua laughed. “You’re learning, X.”
“I’m not so sure, Joshua.”
“That’s good. Certainty is the hallmark of closed minds. People with doubts keep learning and seeking.” With these words, Joshua turned and walked away and out of sight around the next aisle.
A couple of days ago, I made a batch of healthy soup and portioned it into four separate containers. Last night, I wanted a bowl of it for supper. Not because of the cold weather, although that provided additional justification.
Here’s where my life suddenly went wrong. Like sticking your tongue in a blender wrong.
A coworker bought Erika a mix of hot sauces for her birthday last month. I’m known to love sauces. I’ve been using them all in a constant pattern like I always do. They’ve all been interesting and distinct. Erika has them in a basket by the fridge. I just grab one, often without reading the label. I like surprises.
Last night, all these tendencies came to a head. Most surprises are great. Some, however, are like opening the toilet lid only to set off a glitter bomb filled with both glitter and sneezing powder.
If you’re familiar with Carolina Reapers, you know that they are massively hot. Among the hottest possible peppers. They are about ten times hotter than habañeros and are the source of many of those crazy videos on the internet wherein idiots consume a chip seasoned with them and then vomit through their eyeballs and sweat like a manager having their expense reports scrutinized.
I heated my soup a little in the microwave and then grabbed a random bottle from the basket, pouring about 1/3 of the bottle into the soup bowl. I sat down to eat.
This is where the fireworks started. With the first bite, I thought I had eaten a spoonful of liquid fire. My tongue went numb, which turns out was worse than immediately feeling pain. Painful heat would have clearly told me I had made the wrong move. I continued to eat spoonful after spoonful of the soup, unknowingly laden with the equivalent of Hawaiian lava. I felt my eyes dilate, and that’s when the numbness abated, and the heat began to sear me like a human barbeque.
Despite this, I decided to eat all the contents of the soup and leave aside the liquid. My reptilian brain thought this might help. The heat continued to grow. As I finished the solid part of the soup, I felt like a cartoon character whose hair suddenly lit up with fire. I went to the kitchen and dumped the liquid.
Luckily, there was old ice cream remaining in the freezer. I grabbed the remnant of it, took the ice cream bucket to the living room, and began to use it in an attempt to appease the fire gods celebrating in my mouth.
I sat and imagined that if the amount of Carolina Reaper I’d consumed hit me wrong, I might find myself duct-taped to the toilet this morning or suffer the additional indignity of having it forcefully come back up and out my nose. The incredible heat of the Carolina Reaper sauce was already making me feel like I was breathing inside a chamber filled with Vick’s VaporRub.
As much as I protested to Erika, I don’t think she realized how epically I had misjudged the heat of that hot sauce bottle. I did my best to control my breathing. Before going to bed, I quickly drank two full glasses of water from the sink. When I lay down, I was certain I would awaken in a few hours and hear the thunderous rumbling of my stomach as it attempted to process what can only be described as fiery insanity. And then I would need to impersonate Usain Bolt in a vain attempt to reach the bathroom before the carnage ensued.
When I woke up this morning, my stomach wasn’t protesting more than normal, but I did feel like I was floating from the dose of preventive water the night before. After sitting and drinking a cup of coffee at 1:30 a.m. I felt the rumble.
So far, I’ve not found myself writhing on the floor or being able to shoot fire out of my nostrils like a bad comic book hero. But I do feel like I’m breathing with a mouthful of Vick’s VaporRub.
But I am nervous.
I made the mistake of Googling the consequences of consuming any such quantity of Carolina Reaper.
I didn’t know it at the time last night, but I basically consumed more of this pepper in one sitting than most hot pepper-eating champions can. It’s because I was unaware of what I was about to consume; had I known, it would have never occurred to me to try it.
Keep your fingers crossed for me.
This could be one of those days where you see me sprinting across the parking lot with my pants down, hoping to sit in the cold water of the creek. Witnesses will probably see one of the rarest of sights: fire underwater.
Love, X .
P.S. The first thing I did was drink five glasses of water, one after the other before having a cup of coffee this morning. I’m an optimist, but after Googling this damned pepper, I think I might need an IV later.
As I drove on the interstate heading toward Lowell, I saw a motorcycle coming up fast behind me. It was changing lanes as the man expertly swerved and maneuvered through traffic. As the bike passed me on the left, I looked over briefly to see a younger man without a helmet looking back toward me as he passed. His upper body was covered in tattoos. He nodded once at me as he roared past. Something about him seemed familiar. He sped on, and I forgot about him after a couple of minutes.
Pulling into the industrial warehouse parking lot, I drove around the side of the long building and parked. When I exited the building, I saw that the man who passed me on the motorcycle was in the parking lot. He leaned against his bike as if he were waiting. He was close to the entrance I needed.
As I drew closer, he nodded and said, “Hello, X.”
I stopped and looked at him, trying to place him in my memory. When my eyes met his, I realized it was the man who once answered to the name Joshua. Gone were the wrinkles and gray hair.
“I see that you’re starting to see things as they are, X.” Joshua smiled intently.
“It’s quite a shock to recognize you, even though you’ve changed your camouflage, Joshua.”
“X, I never camouflage. I am each of the people you see and am always myself. Simplicity is always complex, and vice versa, if you’re paying attention. And I think that you are.” Joshua laughed, this time a young man’s laugh, full of baritone and vitality.
“I wish I could do that, Joshua. Change things up at will.” I smiled at my cleverness.
“But you can. When you realize it, you’ll wonder why you put on the same clothes and followed the same unsurprising path each morning.”
“Joshua, I can’t change everything about myself on a whim like you.” I thought I had him cornered with my reply. I should have known better.
“I haven’t changed. It is your perception of me, X. When I passed you on the interstate, you only saw a speeding tattooed young man on his way to trouble. Am I wrong?”
I hesitated. “Well, yes. But that’s because that’s what I saw, Joshua.”
Joshua smiled. “What have I told you about how much of an illusion your eyes provide you? I ride the interstate like I am to remind people of the part of their nature that they think they miss. Adventure, being carefree, happy, without a care – and even danger. The illusion is that they already have all those things each day, if they choose them. It is a choice. And the universe is not a safe place to believe otherwise.”
I nodded because it always sounded true when he spoke, even if I didn’t understand the nuance. We usually do recognize truth, even if it is only in tiny morsels. And sometimes, not even when life gives it to us via a board across the back of our heads.
“I look like this because people only see the truth from a place or person they are familiar with. Some see it in older people, some in teachers, and others in the clergy. Others find it in nature. Everyone would be happier if they realized that they could learn from anyone. That includes laborers, ex-convicts, and even the angry man shouting three doors down. Life is the teacher, and each person plays a role, positive or negative. But they must be willing to experience life from that perspective. You wouldn’t invest your life’s earnings with me, would you? But you’d assume I could change the tire on a car.”
“Damn, you got me again, Joshua.”
“Just don’t let your eyes or experience make assumptions for you, X. Everything has something to teach you.” He smiled again.
“Okay.”
“You promise?” He asked. “Ex nihilo nihil fit,” he added. “I don’t mean it in the philosophical sense. You can’t squeeze juice from a rock or get meaning from life unless you learn and pay close attention. Always.”
With those inscrutable words, Joshua turned and sat on his motorcycle.
“I’ll see you another day, Joshua. Be safe.”
“There is no safety. Just precaution. You’ll learn about that, too. But another day, X.”
Just as my mouth opened to reply, Joshua’s bike roared to life, and he sped away, around the building and probably back toward the interstate.
When I finished my errand, I drove back to the interstate, watching the hundreds of vehicles merge, pass, and continue on. Each contained someone who could teach me something if I listened.
I was bone-weary after work, waiting for my second or third wind to invigorate me. Because I’ve learned that it works the other way around and that movement precedes energy, I drove several miles to be close to the river. I walked barefoot along the rocks and underbrush, not knowing if I was trespassing or who owned the land. After twenty minutes, the sun came through the clouds and warmed me considerably. I rolled up my pants and waded into the river until the water reached above my knees. I wanted to swim across to the other bank.
From behind me, a familiar voice startled me. I couldn’t quite place the voice. When I turned to see who was on the bank, I saw an older man holding a walking stick. His dark eyes watched me intently.
“Are you lost in thought out there?”
“Yes, I am. I was certain I was alone out here,” I replied. “You look and sound familiar.”
The old man smiled. “You met me a couple of weeks ago by the creek, sitting on the bench.” His smile became slightly quizzical.
I nodded. “You look…different, though. And your voice is deeper.”
“Sometimes I change what is concealing me.” I knew he wasn’t talking about just his clothing. It surprised me that I wasn’t concerned or alarmed. Some people seem to be exactly who they are no matter how you see them.
“I’m X, by the way. What’s your name?”
He nodded. “I know who you are, of course. Most people used to call me Joshua, X. It’s as good a name as any.” He looked up. “I can call it the sky or the above; it’s still the same thing.”
I laughed. Having changed my name, which I felt he somehow knew, I understood better than most.
“Nice to meet you, Joshua.”
Joshua nodded.
“X, what was on your mind when you got out there in the water?”
I shook my head. “I guess it’s the mess we make of our lives when our words and actions don’t align. People are a constant source of letdown, Joshua.”
Joshua grinned, this time with a wide smile, exposing brilliantly white teeth. “A better way to demonstrate what motivates you is how you act. Words are easy. People should be able to watch you and see. Even if they don’t know what motivates you, they can see the behaviors that faithful and loving people are supposed to emulate. And I don’t mean that phony way that so many assume when they’ve seen a part of the light. Love only exists when it’s expressed through behavior.”
“I’m not sure I agree. If someone is holding me and telling me that they love me, isn’t that part of it?”
“You’ve missed the subtle point. They are showing you through behavior. They are with you, giving their time, presence, and focus. People make time for the things they value, just as they shun what they don’t. If you learn to watch them, you’ll know. That closeness is the gift.”
“Damn, you’re right!”
“Yes, I know.” He waited a second before laughing. “When you first went into the river, I saw you looking across it. If you want to get across the river without having to swim, just walk directly toward the dead tree over there.” He pointed at a broken tree near the water’s edge on the opposite shore.
“How will I get back across?” I sounded stupid when I said it.
“No, it’s not stupid. I will leave my walking stick here in the mud like I always have. You just need to look for it when you’re ready to come back.”
“Deal,” I said and turned to walk across the river’s unseen depths. I don’t know why I didn’t doubt him. “I’ll see you later, Joshua.”
“Surely you will, X,” the old man said as I started wading across the river. When I reached the opposite bank, I turned and saw the walking stick jutting from the mud of the riverside, just as he promised.
I spent an hour walking the woods on the otherwise unreachable side of the river before returning to find my way toward the walking stick. As I passed it, I left it in the mud for the next person to find. Although I doubted many people found their way to this spot given the difficulty of doing so, I have learned that someone always follows in the steps you’ve walked.
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.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 