Tagged: life
Another Vote For Living In The Moment
“But!” he said, finger in the air, ready to make a point, “If Jesus and his message were so important, and God knew we’d invent video cameras eventually, why did God send him in a time period before technology could capture his life? Heck, not only did he never write anything himself, he probably couldn’t write. Isn’t that a strike against the whole thing?” he said, not wanting to offend him, but seriously wanting to discuss the issue. “I mean, all of this could be settled by a single video of him, right?”
“You know, I thought things like that for a long time myself. I would even go further than you just did and point out that precisely because there is no recording, the story’s fantastic nature was able to gain traction. I really wanted to believe that Jesus was followed by people and gained notoriety because the people of that time were ignorant and looking for answers etc., etc.,” the man replied. “But then a thought hit me–what if the timing of his life contained a truth in itself? What if God purposefully sent Jesus to reveal the gospel at a time before wide-spread literacy, much less technology?
“Starting there, I found something striking. If the general population Jesus lived among was illiterate and didn’t have TV, movies, or screens upon screens that prevented actual relationship from occurring, surely they had a more grounded existence. Whether they did or not, Jesus would have had to actually meet and greet people. Without sound amplification, his audiences would have been smaller. Without DVR, his speech would have had to be simple and clear. Without YouTube’s ‘I’ll record myself once and then put it out there for the world to see’, he would have been required to live with perfect integrity daily.
“For all technology’s benefit, we are clearly not reaching our potential as a group.
“Who would argue that talking on the phone is the same as in person? Who would rather skype than eat a meal together? And that isn’t even opening the door to the world of nothingness that is tweeting and texting.
“So, that’s what I tell myself to explain why God sent Jesus before things that would have helped ‘prove’ his divinity. Maybe a video would have helped with the miracles, but I think a lot of his message would have been lost in the process. As I understand this world and Jesus’ message to it, he was a man who wouldn’t want anything to come between him and us–including time and space.”
So You’re Dying To Hear What It’s Like, Eh?
Well, I’ll tell ya. Working at a car wash–for me–is like listening to a broken record on which is recorded Mr. Miagi’s “Wax on, Wax off,” Improved-George McFly’s “Now, Biff, I want make sure that we get two coats of wax this time, not just one,” and Chris Rock’s “Scrape, scrape, scrape…surely two hours have passed…WHAT?! Only 15 minutes!! AHHHHHH!!!!!”
In other words, it’s kinda fun. Thanks for asking.
Thinking It Was Not Worth The Energy
Thinking it was not worth the energy it would take to say “bye”, he looked simply looked at the screen to confirm the call was over.
With an uncommon hunger for clarity, he mindlessly walked to the kitchen. “Hah,” he chuckled, expelling a little air from his lungs, amused that there were always dishes in the sink.
Today should’ve been a good day. He had accepted a new job.
But now? Now he just wanted clarity. He had to trust himself. “Focus man. Focus,” he lectured himself. “Just like you, she’s hurting. You know the truth of the situation. You know what you value, and you know how you came to value it. Look to the Truth. The solution is living in the present. Don’t let yourself get distracted. You know how to filter out the chaff. The conversation was just chaff. Filter it. Filter it.”
Before he knew it, he felt the stainless steel faucet handle, cool and sterile, giving in to his fingers request. The pot, soiled by left-over spaghetti sauce, filled with warm water.
“Time to do the dishes,” he breathed, his energy building.
Life Without Money
No, he didn’t mean to conjure up some imagination-land inspired by John Lennon. He simply meant to capture some observations about life. Sometimes he had lots of money, and sometimes he had just enough money. He figured this made him similar to other people.
Of late, he found himself in the “just enough money” category.
Maybe it was just him, but when he had lots of money his problem was perfection. In both situations he spent all that he had, but when the dollar amounts were great, he took time away from some things he now values tremendously to find “the perfect” item. First, the perfect piano (really, it is amazing). Second, the perfect guns. Then there was the baseball phase. He bought the authentic Babe Ruth replica mitt. He found the greatest soft-toss machine, and accompanied it with an on-the-field hitting net the MLB itself uses in spring training. And just before the money ran out he bought the perfect motorcycles. One black-and-chrome American classic, and one dirt-cheap faux sport-bike. Not to mention the top of the line protective gear.
Had he stayed in that position, his next plan to relieve himself of money was race-car driving lessons. Yep, it was going to be great. Oh, and not that he was the boastful type, but this was on top of saving for college, having a nice home etc. But today? Today, he doesn’t plan out his expenditures. He pays for what needs to be payed for. And there’s something more. It’s difficult to describe, but for him there is a very tangible, attractive quality to the dream of returning to wealth. It’s almost as if he finds the dream of wealth more gratifying than the possession of wealth. There are times when he really, really, really hopes to have lots of money again. Sadly, though, he knows that when he does, the dream will end.
What do you know?
Do you listen-in on conversations? Do you hear the same things I do? Do you hear yourself talk? If, like me, you answered “yes” to these three questions, do you ever continue down the rabbit role and analyze the conversations?
I do.
42 words and a few minutes ago I intended to write, essentially, a sermon about how all that each of us do is talk ourselves up, a sermon about how all we really say is, “I know better than (fill in the blank).” That seems silly now. Instead, I’d like to simply share.
By now, most of you have guessed correctly that I am an American thirty-two year old white male. A constant criticism I have received most of my life is that I am a know it all. While I was a hot-shot special operations Air Force pilot, I happily let my profession answer the accusation.
I’ve been without my proof-is-in-the-pudding profession for a year and a half.
How do I answer the criticism now? Yesterday I took the “integrity test” at a Labor Ready storefront in hopes of being able to work for pay soon. The fella next to me asked the receptionist if he could use his “dee-ooh-see card” as his second form of identification. Unfamiliar with whatever he just said, I looked towards him. He was presenting his wallet for her to see. In his wallet behind the protective plastic, he had a Department of Corrections ID card. The picture was of him in the orange jumpsuit that America loves to see on TV.
Until yesterday I would laugh really hard each time a friend wittily observed that too many people are “educated beyond their intelligence.”
Yesterday, beginning with the alternating tobacco/marijuana smell that infused the air as I waited with others for the receptionist to return from a break and ending with the sight of the orange jumpsuit, I confirmed what I’ve secretly suspected all along: I don’t know shit.
I do like to write though.
Overrun The Runway
He hadn’t flown in a couple of years now, but it was time to renew his flight instructor certificate. The process involved reviewing a series of lessons and special interest items before taking quizzes to demonstrate mastery of the material.
As he didn’t really plan on flying again, he was doing this strictly to “be prepared.” He had worked hard to get the certification, and didn’t want to lose it if he didn’t have to. Who knew? Maybe he’d change his mind in the future. Regardless, the point is that he reviewed the data with curiosity, rather than practical application. The thing about aviation, the thing which he loved–and missed–the most, was the dedication of all involved to “doing it right.”
The noteworthy finding this time was the conclusion that overrunning the end of the runway on a botched takeoff is safer than trying to force an aircraft to fly. He loved it. What a metaphor! You see, he knew that a major reason pilots would choose to force an aircraft to fly was to save face. That’s it. Overrunning the runway on takeoff will inevitably lead to embarrassment–though likely not much else. And if there has ever been a group of individuals who would rather die than suffer embarrassment, it is pilots.
As he knew, as the reader knows, forcing the metaphorical aircraft to fly in grounded-life won’t cause death. But it does cause drama. And who among us doesn’t know someone who would rather create drama, than suffer embarrassment? He tallied how many times in recent memory he tried to “force the aircraft to fly.” How many times had he crashed and burned in life because he didn’t want to suffer the embarrassment that would have followed if he would’ve just put on the brakes and let his momentum peter out?
He’s asking us, “How many relationships could be deepened–or healed–if we made the decision to “overrun the runway” every once in a while?”
Living Three Days Out
This was it. His last day on the job. He’d waited, mostly patiently, for years to be able to quit as he pleased, and now he’d done it twice in one year. How does it feel? Remember Owen Wilson’s description of the ratio between excitement and scared in Armageddon? Nothing like that.
His life had been so planned up until this year that he still couldn’t believe how relieved this all felt. He just wanted to drink it up.
The great joy of the journey. What was going to happen next? He had some inklings, but no real vision. Honestly, while he had narrowed down his professional joys, he knew just one thing above all. He knew he was tired of trying to convince people of his value with his voice. Experience as his mentor, he was learning that the great thing about self-respect and dignity is that they are heavy enough to squash self-doubt.
How would it all turn out? That is what he longed to know. Emerson wrote about what it must have been like three days before Columbus and his crew discovered America. That day embodied the peak of excitement. That day exemplified the joy of living. Intuition caused him to identify with the sentiment as he read those words years ago. Now, experience was teaching him the full truth of it.
How To Start An Argument
(If you’re short on time, skip to the bottom for numbered instructions).
“Are you kidding me? That’s not at all what I said,” he said, resigning himself.
“That is what you said. That is exactly what you said,” she replied, her voice betraying her emotion.
“No. I said that your family does things different from how I’m used to. I never said they are weird. I never said they are wrong,” he argued, trying one last time to be clear.
“Well, I think if we Googled ‘synonyms for different’, ‘weird’ would make the list,” she said, calming ever so slightly.
“It might. But the difference is that ‘weird’ carries a value, whereas ‘different’ is value-neutral,” he said trying not to get excited too early.
“Why does my family have to be the ‘different’ one? Why can’t your family be the ‘different’ one?” she stammered, signifying she was beginning to understand.
“Because I was the one who said it. My family can’t be ‘different’ to me. My family is what I am used to. Therefore, if your family is not like what I am used to…they are different. You could say the same thing if you thought so,” he said, hoping to be done with the whole thing.
“Fine. My family is different to you, your family is different to me,” she said, unable to recall why this ever even came up.
“Good.”
“Good.”
“Your brother, on the other hand, is weird,” he said, laughing heartily as he ran.
Instructions for How To Start An Argument
Step 1 – Fail to communicate yourself fully and accurately on the first try.
Step 2 – Believe the other person is incapable of making the same error.
The Easiest Call To Answer
Breakfast at 7:00 am with his woman, a quick shower at 7:45, and they’d be out the door by 8:30 on their way to the home store. After picking up a few essentials it would be time to head to the hardware store. He desperately needed a new tool for weeding, and also a bit of potting soil. Oh, and winter fertilizer. If things went perfect, they’d be driving away from the hardware store at 11:00 on their way to meet friends for lunch at 11:30.
It wasn’t quite a sit-down restaurant, but the couples hadn’t seen each other in what seemed like forever, so he budgeted an hour and a half for the lunch. Farewell handshakes and hugs would conclude at 1:00 pm, so he figured they could be pulling out of the parking lot at 1:05, which would leave plenty of time to drive to the ‘burbs for their nephews game. The kid was only 6, so it wasn’t exactly organized. From his perspective it was more like a bunch of adults forming a fleshy boundary which attempted to keep sacred childhood. Either way, he was excited to see his sister and brother-in-law.
From there, the plan was to split-up for an hour or so to clean up. Then everyone would meet back up at 6:00 for some Colorado-style pizza. He figured they’d be out of the restaurant by 8:00–8:30 at the latest. Afterwards everyone would return to their respective homes, and have a nice quiet night on couches.
Yep, he was pretty proud of himself for having such a thought out plan, but now it was time for bed.
Pulling the covers up–awkwardly as usual–to warm the back of his neck, he shut his eyes, smiling.
He awoke. Widening his eyes as if that helped him regain consciousness faster, he reached for his phone. Seeing the time before noting who was calling, he read “5:30” with some confusion. “Who would be calling so early on a Saturday?” he wondered to himself. The screen informed him who it was, and he couldn’t help but smile.
“Honey,” he said. “Honey, wake up, wake up,” he said shaking her.
“What time is it?” she mumbled.
“Huh? Why? That doesn’t matter. We’ve got to cancel our plans for the day. The mountains called. They’re open!”
Rage Against Home School Teachers
“It is simply a matter of time. Quantity over quality,” he told his boss, the principal, as he resigned. He had never been so torn in his entire life.
How does one give up on a child?
****
He felt like crying.
The first step in solving any problem, he knew, was identifying it. The school district wanted high performance on standardized tests. The start of his resignation began when, as an outsider looking in, he surmised that the powers that be thought there was a direct correlation between the amount of paper on classroom walls and high performance on standardized tests. Finding himself in vehement disagreement, he wouldn’t support this doctrine. Remembering, or rather, not remembering there being much paper, certainly not much memorable paper on the walls of his childhood classrooms–save an attempt to show Pi’s irrational nature and a few motivational quotes–he couldn’t help but laugh at the sick joke.
In dealing with 13 year old’s who didn’t know their times table (and didn’t care to learn it), he recollected something he learned in college. He recalled learning that the notion of a juvenile, that is a 13-18 year old human, is man made. The theory goes something like, “until relatively recently puberty marked the coming-of-age of a human.” Puberty marked the entrance to manhood. It marked the entrance to womanhood. In at least Western civilization, however, we have something in between childhood and adulthood. We have the juvenile. For the deserving, this truly is a privilege. The deserving, those 13-18 year old’s who possess an ability to appreciate this extended grace period, should reap a benefit from past generations diligence. But the undeserving? What should happen to them? No matter whose fault it was, the undeserving should be placed where they’ll be placed in a few years anyhow–the adult world. “Don’t want to learn? Work. Find the simple joy of labor. Or, regret with a vengeance the stupid decision to not want to know how to think for yourself.” Either way, they’d be better for it.
Alas, frustratingly, even if he identified the problem as a misunderstanding of human biology, he only opened the door to another problem. What could have been done to teach 13 year old’s to value a readily available, free, and rigorous education? The answer? A home where education is valued. A better home school.
In his short tenure at the school he refused to call any of his student’s parents–for their protection. He wasn’t trying to protect the students, but the parents. He knew once the conversation began he wouldn’t be able to stop. “How could you raise your children with such carelessness? How could you not read to your children? How could you not ask about school and homework? How could you not demand the highest standards of behavior and performance? How could you reward their poor behavior with enabling feigned as ignorance?”
His own achievements convinced him of the simple truth that no expectation was too high. His own achievements began with the fear of earning a mother’s scorn. No way would she, or his father, have let his school advance him to 4th grade without doing his best in 3rd grade–and having the grades to show for it. His student’s parents though? Ha. They weren’t human beings. They were jokes.
****
How does one give up on a child? Most adults avoid situations which might result in needing to answer that question. He finally saw why. The answer was simultaneously unthinkable and the right thing to do. He cried.
Captain’s Log 