So, you’ve probably reading my stuff and thinking, “Jeez, what’s been up her ass lately?”
The answer to that probing query ironically enough, would be “an endoscope”.
But physical maladies are only part of my problem.
I’m not “blogging” (I do so hate that term) as much these days. I’m not sure any of you have noticed…or even care, but I’m not in much of a mood to do much writing. I’ve been thinking a lot lately and those who know me, know that NEVER bodes well….something perplexing this way comes.
I don’t know, I’m going through “a thing” right now. I’m not sure what it is. I’m restless and discontent. I feel change all around me and within me, but nothing is happening to me. It’s as if I’m the static center of a rapidly spinning roulette wheel and people are playing at my table and really lousy at the game because they’re constantly getting all the numbers wrong. WHY? Because I won’t stop spinning. And here’s the deal: this isn’t some metaphor indicating that I’m being resistant to change. I don’t think I am. I just can’t slow down long enough to actually be uncertain of how to proceed.
I don’t think that made any sense.
Let me try this: It’s comparable to enduring the panic that’s created in the relative calm before an impending storm.
OK, let’s say a strong Category 3 hurricane is due to make landfall in 12 hours and somehow, you’re looking at the most gorgeous sunset. It’s like this Technicolor irony played out before your eyes. An ignorant man would never know that a climatic juggernaut is bearing down on the area, but you do. But you can’t stop to enjoy “nature’s awe” when you know that “nature’s aw shit!!” is a few hours from possibly destroying everything you own.
And in those hours preceding landfall, you have big decisions to make; you have to figure out what you’re going to do–should you evacuate or hunker down. If you stay, what provisions do you have? What provisions do you need? Can you survive in a post hurricane world, where catastrophy is the order of the day? If you you leave, what do you take with you? What warrants taking; what merits leaving behind and then your grapple with the reality that anything left might not be there when you come back; if you can even come back at all.
That’s the storm in my head these days and therein lies all the uncertainty of change.
And herein poor Yorick, lies all that doth bother the ever lovin’ shit out of me.
Therefore, please oh gentle reader, indulge me whilst I go through this, my existential period. I assure you I will come out the other side of this malaise being all nasty, ribald and randy—just as you likes me, but for now, I must wallow.
This, I promise (fingers cross) will be my last attempt at getting all Kierkegaardian on you. So, feign enjoyment of this effort, as I struggle to fully comprehend the demands on myself; demands that can’t be met by mere intellectual decision, but will require the subjective commitment of my very being. This necessity and the seriousness of this ethical decision facing me, is by and large the source of my dread and despair.
Then again, I could just be bored.
A friend who knows me very well, sent the following to me….for reasons that will become quite obvious.
A boat docked in a tiny Mexican village. A well dressed, obviously wealthy American tourist was on the dock watching the boat come in. He noticed the Mexican fisherman’s catch and complimented the 30 year old on a job well done. He asked the fisherman how long it took to catch all of the fish.
“Oh, not very long at all,” answered the Mexican.
“But then, why didn’t you stay out longer and catch more?” asked the American.
The Mexican explained that his small catch was sufficient to meet his needs and those of his family.
The American asked, “But what do you do with the rest of your time?”
“I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, and take a siesta with my wife. In the evenings, I go into the village to see my friends, we have a few drinks, play the guitar, sing a few songs and then I come home to be with my family. I’m very happy and I have a full life.”
The American interrupted, “Well, that’s what you might think, my friend, but I have an MBA from Harvard and I can help you! You should start by fishing longer every day. That way, you can then sell the extra fish you catch. With the extra revenue, you can buy a bigger boat.”
“And after that?” asked the Mexican.
“With the extra money the larger boat will bring, you can buy a second one and a third one and so on until you have an entire fleet of trawlers. Instead of selling your fish to a middle man, you can then negotiate directly with the processing plants and maybe even open your own plant. You can then leave this little village and move to Mexico City, Los Angeles, or even New York City! From there you can direct your huge new enterprise.”
“How long would that take?” asked the Mexican.
“Twenty, perhaps twenty-five years,” replied the American.
“And after that?”
“After that? Well my friend, that’s when it gets really interesting,” said the American, laughing. “When your business gets really big, you can start buying and selling stocks and make millions!”
“Millions of dollars? U.S. American greenbacks? Really? And after that?” asked the Mexican.
“After that you’ll be able to retire…maybe you can even go live in a small, quaint Mexican village on the coast where you can sleep late, play with your children, catch a few fish, take a siesta with your wife and spend your evenings drinking, playing music and having fun with your friends. You know, being happy and living a very full life!”
And the moral of this story? Know where you’re going in life and by all means stop every once in a while, take a breath and look around you; Literally, stop and take a good look where you are.
You may already be there.,