The Truth

I will probably never need to know how to escape a sinking helicopter like Destin Sandlin from Smarter Everyday. But at the end of this video he draws an analogy from a keen observation.

The marines in the video are training for something that might happen in their military careers, how not to panic and escape from a sinking, inverted crashed helicopter. For most of us, the first thing we do in an emergency situation is to be a little freaked out. It happens to the best of us. I experienced this the night my wife was bleeding internally and none of the ER staff knew what was happening for 9 hours. Suddenly I was confronted with hospital personnel who were shoving papers in front of me, telling me where to sign to authorize them to perform exploratory surgery. Fuck!

Panic is a natural phenomenon. It happens when we are faced with an overwhelming scenario, too much input for us to process quickly. It seems counterintuitive that we should have this as a reaction because it is a lousy defense mechanism. The proverbial deer in headlights scenario comes to mind. We just don’t know what to do next, so we freeze. Some people, instead of doing nothing (which can be fatal) will do something, but not thinking, and that is equally dangerous, because panicky people are unpredictable. You cannot anticipate what’s going to happen, and people can get hurt. Fortunately for me I was being guided in that ER by competent people – well, competent when they realized what was happening – and they saw the look of bewilderment and terror in my eyes at the prospect that my wife was very likely going to die in front of me, and I couldn’t do anything, save sticking a needle in my arm for a transfusion.

Destin says something very reassuring toward the end of the video. He mentions that in the midst of being turned upside-down and having your nasal cavity filled with water, the worst thing you can do is panic, because you already have things working against you, things like being underwater, being inverted and not having your bearings, and other lives in the balance. Panic is not your friend, and you need something to anchor yourself to the truth. Stay in your seat until you get the breathing apparatus and take a couple of breaths. “Stay anchored to the truth.” The truth for those upended marines was that the seat and the exits were still in the same orientation. Nothing in that relationship changed, and you could count on it. Being inverted, if you stay in your seat – even though the water’s surface is under your feet, and bubbles are going down from your breathing apparatus – you know where you are in relation to the exits if you’re still sitting.

The truth I had to anchor myself to was the realization that only the doctors and nurses could help my wife. Eventually, a specialist had to be brought in. The truth was she was in good hands. That was a very hard thing to do, letting go of any illusion that I had control over the situation. I barely had control of my bladder. But the surgeon was able to stop the bleeding, with the help of an enormous blood clot – and repair the rupture. A week in the hospital and several units of blood later, and we were home again. Nothing can prepare you for such an emergency. But it quickly becomes apparent what is most important in the moment. I am fortunate that my anchor held fast. It’s sometimes not possible to know that the truth you’re anchored to is the right one, especially when someone’s life is at stake. The young marines in the video knew that in that situation where up was down and right was left, they could count on knowing how to get out as long as they didn’t panic.

I’ve seen people freak out in the past, sometimes in situations that most people could handle with little effort. Our experiences reshape us over time, and the longer you live the more likely you are to grow from these trials. Some people do not. From my perspective, similar to how we can’t feel the disorientation by watching the video, I can’t really know what people are going through without being there. We might be able to say, “don’t panic”, but until we are sitting in the helicopter as it’s plunging in the water and turning over, we will never really understand how hard it really is not to freak out and save our own butts.

Giving Thanks

What am I thankful for? I might complain about my petty, first-world problems, like when my internet connection is slow, or how long it takes for my washing machine to wash clothes (my great-great grandpa would be astounded). But I have a lot to be thankful for, and it shouldn’t be simply an annual exercise to express one’s gratefulness. Nevertheless, I would like to do that now.

I am thankful for the wretched excesses I have within my reach, and I have limits to my ability to get whatever I want. I’m thankful that my life is so easy; I eat everyday; I can find food without hunting it down, but I can hunt if I wish, provided I pay for a license. I am grateful for the freedom I have to say and write anything I want, even in criticism of our leaders, which is punishable in some of the countries we support.

I am free to worship the way I want, or to renounce my faith, if were so inclined. I’m thankful for the many liberties afforded me. I am also thankful that I have family and friends who support me, even though I am an insufferable asshole.

I’m thankful for the dirty dishes, for they are evidence that I am well fed.

I am grateful for my wonderful wife, who loves me, supports my every whim, and argues with me; and even goes tent camping with me! (I think she would prefer we live in a rustic log cabin in the woods, off-grid and fairly isolated.)

I give thanks for my health, which could improve. I’m a work in progress.

I’m thankful that there are people in my life who not only tolerate me, but they encourage me and seem to be forgiving. It’s not as if I have transgressed to great extent. But I am a self-conscious individual, and it helps to know that people don’t hold grudges, or that they don’t tell me if they do. Whatever.

I am grateful for my sense of humor. Not everyone gets my jokes. But I get theirs.

And I’m thankful for today. Tomorrow doesn’t exist. Neither does yesterday, for that matter. Now is the only reality, and I am grateful for that. This is by no means the end of my list of things to be thankful for, but I have a lot to do in the kitchen, and I’ll continue reflecting on this as I’m chopping and dicing and sautéing.

Cheers!

Perceived Isolation

I switched mobile carriers and platforms this week. My timing was off; and, as a result, I have had 48 hours without a working mobile phone. This troubles me, not because I feel a profound sense of isolation from my contacts and the world. In reality, I am not disconnected. And seclusion is not a loathsome condition for me anyway. I rather enjoy camping out in the Smoky Mountains, where you would be hard pressed to obtain a wireless signal. No, my dilemma has been that I have a nauseating sense that people have been desperately trying to reach me at my old number. (I relinquished that number deliberately for a number of reasons; more on that later.)

Part of my problem is that I paid for express delivery, and, naturally, the shipment has been delayed. I did visit a brick-and-mortar shop, but the staff were not competent, or they were condescending, or I’ll come up with some other not-my-fault reason why I didn’t stick around. Chalk it up to low blood glucose. In any case, I stand by my decision to order things online. My unlocked phone arrived sooner than expected, so at least I was able to configure some settings and download apps in preparation.

Now, I realize I sound like someone for whom this handy little bit of technology has become a necessity. I freely admit that I carry the devilish little microcomputer with me everywhere. I find myself looking up obscure or inconsequential data, like the fact that Nick Offerman and Megan Mallally (Ron Swanson and Tammy II) are real-life husband and wife. Going without the portal to all the world’s knowledge in my pocket has made me feel oddly out-of-commission, but mainly due to the feeling that people have been unable to reach me. I imagine there have been group conversations, where someone keeps asking for me to respond.

I admit to my self-conscious, perhaps egocentric, attitude. In reality there should be a world in which any one of us could be out of reach for a weekend. I remember the ’90s, when this was the norm. Not many of us had mobile phones back then. We didn’t have the possibility of staying connected beyond our immediate companionship. But I’m not going to make this a rant about how things were “back in my day”. There are plenty of posts from people of every generation bemoaning the loss of their youth and complaining about the youth of today, about how we or they take everything for granted. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Monday may be back to normal. But I’m reminded of where we are as a culture, dependent on mobile technology, where even going to the movies requires an app. I wonder where we’re headed. A few TV programs like Black Mirror and The Orville have showed us one version of the future. I think it’s possible we might be making a move toward society where public opinion can overrule truth. We’re already seeing this. Facts are valued less than emotions. Opinion is presented as fact. I’m not worried because every generation has witnessed what they perceive as a decline of civilization. First it was a proliferation of contractions in our language. What’s next?

Everything will change. Even the things that seem to be constant have changed. For example, currency has been with us since the beginning. Crypto-currency, however, is revolutionizing how we think about money. Someday, perhaps gene therapy may replace our current methods of fighting diseases, but we will always have disease. Having mobile internet is so commonplace now. I wonder what will change as a result of generations of people being accustomed to the wealth of knowledge. We’re always ready to record events and non-events. We can produce movies with smartphones. And a lot of this has all happened within a lifetime.

As for me, I’m hardly secluded. Even without my mobile, I am excessively connected. But this brief hiatus has reminded me that human interaction is fundamental to our society. I’ve come to cherish my local board game dinner group. Four to six people sitting around a table, sharing a meal and playing Pandemic or Tribune or Bootleggers (one of my favorites). If you prefer keeping to yourself, reading or doing a little writing is a great way to pass the time without being “connected” (although I feel like I’m transported when I read.)

My anxiety is mounting, and I think it’s mainly because I am disconnected in a perpetually connected world. My friends and family members might be freaking out now. Possibly my employer is wondering about me. No emails today, so probably everything is okay. And today is Sunday. I’ll find out soon enough when I reconnect with my people and provide my new number. Some apologies will be made, and things will be back to their 21st century state of normalcy. For now, it’s a little weird.

You’re Doing it Wrong

I do a lot of things; singing, photography, cooking, making a spectacle of myself. But I make my living in technology, specifically the software side of it; however, I have helped out in other areas like networking and systems. Non-technical people just accept it when I tell them I work with computers. Then they ask me to fix theirs. That’s fair, I suppose. I sometimes get a nice meal out of it.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Being asked to poke around in somebody else’s computer feels like going through their sock drawer; it’s more revealing than you might think. My friend’s grandmother invited me to come over to fix her home computer. Her other grandkids also used it, and it was almost completely unusable, riddled with malware and viruses. I knew from some of the spyware and adware on this machine that the grandchildren were up to no good. Some sites are like visiting a toxic waste dump. You come out of there with a lot of stuff on you, and it takes some effort to clean up. I spent about two hours cleaning up this computer. I installed a free pop-up blocker, as well as some anti-virus software and something to block spyware. I told the lady she should keep on eye on her grandkids.

That was a while ago. Many people are more savvy about the internet these days, or at least they listen to the stories and take some precautions. Still, I am confident that most people don’t know how vulnerable they really are. If you are cautious, maybe even a little paranoid, that can work in your favor. Being skeptical of whether a website is legit is at least the first step in protecting your self. It’s like knowing that taking a shortcut through a dark alley isn’t safe. It only takes one incident to teach a very valuable lesson. In the meantime, hackers and spammers are working just as hard, or harder, to break into systems and steal information. Big companies get attacked all the time, and they have to employ teams of experts – some ex-hackers – to stay one step ahead of them.

One simple way you can protect yourself is to choose strong passwords and change them periodically. That’s easier said than done, I know. There are several good password managers out there. They are trustworthy and secure. The idea is to keep all your passwords in a sort of vault or safe. The benefit is that you don’t have to write down any passwords, and you can have the password manager (PM) generate a complex password for you. Secondly, the PM program validates the site you are connecting to, keeping you safer from phishing and pharming attempts. When you log onto a website, the PM assures you that it is the correct one.

On the subject of secure passwords, security specialists have recommended passphrases as an alternative to randomly generated passwords. There is some debate around whether one is better than the other. In my experience, anything longer than 10 characters and containing some numbers and upper- and lower-case is secure enough to last a few months. I usually go with 21 to 25 characters, no special symbols, and 2 or 3 digits. How secure is your password? Here’s a variation of a password I no longer use: doorbell887Agitate. I entered this in the above link to check how secure it is. It was rated as “very strong”, with one suggestion to add a special character, and we know how I feel about that. On Howsecureismypassword.net the estimated time a computer needs to crack this password is 145 trillion years. I feel better. I’m changing my password again in a month anyway.

I’ve worked in offices where people wrote their password on a post-it note and kept it under their keyboard. Others used variations of the word password (Password1 is very popular). This is probably the worst idea ever, and I want people to know. The thing is, I am guilty of being stupid. Years ago, I did these idiotic things, and someone scolded me, and now I know better. People are stupid. We walk around thinking we’re doing the right thing when it came to outsmarting the bad guys, when all along we were playing right into their hands. Thieves are working hard on ways to break in. Sometimes we make it very easy for them.

So lock your front door, unless you live in a utopian wonderland. Lock your car or keep it in the garage. Don’t leave valuable items in sight where someone could be tempted to break a window and take them. And don’t leave your personal information where anyone could just snap a picture – everyone has a camera these days. Lately, I’ve been using only cash, lest my card gets skimmed. It’s a constant struggle. Stay safe. Be alert.

Customer Care

When I was younger I and I first heard someone say, “the customer is always right,” I was sure that wasn’t true. How could someone always be right? Didn’t people sometimes make mistakes? Later I realized what this phrase meant. And now I know that was never true to begin with.

The relationship between the merchant and the customer is based on the transaction. Someone has something to sell, and someone may or may not want to purchase it. In the US, most people buy the things they need or want without haggling over price, and taxes are not included. Other countries have different customs, but it’s basically the same all around the world. In my neighborhood there are gas (petrol) stations across the street from one another. When one station lowers its price, the one across the street does the same. It’s a weird little ballet, but it keeps the gears of commerce from rusting over. (By the way, ever wonder why is petrol sold by the tenth of a penny?)

Anyone who has worked in retail can tell you horror stories about customers from hell. There’s always one. How can the customer be right and be so wrong? Well, customers are human beings, and people have good days and bad days. Sometimes the customer is wrong. Also, often the company is also wrong.

Complaints about Youtube demonetizing content may reveal how imperfect some companies can be. In my own personal experience, I can no longer access my own Flickr photo stream. It’s probably for best anyway, since most of my older work is shit. But I have not been able to log in. Maybe I should just shift my work over to Instagram.

It appears that there are flaws throughout our economic system. Capitalism isn’t perfect, but neither are any of the other systems. In ancient times, before the invention of currency, people traded, bartered. But we don’t make things anymore. I don’t produce anything people generally want. I can bake bread, but I don’t usually, because I can get it cheap. I don’t make soap for the same reason. But if the economy collapsed, money would be meaningless, like in Venezuela. People there are stockpiling things like sugar to use as currency. Certain trades would be valuable, like welding or carpentry. Some skills that are valuable today might become obsolete (taxi!)

But today, and for the foreseeable future, people in many countries are going to buy things using some form of currency, cash, plastic, Google Pay. I’ll go shopping tomorrow, and I won’t haggle over the price of anything. That’s just not done here. I probably won’t even pay attention to where my tomatoes are coming from, or whether the coffee I buy is fair trade. And since I stopped caring, companies probably stopped caring, too. But there are some that care about the customer and about the producer and the environment. Fair trade chocolate is expensive and doesn’t taste better. In truth, the growers probably don’t see any benefits. The customer is probably wrong, and most likely ignorant. But we’re happy as long as we get what we want for the lowest price.

Spent

At the beginning of this century, I picked up a book by Catherine Ryan Hyde, Pay it Forward (1999, Simon & Schuster/Paula Wiseman Books). They also published a young readers edition. In 2000, Warner Brothers released a film of the same name, starring Kevin Spacey, Helen Hunt, and Haley Joel Osment. Regardless of how well (or poorly) the movie was received, or that Spacey’s career is currently in a tailspin, the movement behind the book and movie has inspired me for nearly two decades.

In the story, a middle-school boy is given an assignment to make a difference in the world around him. What he does would set off a chain of “random acts of kindness.” The idea of “paying it forward” is embodied by the concept that there is greater merit in continuing the

Many of us, I being no exception, would normally go through life expecting that our acts of charity and compassion would come back to us in the form of some reward, karma, whatever you like to call it. Very often we feel compelled to reciprocate when someone is generous with us. The need to pay it back is our natural impulse, knowing that the person who was so kind surely deserves to be repaid. It is difficult to argue against this notion, what with our consumer culture.

However, the foundation, by way of the original story by Hyde and conveyed through their mission, promotes the idea that when someone performs a kindness for you, you should, instead of paying that person back, pay it forward to the next stranger, and keep it going. I get the impression that the original intent was for these acts of kindness to be toward strangers. But it could certainly apply to someone you know. When someone is generous with us, we should in turn do something kind for the next person, continuing a chain of unselfishness.

Every day I encounter situations involving kindness and cruelty. I work with people who will not help you unless there’s something in it for them. Today I talked with someone who felt like there should be some compensation within our volunteer organization. I understand there are limits to what one can give. We can give our time, offer our skills, donate money, cook meals, tutor, anything that may be needed. But we also need time for ourselves. We must achieve a balance, and that in itself is work for which there is no compensation.

I think it’s a good idea to set aside a little for the purpose of giving to those in need. Traditionally, churches have encouraged their congregations to give 10 percent of their income to finance everything from communion wafers to new suits for the TV preacher. It doesn’t have to be money, in my opinion, but if you can do it, there are many organizations (beyond church) that truly need help. You can also “give” talent, for instance if you are very good with finances, you might donate some of your time helping an organization with their books. (You might actually need to be licensed or something, so maybe look into that.) I have computer skills, and it would be “meet and right” for me to give my time repairing and maintaining systems for a non-profit entity. The possibilities are seemingly endless.

I’ve been mindful of Pay it Forward for so long now that I probably don’t think about it consciously anymore. Could I do more? Sure. It is difficult at times. Not everyone who needs assistance is receptive. I run into it occasionally:

“Would you like some help with that?”

“No! I can do it!”

Yes. It happens. Oftentimes, we are confronted with resistance and bitterness when all we want to do is help. If you run into this, move on. There is no reward for you helping; so, there is no punishment either. Just be careful.

As someone who has accepted payment for doing something nice, I can tell you that it feels much better to know – or assume – that that person will pay it forward. And it doesn’t matter if they don’t. You made the difference. And you will continue to do it, because it makes the world a better place. There will be discouragement, and you may shake your fists at whomever created those wretches. But just keep it going as long as you are able. For as much suffering as you will encounter, there will be comforting and joy by your actions. No one will remember where it came from, and that shouldn’t matter. Perhaps it will come back around, but that’s not why I do it. And even if it did, I’d just pay it forward again.

 

You Only Need to Ask

Help.

This is one of the most powerful words in the English language. The mere utterance moves people to respond. Shouting it will draw attention, and strangers will spring into action. It inspires us to give. It motivates us to self-sacrifice. The thought that someone needs our help might override our own instincts, for self-preservation, or at least the fear of being hurt or humiliated. And yet, we are often afraid to ask for help, even when we desperately need it. Why, then, are we so willing to offer help and yet not able to request it?

I was shopping for dinner at my favorite market, and I asked the butcher for two things: coarse-ground beef for chili and a cut-up fryer. The young guy had to get his manager because he wasn’t authorized to operate the saw to cut the chicken. I asked him to go ahead and do that for me, if he didn’t mind. He was more than happy to ask, and the manager took care of me without hesitation. All I had to do was ask.

I find myself asking people more and more when I genuinely need help, mainly because I know how helping people brings me joy and makes me feel fulfilled. So I don’t have a problem asking. I don’t take advantage of people. But I know there are things that I would do for someone if it is an inconvenience for that person and especially if it’s a task I enjoy doing or that distracts me from drudgery. On the other hand, I have found great value in saying ‘no’.

‘No’ doesn’t have to be a forceful rejection of someone’s request. I am often asked to do something by a coworker that that person should know how to do, and that is their responsibility in the first place. One of my flaws is that I tend to bend over backward to help people, even when it is an imposition and I should be doing something else. On a rare occasion that I have flat-out denied to do something (I could have been fired), that person has just now started talking to me again after 3 years. I try not to let these things bother me, but averting disappointment is a major motivator for me. I think I am not alone, here.

I hate letting people down, even when I am not at fault and there was no avenue for me to come to the rescue. It is fortunate that my job doesn’t require me to save lives, and that is something I remind co-workers of, that the worst case scenario is that someone will be disappointed, provided no one violates policy or law. At that point, all bets are off.

Asking for help, however, is not as risky as we might imagine it to be. A person can refuse to help, and that is their right. Some people are assholes. But that should not stop us from seeking help when we need it. I learned recently that sometimes you cannot do everything yourself, and you don’t have to be a martyr, trying to take it on all by yourself. But you won’t get help from people by declaring to the crowd, “I need a volunteer!” That moment when everyone steps up simultaneously makes for great cinema, but I’ve never seen it happen in real life. Don’t wait for it to happen magically. Leave that to Disney.

As much as we might think we don’t like being told what to do, most of us will respond to that, at least when it’s a gentle, persuasive appeal. I like the “congratulations! You’ve been chosen to help me…” line. I also used, “good news! We’re going to work together on a project.” You’d be surprised how well a little sarcastic humor is received. Don’t be afraid to be turned down. It’s okay to refuse sometimes. Just don’t be that guy. You know who I’m talking about.

Don’t be surprised when someone offers to help you. Most of us are looking for opportunities to be of some assistance. There’s something ingrained in us that makes us crave it, that satisfaction we get from helping another person. Actually, other creatures don’t seem to share our values. (I think polar bears kill their young or something like that. That’s probably something to do with food supplies and the wilderness, which we don’t run into much in the US.) all that being said, I’m still not sure what most of us are afraid of. I think I’ll make it a new year’s resolution to ask for help more often.

Flawless

For most of us, practically all our lives, we’ve been told repeatedly how imperfect we are. We may have been admonished for being flawed, shamed for being mere humans. Teachers and pastors surely reminded us that nobody’s perfect. Countless times, to be sure, everyone has been reminded that we are anything but perfect. They may have even gone so far as to tell us that we are unredeemable piles of human refuse. This is at least the impression I got from adults when I was young. We were told that no one was perfect except God. Who could argue with that? God, who made the universe and all its atrocities. God, who created smallpox and puff adders. God, who caused the great flood because, “the Lord regretted that he had made human beings on the earth…I will wipe from the earth the human race…”

When I was a kid, and I went to Sunday school to clear my mind of all the evil worldly thoughts filling my head, I began to question certain principles. Namely, that no one could be perfect. Believing oneself to be perfect was aligned with the sin of pride. How dare we claim this for ourselves? At the same time, it was impressed upon me the absolute necessity for me to strive for perfection. Grading systems were designed with an ideal to be made manifest. There is a “perfect” GPA. Baseball has a perfect game. A perfect storm. A perfect day. While we’ve been told there is no such thing as perfection, we certainly throw that word around a lot.

With all this shit swirling around like so many toilet bowls, it’s easy to assume that our teachers, parents, middle school bullies, swim coaches, and youth pastors were all right when they emphasized how we are all imperfect. Most of us were told to obey authority; and, therefore there was no reason to assume everyone was wrong. But they were. Not only is it possible to achieve perfection, I believe each that of us is already a perfect being. Before you start enumerating my many flaws, let’s first deal with that pesky issue of defining perfection. What does perfect actually mean?

The Greek philosopher Plato maintained that not only is our world imperfect, but it may not even exist. Plato held that the constantly changing world was only a copy of the ideal, the perfect and constant vision only attainable in human thought. A perfect circle, for example, might be conceptualized, but could never be physically produced. Indeed, even modern machines can render a near-perfect circle, but our even more advanced measuring equipment may now detect the smallest imperfections. And so it continues. In our minds, we can identify the ideal, but is that ideal based on something we were taught, or is it a universal, collective vision of perfection?

For many of us, we have an idea of what perfection means. For example, we like to point to snowflakes as perfect units. But notice something about these? They’re all different. In fact, every snowflake is unique, each one different from the next. If a snowflake is perfect, then all of them are. But any difference, according to Plato, would in essence be an imperfection. But what is the ideal snowflake? How could there be just one perfect one? How could all copies of the ideal be considered less than perfect? In the world where we live, we are not afforded the opportunity to contemplate the ideal, the snowflake Form; we only have the real, the physical. All snowflakes, therefore, are perfect. And so is every potato, for that matter.

As for me, I know I am more complicated an organism than a potato. But I see wonders every time I check in on things around the world. For instance, there are sea creatures that do everything from change color to emit light, to name a few. Human beings might appear less significant in the grand scheme of things, if we’re going for existential despondency. I mean, we’re more than just animals, even though we are classified as primates who have simply evolved. The very act of my writing this indicates that there’s something more going on. Therefore, here we are, each of us, contemplating our existence and our place in the universe. Meanwhile, we’re still basically controlled by our basic urges and needs: sleep, eat, fuck, survive.

Now that I’ve established that I am ordinary, it makes my perfection argument a little easier. If we were as simple as dogs or grasshoppers or potatoes, how could anyone dispute that any of us were anything less than perfect? Naturally, there are those who might judge. The Westminster Kennel Club holds an annual event to decide which dog breed is superior to the rest. This is highly subjective, and the results should never be construed as to mean there is any one dog that is perfect. Really, aren’t they all?

The thing about perfection – a human preoccupation – is that there really is no such thing. What I mean by that is there is no one ideal of any item, person, or situation in our plane of existence. That “perfect storm” we keep hearing about is actually a confluence of forces or elements crossing a threshold, arbitrary perhaps, where conditions may be just right for the worst case scenario. This term is almost always used as a metaphor to describe some social or work situation where things go horribly wrong. Shit happens, but I wouldn’t call this perfection.

Perfection is kind of an illusion. Except that here I am trying to convince you that we are all perfect beings. What makes this impossible to accept is that we’ve been told how imperfect we are our entire lives. But I maintain that we are all perfect and essential. We’re like cogs in the intricate machinery of the universe, to use a hyperbole here for a moment (if Plato can do it, well…) Perhaps we are perfect in that we are precisely where we need to be for the cosmic algorithm to function. What if we are all exactly where we’re supposed to be? Can’t we be perfect in the place we find ourselves?

I admit, my previous notions of perfection were rooted in that latent Catholic school guilt and self loathing, where we lesser things cannot possibly approach perfection. One of my instructors was wrong about many things; it stands to reason he was wrong about this, too. Maybe I am perfect. I’m not without fault, but my perfection may lie in the niche I fill. For my wife, I am exactly what she needs, or so she tells me sometimes. Am I the perfect husband? Perhaps for her. I might be the perfect employee for certain needs of my company. I might have been the perfect student, not because I made A’s, but perhaps because I made my teachers think or because I made them work harder. I may never know. But my point is that I believe we are all perfect beings.

In a sense, we are more than all the cells and plasma and elements in our bodies, the electrical impulses between our nerve endings, or the chemistry in our brains. We’re beyond the body and the physiology of the human animal. There’s no proof that we have souls or spirits, but there’s a lot we have not discovered about ourselves. There might be something perfect within all of us. Maybe our struggle, our suffering, is simply our souls colliding with our human instincts and emotional pressures. Is music a transport vessel for the soul? Is art another? What about acting or stand-up comedy? Or writing?

In claiming my perfection I am not placing myself above other people. On the contrary, I make no statement to that effect. I am not better than anyone else. But that’s not what I mean by perfection. I don’t mean to say I am flawless. But as Confucius said, it is better to be a diamond with a flaw than to be a pebble without one. In other words, being perfect may not be what it’s cracked up to be. Perfection might equal banality in that scenario where the world is populated with pebbles, or potatoes, or snowflakes. One’s  perfect state might be typified by his or her nonconformity or eccentricity. Where there is a “perfect” field of snow, the perfection we possess might be the footprint that provides dimension. What was seen as a flaw is now perceived as absolutely essential. In a word, it’s perfect.

 

Tejas

I am not a very good friend. I have friends, but I think I do not excel in being one. Now, when I talk about friends, I’m using the classic definition, not the modern, social media version. In fact, even on Facebook, when I add a “friend” I have a rule that we know each other well enough that either they have had dinner at my house, or I at theirs. Ironically, my next-door neighbors, whom I have known for 14 years, do not qualify in this regard. This rule helps keep my contact list on social media limited, and that’s fine with me. How many friends does one really need?

I make casual acquaintances very easily. I have many work “friends”, those who I get along with very well. But I don’t really know them, and they don’t know me. One or two work friends have become my best friends over the years. They had Thanksgiving dinner at my house. We’ve gone camping together. We trust one another, and we will be friends for the rest of our lives. But when I look around, I realize I’m not that good at being a friend. I don’t know why I feel this way since the only framework I have for this is within my own experience and the little I have picked up from what I’ve read. I mean, what do we have as a guide to how to be a better friend?

Anyone who has grown up in Texas, and who attended public schools here, may remember taking Texas History in about 7th or 8th grade. Having lived my entire life in this state, it’s hard for me to see things objectively; but, I have many friends from abroad, and that gives you a bit of perspective. As such, I clearly see how unique Texas culture is. People here seem to have a dash of nationalistic fervor from time to time. How is it that being south of the Red River, and west of the Sabine River can make such a difference? One of those things that they taught in Texas History was the origin of the name of this state. The Caddo word “tejas”, meaning friends, eventually became Texas.

Friends are what, just the people you know, the people in your village? I don’t live in a village. I live in a major metropolitan area of about 6 million people. Sadly, as I mentioned before, I barely know the people in my neighborhood. My best friends live on the other side of town, several kilometers from my home. We met through church, and through mutual acquaintances. It’s strange who we consider friends. Sometimes we make friends with people who are unlike ourselves. Maybe it’s easier that way. I don’t think I’d want to hang around with another “me”.

As I said, I have no idea what kind of friend I’ve been. I’m often clueless whether I’ve offended someone. I am distracted, and I can be a bit obsessive. Of course, all my friends are perfect in every way. Seriously, I don’t know why people consider me their friend. It’s a mystery to me. They tell me their deepest secrets and worst fears. They confide in me. They ask me for life-altering advice. And they reach out to me earnestly seeking companionship. And what have I done? For one, I’ve wasted my life on social media. My real friends are not there. True friendship cannot be maintained in such a way.

If I want to be a better friend I know what I must do. I will have lunch with them. I’ll visit them when they’re sick. I’ll help them with a project or when they move house. I’ll attend their performance. I will accept invitation to dinner. And I won’t look for any excuse to get out of it, because friends are better than that. Friends do what’s right. Friends are trustworthy and reliable. Friends help you when you’re down.

Recently, a friend of mine passed away. She was sick for a long time, and it was difficult and sad to see her wasting away. I visited her before she died; she had asked for me. Later, her daughter asked me to be a pallbearer at her mother’s funeral. I never realized how much I had meant to her. I didn’t consider myself to be one of her closest friends, and yet, here I was, transporting her remains to their final resting place. It was devastating, but it was my obligation to do this last thing for her, and for her family. I’ve served in this capacity three times now, and yet this one was more significant. This was the first time I helped to bury a friend.

And what kind of friend was I in her life? Naturally, we go to this place after losing someone, doubting ourselves and becoming self-critical. (Maybe it’s just something I do). I imagine what she would be saying to me. She might say I was a better friend than I realized. Perhaps I would be a better friend if I told them what they meant to me. I think I’m going to schedule lunch with one of my oldest friends this week. I like visiting with him, and he and I will have some interesting stories to share. I need to do this more often. I think this is the answer I needed. What is my guide to being a good friend? It is my conscience.

 

How to Eat Breakfast

One summer ago, we had our roof re-shingled. Some people call it having a new roof installed. I think that’s a strange saying, because I envision a crew removing the rafters, the physical framework of the upper part of my house. But in this case, they simply mean that the shingles and the underlying protective layer are being replaced. Here in Texas we have extremes in weather, intense sun and heat, high winds, and hail. These elements really do a number on asphalt shingles. We hired a small crew to install the new roof, and they arrived every morning for four days, shortly before sun-up. As soon as there was a hint of daylight, several men, and one woman, were on our roof, stomping around, dragging cases of shingles and tools across its surface. There was no way to sleep through this.

I was never what you would call a “morning person.” I typically spend late nights working on little projects, writing, sometimes playing video games. Occasionally I stay up late with work. But I’ve always found something to keep from going to bed at a decent hour. But then here came these roofers, plodding riotously just above my head. Since there is a logical flow of events beginning with the emergence of daylight and culminating with the clamor of office work – phones ringing, chatter, and the tell-tale nervous laughter of hyperextended workaholics – once awake, I needed to get up. That time in between, this morning Thoreau spoke of, is meant to be relished, accepted with joy and dare I say, exhilaration, because morning is truly inspiring. Just ask all those dead poets and philosophers. Yeah, I thought so.

Inasmuch as I am a night owl, mornings do hold a certain mystique that I am still learning to appreciate. Things happen in the morning that you cannot reenact. One of these is breakfast. Breakfast, from the late Middle English for break and fast, in other words, a meal following a brief fasting period, albeit only 10 hours or so, is truly intended for mornings. I’ve had breakfast foods – omelette, waffles, etc. – at various times of the day and night. Yes, night. Something about IHOP at 11:30 pm is just kind of cool, or dorky.

My wife and I, therefore, were compelled to have breakfast together each morning. And even though this clamor of rooftop ballet lasted only a few days, we have continued to make and eat breakfast together every morning ever since. Breakfast in the US usually consists of eggs and bacon or ham. Some prefer pancakes. Our regimen includes oatmeal with fruit, coffee, and grapefruit juice. I prefer steel cut oats, but they take 30 minutes to cook. We sit at the kitchen table and actually talk about things – the expectations of the impending day, weird dreams we might have had, stuff we want to share – and we eat said breakfast.

I used to say that I didn’t have time for this, even though the idea that breakfast is the most important meal of the day has been drilled into my consciousness for decades. Whether or not this is true, the ritual of sharing a morning meal has enriched my life. We carry it into the weekend, where additions are afforded, like sausages and eggs. on rare occasions, waffles. Each morning, preparations are made, and time is carved out for the spectacle. We talk about what’s going on with us, what plans we’ve made for the day. We compare schedules and talk about upcoming events. Quickly then, we clean up, and I get ready to leave. But I’m not in a hurry because I’ve carved out this time. It’s our time, not theirs. And that’s the beauty of breakfast.

I know very few people who have this luxury. But I see it as a necessity. Not the food, but the time spent relaxing and enjoying it; the ritual, the act of breaking bread. My perspective has in turn made it less of a luxury and more of a right, a privilege. I feel entitled to having a meal. I mean, food is a human necessity. Why do we feel we have to defend ourselves for making time to eat? I see my coworkers actually skipping lunch because of work. They say they have no time to take a lunch break. Not only is this absurd, but it is actually in violation of OSHA standards. There’s that precious time, that elusive time, the subject of many poems and songs. Why do we deny ourselves what is our fundamental right?

I still don’t think of myself fully as a morning person. Caffeine is a main source of my morning energy. But I have become somewhat of a creature of the morning now. The night still calls me, but lately I’ve found I actually look forward to sleep, and the following morning with that reward of coffee and and English muffin. Suddenly, the night has less appeal. It’s strange to see such a change in oneself. But these things happen. And I don’t lament saying goodnight to my old ways.