Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Selfish and Serving
It’s human nature to be selfish and self-centered. However, there is also an innate drive to make a positive difference in other peoples’ lives. We want to make a difference. We want to leave a lasting impression on the world for the better. These two drives are continually motivating our behavior. We continually feel pulled in opposite directions at the same time. Sometimes we choose to do what we believe will be better for another person. Other times, we do what we want to do with no consideration for anyone else. The key to excellent behavior then, is the ability to discern when we need to be mindful of others and when it’s okay to indulge in the occasional selfish desire.
Monday, February 13, 2012
The Ride
The ride was over. Part of him was relieved. The agonizing thrill of the sudden turns, unpredictable acceleration and plummeting to the ground at full speed left his legs weak and his knees shaking. He sat sullenly with the turmoil increasing in the pit of his stomach. Wishing he could vomit, he tried to squeeze forth a smile so no one else could see his blatant deterioration. The rest of him pleaded for the ride to continue. Never before had he known such excitement and temerity. Wildness rushing through him, gravity pulling on his viscera as he was abruptly jerked in the opposite direction, feeling like a teenager again for the first time in a long time: all of these lineaments would be lost. What would his life become with the craziness gone? Mundane? Lackluster? Banal at best?
He reached for his glass of water, the ice already long melted away. The coolness of his beverage was unable to quench his inner burning. The fire blazed uncontrollably, threatening to engulf him. Anger began to stir at the thought of all the time and money he had wasted. How foolish he had been. Didn't he realize what he was getting himself into? Everything, all of it, sacrificed for this one bitter-sweet journey of pain and exhilaration.
No anodyne could possibly exist for this immense suffering. Alcohol would be worthless, though it may help him vomit. Listless words of well-intended passers-by felt like the sting of sand blasting the skin in a dust storm. He was a grown man after all, he could handle this. He had experienced worse defeasance before; he would not lend himself to their succor.
But then, from the detritus which lingered in his mind, he inadvertently remembered the rush of falling. Free-falling: as though there was everything to gain and nothing to lose, as though absolutely anything were possible, as though he could fly. True, there had been nothing to be afraid of, he was certainly secure. And the sinuous nature of the ride wasn't entirely unexpected. It was just the falling, so hard and so fast; it was the falling that blew him away, that he may never be able to forget.
Beads of sweat began to form on his brow as his heart-rate quickened. The inexorable sun reminded him of the incessant heat. His internal inferno had inoculated him to the exterior temperature. Maybe it would be wiser to seek refuge in the shade, but that would undercut his dereliction. No! It was better to suffer silently in the smoldering afternoon light, punishment for his prior behavior.
As he inveterately swiped his glasses with his shirt sleeve, his gaze fell to a seagull squawking gaily, mocking him. Just shy of kicking distance, the bird pecked up an abandoned kernel of popcorn and scuttled away. There were several of these birds, or rats with wings as he tended to call them, cluttering the grass and pavement. There had just been a lunch rush at the diner, and many of the patrons were enjoying their meals out-of-doors. He had not enjoyed his meal, however. He had not enjoyed his meal in the least. He'd hardly even touched it. And, he knew if he weren't careful, he would soon be swooshing the vermin from his plate.
Heaving a sigh of dismay, he slouched over his food and began to arbitrarily pick at his soggy, limp French fries. He knew it was all his fault. He had gone too far this time. His intransigence had gotten the better of him again. But the inner interlocutor was bellicose, not supine. He couldn’t simply back off and let it go. He was right. It wasn’t his intention to berate or excoriate. That was just how she perceived his didactic comments. Every suggested correction or honest appraisal was regarded as a direct insult. There was no way to successfully negotiate the conversation.
Every interdiction and insensitivity was thrown back at him with excruciating force. Their dispute escalated into a heated battle among the innocent by-standers and fellow patrons of the diner. There was no way for him to recover from this exorbitant plunge. He sat there, his face boiling and his words shooting from his lips like the rounds of an M-80. Damaging? Naturally. Painful? Certainly. Irrevocable? Unfortunately. No difibulator could ever be high-powered enough to resurrect their relationship from this nuclear fall-out.
Reckless abandon had flung him head-long into the wildly rushing ride. The same carelessness spewed him out from it. He was left eviscerated. Nothing remained but the clandestine desires and empty promises lingering in the space where his heart used to be. No longer was he flying out of control and unrestrained. He had crashed and burned.
Love – with all of its spurious hope and unmet expectations – love is not supposed to be able to fail. But it did fail him. Love had failed him time again. No one was able to love him unconditionally, to see and appreciate him for who he was, to accept his weaknesses as well as his strengths. Love requires caring for the whole person, not simply choosing the bits and pieces you want. Why was she not able to understand such a simple concept?
Looking around at the eyes that had been unsuspecting spectators to his feud, he watched as smiles and laughter returned to their faces. They were all fine. They would all recover. It was only his existence that was permanently styphoned. His life was mangled and twisted and crushed by the blow. His car had derailed and was mutilated beyond recognition or repair.
There was nothing more he could do. So he crushed and wadded the wax-coated paper cup he had been drinking from, sending sprays of liquid splattering across the checkerboard tablecloth, and disposed of it in the nearby wastebasket along with the entirety of his lunch. He’d gradually erected his dilapidated carcass and hobbled to the edge of the concrete patio.
Another high, another low, another twist, another turn; he needed something to left for him to anticipate. He surveyed the park, scanned the horizon, squinted at each sporadic form speckled in the distance. But there was no sight of her. She was gone. The ride was over. And he knew nothing this magical would ever happen to him again.
He reached for his glass of water, the ice already long melted away. The coolness of his beverage was unable to quench his inner burning. The fire blazed uncontrollably, threatening to engulf him. Anger began to stir at the thought of all the time and money he had wasted. How foolish he had been. Didn't he realize what he was getting himself into? Everything, all of it, sacrificed for this one bitter-sweet journey of pain and exhilaration.
No anodyne could possibly exist for this immense suffering. Alcohol would be worthless, though it may help him vomit. Listless words of well-intended passers-by felt like the sting of sand blasting the skin in a dust storm. He was a grown man after all, he could handle this. He had experienced worse defeasance before; he would not lend himself to their succor.
But then, from the detritus which lingered in his mind, he inadvertently remembered the rush of falling. Free-falling: as though there was everything to gain and nothing to lose, as though absolutely anything were possible, as though he could fly. True, there had been nothing to be afraid of, he was certainly secure. And the sinuous nature of the ride wasn't entirely unexpected. It was just the falling, so hard and so fast; it was the falling that blew him away, that he may never be able to forget.
Beads of sweat began to form on his brow as his heart-rate quickened. The inexorable sun reminded him of the incessant heat. His internal inferno had inoculated him to the exterior temperature. Maybe it would be wiser to seek refuge in the shade, but that would undercut his dereliction. No! It was better to suffer silently in the smoldering afternoon light, punishment for his prior behavior.
As he inveterately swiped his glasses with his shirt sleeve, his gaze fell to a seagull squawking gaily, mocking him. Just shy of kicking distance, the bird pecked up an abandoned kernel of popcorn and scuttled away. There were several of these birds, or rats with wings as he tended to call them, cluttering the grass and pavement. There had just been a lunch rush at the diner, and many of the patrons were enjoying their meals out-of-doors. He had not enjoyed his meal, however. He had not enjoyed his meal in the least. He'd hardly even touched it. And, he knew if he weren't careful, he would soon be swooshing the vermin from his plate.
Heaving a sigh of dismay, he slouched over his food and began to arbitrarily pick at his soggy, limp French fries. He knew it was all his fault. He had gone too far this time. His intransigence had gotten the better of him again. But the inner interlocutor was bellicose, not supine. He couldn’t simply back off and let it go. He was right. It wasn’t his intention to berate or excoriate. That was just how she perceived his didactic comments. Every suggested correction or honest appraisal was regarded as a direct insult. There was no way to successfully negotiate the conversation.
Every interdiction and insensitivity was thrown back at him with excruciating force. Their dispute escalated into a heated battle among the innocent by-standers and fellow patrons of the diner. There was no way for him to recover from this exorbitant plunge. He sat there, his face boiling and his words shooting from his lips like the rounds of an M-80. Damaging? Naturally. Painful? Certainly. Irrevocable? Unfortunately. No difibulator could ever be high-powered enough to resurrect their relationship from this nuclear fall-out.
Reckless abandon had flung him head-long into the wildly rushing ride. The same carelessness spewed him out from it. He was left eviscerated. Nothing remained but the clandestine desires and empty promises lingering in the space where his heart used to be. No longer was he flying out of control and unrestrained. He had crashed and burned.
Love – with all of its spurious hope and unmet expectations – love is not supposed to be able to fail. But it did fail him. Love had failed him time again. No one was able to love him unconditionally, to see and appreciate him for who he was, to accept his weaknesses as well as his strengths. Love requires caring for the whole person, not simply choosing the bits and pieces you want. Why was she not able to understand such a simple concept?
Looking around at the eyes that had been unsuspecting spectators to his feud, he watched as smiles and laughter returned to their faces. They were all fine. They would all recover. It was only his existence that was permanently styphoned. His life was mangled and twisted and crushed by the blow. His car had derailed and was mutilated beyond recognition or repair.
There was nothing more he could do. So he crushed and wadded the wax-coated paper cup he had been drinking from, sending sprays of liquid splattering across the checkerboard tablecloth, and disposed of it in the nearby wastebasket along with the entirety of his lunch. He’d gradually erected his dilapidated carcass and hobbled to the edge of the concrete patio.
Another high, another low, another twist, another turn; he needed something to left for him to anticipate. He surveyed the park, scanned the horizon, squinted at each sporadic form speckled in the distance. But there was no sight of her. She was gone. The ride was over. And he knew nothing this magical would ever happen to him again.
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