I'll not be posting to this blog for the foreseeable future, if ever. I hope you enjoy the archives, accessible over there in the right hand column. I'm particularly proud of the "humor", but I think (hope?) each category has a few worth reading.
As to why ... well, in a world with millions of blogs on every conceivable subject, I don't think I have anything more of substance to add. This blog has served its purpose, allowing me the chance to improve my writing skills and to work through changing from being a city nerd to a country bumpkin. Now that the adjustment is mostly over, it's time to get on with actually living.
All the best and thanks for the support,
Jeff
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Monday, November 12, 2007
So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish
Saturday, October 06, 2007
Near Death Experience
I almost died Thursday night.
I pulled out of the narrow street in the hills overlooking Lake Buchanon at about 11:00. The road was under construction, with two lanes torn down to chunky base rock, though you certainly couldn't see it with the almost-new moon throwing more darkness than light.
I was frustrated at having lost at yet another poker session and ready to be home. But there was still a forty minute drive ahead of me and I wanted it over. I spun some gravel as I drove onto the road, punching my little Ranger as fast as it would go. I had it up to sixty within moments, listening to the sound of loose rocks pinging on the undercarriage.
As more seconds went by and my sight started adjusting to the darkness surrounding my headlights, the truck started to shake violently.
And I realized I was on the wrong half of the road, on the two lanes closed down for construction.
The truck skewed violently to the right and I released the gas pedal, trying to pull it back to the left without overcompensating. My mind snapped out of its anger instantly, replacing frustration with one crystal-clear thought:
I could die here.
I remember it so clearly, that thought. The road wound in and out of the Texas hill country limestone, crossing over ravines and surrounded by cedar trees. At that time of night I could have plunged over the side and it would have been hours, at least, before anyone would notice, and that only with a careful search.
The truck skewed back to the left and fishtailed, the rear end going one way and the front end the other. In the headlights I could see the small warning placards in front of one of the bridges, just before a major curve.
I need to stop this before I hit that bridge, or I'm dead.
Again the thought stood there alone in my mind, outlined in silver and almost throbbing in its insistence. Press the brakes, but not too violently, pull the steering wheel back in line with the direction of the rear end, don't panic whatever you do. You could die, you could die you could die ...
An image of Annie crying hysterically flashed through my mind, me dead along the jumbled rocks of the hill, or plunging into the waters of the lake and drowning, bleeding out into the creek.
My entire life did not flash before my eyes. I did not beg for mercy, or in my best Carrie Underwood voice plead for Jesus to take the wheel. I had room for only three things: My death, my wife, and how to stop my truck.
I finally shuddered to a halt short of the bridge, breath pounding in and out of my lungs. "Holy shit." I said it aloud. Again. "Holy shit."
I put the car in park and just sat there for a moment, until I felt composed enough to pull back onto the road. The finished road, this time.
As I drove I thought about what had almost happened to me, how many years I still want to live, how precious existence is, how much I love my wife and my life and how I do not want it to be over.
And yet, I thought, not once did I cry out for a higher power. Not once did it even occur to me that a deity might be watching over me, guiding my path, to whom I should beg for mercy.
Believers will tell me that regardless, God was watching out for me, and that is why I am here, today, right now, typing this and enjoying the feeling of being alive. For all I know, they're right.
What struck me, though, is that I don't even have the instinct for God. I like to think I'm rational and thoughtful and have arrived at my belief system after careful consideration and relentless logic. And I have, in a sense, but I think all of that is a superstructure over what was already there, or already not there, in this case.
Whatever belief is, however it's supposed to exist as a part of one's innermost being, I just don't have it. I never have. Exhortations to "just believe" are as wasted on me as "Just see!" is to the blind. I used to think, "I don't believe in God," but the truth is that this isn't a choice. I didn't just decide one day that I don't believe -- it's just not present in me. At all. I couldn't change it any more than I could make myself hear if I were deaf, no matter how great the effort.
I say this not as any sort of argument either for or against religion, or faith, or God, or much of anything beyond this:
In that moment, when I was sure I could really, truly die, the part of me that exists before rationality reached not for the divine, but for the brake pedal.
That's just the way I am built, and if there truly is a merciful God as so many would have me believe, then He is the one who made me this way.
I'm glad I am alive, glad I am here to write this, glad that I know, finally, that what I believe is not a bit of sophistry or an angry response or willful defiance, but simply the way I'm put together.
I don't have any god-belief present in me, and that's ok. I've got a good life, and more importantly, a good set of brakes. For now, that's enough, and I am content.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Good Advice
Both of the two best pieces of advice I've ever gotten came from my brother Joey. To wit:
The opinions of worthless people are worthless.
And:
Marriage isn't fifty-fifty. It's one hundred-one hundred.
When my father and mother split up and Dad moved to Lake Charles for a while (before they got back together then split up again and got back together again and ... ), Joey was pretty much the man of the house. He took great care of us all. I remember that time as one of the few stretches where the house felt at peace, where I wasn't always walking on eggshells and waiting for the next explosion.
That didn't last, of course, but the simple and profound lessons my brother taught us did. Take care of your family. Shed the worthless opinions of those unworthy of judging you. Give it everything you've got.
It's the basic stuff that endures. I know it wasn't easy for him to take up the burden of responsibility at his age, but he did it and did it well.
So I want to say thank you to Joey, and to all those like him who carry the rest of us forward. You give it a hundred percent and inspire us to do the same. I hope we don't fail you.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Underoos
I am 38 years old and am currently wearing Spider-Man underwear.
It's a good thing I'm already married, because there's no way I'm date-able material.
Friday, September 07, 2007
Silence
I haven't been posting lately because I'm looking into some health issues (both physical and mental) and haven't been in the right frame of mind to interact with anyone, much less write anything. I hope that the cycle will swing back into a better place in the next few days, and I'll be settled enough to open up again.
I find it annoying how much we are at the mercy of our biology. Isn't it time we invented robots into which we can upload our personalities and minds already? Someone needs to get on the ball.
I say, until we have immortal, indestructible, incorruptible robot surrogate bodies and FLYING CARS ALREADY!!, we just give the finger to the entire technological complex.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Tantrum Meditation
I think "Get Fuzzy" has nailed what's been going on with me for the past few weeks (click for a larger version):
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Eulogy
One of the ScienceBloggers has a tremendously moving account of his father's death posted today. It brought tears to my eyes. I can still hear that horrible moan my dad let out just after he slipped into unconsciousness there on his bed in my mother's house. Losing a parent is a wrenching experience and my heart goes out to the author and his family.
The post is well worth a read, but have a tissue handy.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
How Much of a Geek Are You?
My mother will be so proud. And Han shot FIRST, I tell you. FIRST!
79% GeekMingle2 - Free Online Dating
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Pennies From Heaven, Dollars From Lightning
We're back! It wasn't the floods or the rains that kept us offline so much as the lightning -- apparently that one really loud and bright bolt that woke us all up at three in the morning was a bona fide lightning strike. It fried our wireless Internet radio, two phone jack extensions, and our router. Luckily none of the other computer equipment was harmed as far as we can tell, and neither the house nor the animals nor the people inside were injured at all.
In that light, $200 in equipment repairs from electrical strikes is not a big deal after all.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Here Comes the Rain Again
In just five hours on Monday night, the town of Marble Falls (where we do our shopping and movie-watching) got 18 inches of rain. That's almost as much precipitation as we got in all of 2006.
Amazingly, no one died, and although there was a lot of water damage (cars shoved out of garages and into the street, the city water supply compromised, etc.), they're pretty much back on their feet now.
We got about 8 inches at our house, but thanks to excellent home placement by Annie, we're up on a hill and were never in any danger at all. The creek swelled to amazing heights and blew out the fence at the back of the property (I'll post more on that later), and apparently lightning struck either right on, or close to, our house. The breakers tripped and our internet tower got fried, along possibly with one of our phone adapters. Otherwise, though, we came through just fine. The donkeys are stuck on the far side of the creek because they're too chicken to cross where the water's low. They've got plenty to drink and eat, though, and shelter in the forest, so they should be all right. I keep an eye on them with the binoculars and am going to bring them some grain and hay today as comfort food, but they're hardy little guys.
Not having Internet access is a pain in the butt, especially when you're trying to run a business online. I dragged out our ancient, decrepit laptop to an Internet cafe in town, but it's so slow I'd be better off hand-delivering my messages.
Anyway, I'll continue regular posting once I have regular access to the net, but wanted to let everyone know that we're doing fine.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Atheist on a Plane
"What," I asked myself while the plane taxied down the runway for takeoff, "do I do now that I don't pray any more?"
I used to travel quite a bit for a job I had, six weeks a year on average, and for all of those flights I prayed on every takeoff and landing. I'd make the sign of the cross and silently form the words:
"Dear Lord, please see this flight and all those upon it safely to its destination. If it should come to pass that any of us should die before we touch down, please take care of our family and friends and let them know that we love them. If we should live past the landing of this plane, please help us walk in the light and be good to each other. Amen."
It took me a while to get the wording right, although I suspected that God would get the idea no matter how clumsy my phrasing. I didn't want to sound like I was telling God what He ought to do, but I also didn't want to blame Him if anything should happen. I didn't want the focus to be on me or my own selfish life, but on those I cared for.
I found the ritual calming and comforting. I wasn't sure, even then, that there was anyone listening or, if there was Someone, that they cared. But it made me feel better. I'd made peace, even if just in my own mind, with how I felt about the people in my life. I'd come, at least in a small way, face to face with the possibility that I could die in the next few hours, and with that acceptance I was able to let the fear go.
But on this most recent trip, I realized that I could no longer engage in that comforting ritual. I didn't believe in God any more. So what do you do when you don't believe in God and you're afraid, in a position where you used to pray?
Personally, I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing slowly. I cleared my mind of distracting thoughts (like that baby crying in the seat behind me). I thought about the prayer I used to say, and realized that what mattered to me about it was focusing on the people in my life. So I brought them up one by one and asked "Are there things I've left unsaid to them? Is there anything I wished I'd done, but didn't? Do they know I love them?"
The answers varied depending on the person, of course, but overall I thought most of them know I loved them. I knew I'd been honest with them and as good to them as I know how to be. I promised to myself that I'd keep trying to be the best husband, son, brother, uncle, and friend I could be. To make the world better, even if only in a tiny way, as often as I could.
For me, letting go of my belief in a divinity has helped me focus more on humanity. To keep in mind that our duty is to each other, not to an invisible force in the sky. I know it's not that way for everyone, or even for most. Theism is, for many, a means to the same end, a way of helping them open their eyes to the other people around them even while focusing on the divine.
When I think of those people -- like my family, and some of my more religious friends -- it makes me happy. I don't much care what excuse people use to be good to each other, whether it's religion or atheism or philosophy or fear or simply good old fashioned human kindness. I'm just glad they do it.
After I opened my eyes and the plane was in the air, I smiled. I felt at peace, ready for whatever destination we were headed towards, and even happy for that baby crying in the row behind me. His mother was being good to him. May we all be so lucky.
Friday, June 15, 2007
The Big Announcement
I've alluded in the past few months that I had a Big Announcement, and today, I can finally make it:
The HeroMachine (and yours truly) have been bought out by UGO Networks, Inc.! I am now working for them full-time as a consultant continuing development on the HeroMachine application..
It's funny, when Annie and I were talking last year about what the ideal situation would be for HeroMachine, I said I'd want three things. First, I'd want a company to buy the program for a chunk of change, so I'd see some kind of tangible, immediate, real-world validation of the years of work that went into it. Second, that said company would be one that understands super-hero entertainment and its fans, and which had the resources to make the program better and better all the time. And finally, the chance to continue working on HeroMachine full-time.
In a stroke of great fortune, UGO has made the dream come true right down to the smallest detail. We have a good history of trust and respect (they're the company that's long hosted the free version of the software), and on top of it I like the guys there a lot -- they're a great group, very honest and authentic in their love for all things gamer related. They're based in New York City (hence my trips there over the last few months), which I thought would be a deal-breaker, but they very generously have allowed me to work right out of my little house in Bertram as a consultant, so that's just about perfect.
Anyway, that's the big announcement I've been hinting at. Thanks for being so patient with the oddness (well, more odd than usual, anyway). I am very, very happy that this opportunity has become available, and every morning I wake up, sit down at the computer, and while I start to work I think to myself "I'm getting paid to draw super-heroes all day. Pinch me!"
Life is good!
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Another Trip 'Round The Sun
Yesterday I turned 38 years of age, which means I'm not old yet but I can see it looming on the horizon like a brick road on the highway of life.
When you turn 30 it's not a big deal, you can still think of yourself as in your (very) late 20's, which is still in your prime. As the 30's go on, you keep holding onto that idea of yourself, until you hit the tipping point at 35. But then, hey, 35's halfway, that's just as close to the 20's as it is to the 40's, so no big whoop, right?
Then you sort of stop thinking about it for a few years, because 36 and 37 are still closer to 35 than to 40, so in effect you're still really only halfway between 20 and 40, so why not just think of yourself as still in your late 20's?
But that changes at 38. The relentless march of math means that you can't pretend any more, 40's sitting there just two years ahead of you, waiting to jump on you and pound your ass like that bouncer at the strip club when you got too rowdy at the bachelor party.
All of my siblings are at least 4 years older than I am, so they're past the 40 year mark. That makes it fun to tell them "Just two more years till I'm old!" Proving, I guess, that no matter your age you're always the little brother, ready to be a brat at the drop of a hat.
I don't really think of 40 as old, of course. Not any more. I did when I was younger, but I'm learning that the older you get, the further away old gets. I'll wager that I could be sitting on the porch at 90, thinking "Thank goodness I'm not 110 yet, now those buggers are old! Oh drat, I wet myself again."
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Introvert or Asshole?
What differentiates an introvert from an asshole?
I ask this not to be sarcastic, but because I don't think I know anymore. I've always considered myself a pretty hard introvert, using that to excuse how draining I find interaction with others, my sometimes short temper, my occasional impatience with kids, and other such anti-social tendencies. But then today it occurred to me that this kind of behavior is virtually indistinguishable from your ordinary, run-of-the-mill asshole. If we didn't have a fancy term like "introvert" (or "INFP" if you like your fanciness Meyers-Briggs style), I'd probably just be written off as a cantankerous, crusty old jerk. Mothers would hustle their children away from me, neighbors would be stiffly polite while searching for the nearest exit point, and I'd never interact with anyone.
Hey, wait -- that's how things are NOW. See? Introvert, asshole, there doesn't seem to be much distance between those concepts at this point. I'm worried that as time goes on I'm going to end up sitting in a cave up on a mountain, shunned by all decent humans, shaking my fist and yelling "You kids get the hell off my hill!" as the goats gambol by.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Off to the Big City
I catch a plane in a few hours to New York City for business, and I don't have a laptop, so odds are there won't be much to see here until Friday night at the earliest. In the meantime, please allow me to recommend a couple of my favorite daily blogs to amuse you:
Chris's Invincible Super-Blog
The Comics Curmudgeon
Have fun! I hope I can find where to park the horse while in NYC ...
Monday, May 07, 2007
On Being Pluto
I'm not sure why, but I was thinking about Pluto today. Last year it was demoted from a full-fledged planet to a "dwarf planet", which I imagine was a crushing blow to its mother.
What occurred to me was, Pluto doesn't particularly care what we call it. It's still Pluto, a hunk of frozen whatnot orbiting the Sun. Whether we call it a planet or a dwarf or a Flooboozle is irrelevant to its actual nature; it is what it is. Calling it names doesn't really change anything.
I think in our zeal to classify everything and our obsession with putting the universe into neat, understood little categories, we forget that:
The world is what it is.
Maybe it was seeing the Monarch butterfly chrysalis that prompted this thought. No matter what brief slice of time we happen to catch the Monarch in, whether it's a caterpillar or a pupae or a full-fledged butterfly, it is what it is right at that moment. Is the little creature inside that shell a crawler or a flier? Or is it somewhere in between? We're not good as a species at things that defy neat classification. Gray is seldom "in".
Or maybe it was thinking about some recent comments here about atheists. Whether you call a man immoral or moral, good or bad, kind or cruel, he is what he is. Nothing anyone says is going to alter the reality of his objective truth as a being. If he's good, he's good, and calling him bad won't change that.
Applying labels to everything makes us feel better, but I think we're just kidding ourselves. Sometimes words get in the way, making us see the idea of a thing rather than the thing itself.
And all the while I was writing this, Pluto kept spinning its way around the Sun. From unknown mathematical anomaly to faint smudge of light, from asteroid to moon, from planet to dwarf, while we rewrite our textbooks it keeps traveling on its journey, oblivious to the exhortations of the poets and philosophers.
May we all do the same, leaving behind in our wake the curses and labels of those who try to pin us down, content to simply be what we are.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Hobbesian Friday: Huge Risk Edition
After my last post announcing that I am currently jobless (pending a much-hoped-for Big Announcement Part II next week), I think this cartoon just about says it all.
Unlike Hobbes, of course, Annie would never abandon me in the face of this kind of gut-wrenching terrifying risk, right Annie?
Annie ... ?
Well, I'll take it by her silence that she agrees. Gulp.
How Can There Be No Limbo When I'm In It?!
I quit my job today without having another job locked down to jump into. Which means that I must respectfully disagree with the Catholic Church's clarification that there's no such thing as Limbo, because I think I'm living there right now.
NOT the kind of Limbo I am in
I ought to feel overjoyed, but right now the stress of not having everything on the Other Big Announcement carved in stone technically means I'm just another unemployed schlub. And that's not a good feeling.
So I'm putting my jubilation on hold for hopefully just a few days, and instead am embarking on a stress-eating binge the likes of which haven't been seen since Kirstie Alley met Jenny Craig.
Hopefully I'll have more to report next week, either that I've got a great, fantastic, wonderful Big Announcement to make, or that I've just made the biggest mistake of my life and am rescinding my quitting.
Either way, Limbo's going to have to stay open at least a bit longer, because it doesn't look like I'm leaving for a few days.
Monday, April 16, 2007
An Open Letter to Christians, Wondering Why I'm So Scary
Shutting up isn't easy.
Or it's too easy, one or the other.
Either way, as you can tell from the length of this post, I'm having trouble with shutting up and it's starting to get me in trouble.
For the majority of my life I shut up about my beliefs on most things, at least on subjects that matter the most. Politics. Religion.
Love.
It took meeting Annie for me to finally come to my senses about that last item, to understand that shutting off part of your heart out of fear is like locking away a wild animal in a cage. Eventually you go a little crazy, I think, the hole where you're shutting away that part of yourself slowly sucking the life out of the rest of you.
Living in that prison is comfortable in some ways, just like that caged animal probably finds some ease in its confinement. You get used to the numbness, and you don't have to deal with the sharp edges and prickly points of disappointment. Routine is comforting. There are no surprises, just the safe monotony of sameness.
But once that cage door is opened and you get your first taste of wide open fields and the feel of the sun on your face, the wind in your hair (or stubble, in my case) -- well. There's no going back, and that's all there is to it.
Understanding what it is to love and be loved was the first crack in the walls, but it led, inevitably, to opening other vaults I'd thought safely sealed. I questioned my politics, my religion, my values. I put myself on trial, and I was a merciless judge. The trial continues, every day, and apparently the transcripts are scaring some people. Aunt Sharon pointed out in a very kind comment that the subject of atheism on this blog is causing a friend of hers some distress.
It's strange to think of myself as some kind of terrifying monster, I who have lived so much of my life in dread of causing anyone distress even by my mere presence; I even avoid calling people on the phone because I don't want them to feel like they have to talk to me when they'd really rather not.
Not exactly Wolfman or Frankenstein material there, is it?
In other places I've been told that by talking about the answers I find that bring me peace -- by talking openly about my agnostic atheism -- I am somehow endangering the minds of children I care a great deal for.
I see the same dread, the same fear, the same anger directed at atheists in many different venues. And I get it, on one level -- differences are frightening. Someone who refuses to sing along with the choir, who deliberately sets themselves apart, who grabs the mantle of "Not Normal!" and flaunts it, that's scary. It's unsettling.
Kids understand this. The worst thing that can happen to a kid is to be different. Tall, short, skinny, fat, black, white, an innie versus an outie, black hair in a class of blonds, it doesn't matter -- if a kid is different, odds are good that some pain is going to come from it. Other kids don't like different.
Average is safe, and most kids take their refuge there if they're lucky.
I think I've been fighting to be average for most of my life, and failing. I mean that not in an arrogant way, like I'm somehow better than everyone else. No, I mean it exactly the opposite, I feel in so many ways like I am less than everyone else, somehow deeply flawed by my inability to conform. I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be like everyone else.
I just didn't have any choice but to be who I was, as awful as I so often found that person to be.
There were times I would have given a limb to be just like everyone else. Not to have to answer questions about riding the short bus to school (literally -- we rode a short bus to the special program we were in). Not to have to make jokes to deflect questions about where I spent the first half of every day. Not to get more of a kick out of Monty Python than in the latest sports scores.
Not to feel as if every Sunday I was lying by mouthing words I did not believe.
But my curse has always been that I cannot help but to be honest with myself. There's a great line from the Edgar Rice Burroughs classic "Princess of Mars" when the hero, John Carter, denies that he is brave:Their attention was so wholly riveted to this point of interest that they did not notice me, and I easily could have turned back into the dark recesses of the gorge and made my escape with perfect safety. The fact, however, that this thought did not occur to me until the following day removes any possible right to a claim to heroism to which the narration of this episode might possibly otherwise entitle me.
I might have wanted to change my beliefs to conform to my classmates, but I simply couldn't. Like John Carter with regards to cowardice, I make no claim that this is somehow a laudable quality of mine, for it is something completely beyond my control.
I do not believe that I am made of the stuff which constitutes heroes, because, in all of the hundreds of instances that my voluntary acts have placed me face to face with death, I cannot recall a single one where any alternative step to that I took occurred to me until many hours later. My mind is evidently so constituted that I am subconsciously forced into the path of duty without recourse to tiresome mental processes. However that may be, I have never regretted that cowardice is not optional with me.
I can't help but be who I am, even though (as I said before) there have been many (many) times in my life when I've absolutely hated that very self.
What good is it to play the chameleon so successfully that you forget what your skin really looks like?
I feel such honest joy when someone I know sheds that fake skin, that mask of conformity, to discover who they truly are and what they honestly believe that I can't understand why they don't feel the same for me when I do the same. No, I don't believe in your God. So what?
Our commandment, Christian and atheist alike, is to love each other. That doesn't seem very complicated, but a lot of people never seem to get it. I suppose that's only fair, because I honestly don't get why atheists scare theists so much, why we're thought of as worse than terrorists. We're people, just like you. We have thoughts and hopes and fears and dreams. We want our families to be happy, to live prosperous and joyful lives. We empathize with the plight of those less fortunate than we are.
Or we don't. Some of us are complete pricks, just like some of the people standing next to you in church every Sunday.
Is that what's so unsettling to you? That maybe we're just like you are, even though we don't believe in your God? Would it be better if we bore some kind of Mark of Cain, some obvious Sign of the Beast or crippling deformity that would make it easier for you to see how God has spurned us, even as you believe we have spurned Him?
Are you waiting for the smiting, and its absence is angering you?
I don't require you to change your beliefs, not one iota. I'm happy that you've found answers. Is it too much to ask that you return the favor, to understand that although you don't agree with me, that I'm not evil, or a fool, or an untutored wretch? That maybe -- just maybe -- we can both be good people who treat others with love and respect, even if we don't worship the same (or any) God?
Atheists aren't scary people, or at least no scarier than your average cross-section of a Sunday church crowd. We're just people. Like I said, maybe that's what's frightening you, but whatever it is, I'm telling you flat out, you're wrong to be afraid. Judge us not by our beliefs, but by our actions, just as you would any of your fellow churchgoers.
I know that's hard, especially since your holy book has some pretty strong words to say about decrying unbelievers. But it also has some even stronger words about loving us anyway, about treating us fairly, with respect and tolerance. Jesus allowed a prostitute to wash his feet with her tears. Do you think that was an endorsement of prostitution? Do you think Christ meant that as a lesson that you should be a prostitute? Do you think He feared that His disciples would somehow become contaminated by knowing these women existed?
Clearly not. The simplest answer is that Jesus loved them because they were people. He didn't share their beliefs -- indeed, if you think Christ was Lord then he knew they were wrong as no human can ever know anything. And yet, He treated them not with scorn and hatred, but with respect and tolerance, accepting their love (though not rooted in worship of His father) as true and honest.
There's this wonderful story about the Buddha that I think is very appropriate here, and which (like the washing of the feet in the Bible) brings me great peace and resonates with me at a fundamental level. Even if you're not a follower of Buddhism (as I am not) I hope you'll indulge me for a moment while I paraphrase it.Two priests were walking in a forest when a beautiful doe burst through the undergrowth and collapsed at their feet. An arrow had pierced her heart, and her strength was almost gone. The two priests observed the animal closely, debating about what would happen at the moment of death, whether animal spirits could be seen, and how the manner of its passing would affect its karma in the next life.
Don't we all have enough to do here, right now, on this earth and with these people, without letting our fears about matters completely beyond our control get in the way of our loving and helping each other?
As the animal slowly, painfully slid closer to death, the Buddha happened along the path. Seeing the injured animal, he rushed to its side and drew out the long arrow, staunching the flow of blood with his own robe, saving its life "You can argue about metaphysics later", the Buddha said. "For now we have plenty to do just trying to keep this doe alive."
I'm not someone you should fear, no matter what I talk about on my blog, or what I believe (and don't) in my heart. Take joy that I have found a way to pull out the arrow, even if it's not the same way you would have done it. Every foot set along a path is one less lonely beast trapped in a cage when it could be running free. Take joy in its emancipation, even as the different path you walk brings you your own peace and contentment.
That's all we ask, to be given the same opportunity you have had, to find our answers and to seek our homes. There's nothing scary about that.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Hobbesian Friday: Kids Edition
(Copyright © Universal Syndicate)
Annie and I don't have kids of our own, and this causes some consternation among other people. Most people are too polite to just blurt out "Well why on earth not?", but a few hardy souls over the years have gone there. I'm tempted to give either a smart-alec response, like "Well we had a few, but then decided we didn't like them and got Angelina Jolie to take 'em off our hands." Or with something brutally tragic designed to make them back off, like "I lost my testicles in a bad tractor accident."
But mostly I try to be honest. The pat answer I've come up with at this point is as follows:
Being a parent is one of the most important jobs there is. It's so important that we feel if you're not 100% committed to it, if you don't want it more than you've ever wanted anything in your life, then you've no business taking the job in the first place. So far, we don't feel like we want it enough.
The full answer's more complicated than that, of course, but usually that satisfies most people. I imagine in the back of their minds they're thinking "I get it -- you're a selfish bastard." And that's true a little bit, probably. It's also true that the idea of being a parent is scary, and that we're both afraid of some of the trouble lurking in our respective gene pools (alcoholism, schizophrenia, depression, etc.). I think we were both also had some pretty rough spots growing up, and we don't want to visit that on any of our own kids.
But at the end of the day, it really does come down to what I said initially -- being a parent is the most important job in the world, and unless you're willing to treat it like that you don't have any business having kids. And we aren't willing to do that. I respect the hell out of people who do, but we're honest enough to admit that we're not in that group.
We like kids a lot, and love having our nephews and nieces and goddaughters over to visit. We just don't want kids, and we're pretty OK with that decision. Society wants to make it more complicated than that, I think largely due to an understandable fear that if that choice gets too socially acceptable, we'll somehow run out of people to keep civilization going.
To those people, all I can say is "I offered to get a dog instead, and Annie agreed."
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