Cynicism and Faith: A Journey of Belief

I was recently asked if I believed in Miracles. 20 years ago, I would have answered this question with a flat, fast NO. Now, after several incidents that defy logical explanation, it’s a firm and steadfast maybe.

A miracle is a powerful thing that defies the physical world and all of the laws of probability. There’s a reason that it requires a panel of very stodgy and high-ranking Catholics to classify anything as a miracle. In that light nothing I’ve witnessed in my life fits the mold.

Perhaps it’s the religious implication of the word. Miracles are largely attributed to a Divine entity. I believe in a higher power, but in the most undefined of ways. I struggle with the notion of an interactive deity. Instead, I chalk belief in such things as miracles up to the human need to explain the unexplainable.

I’m a cynic. I question everything.

I was always uncomfortable owning that. Being a cynic is often mistaken for being challenging or disagreeable. It may be aligned with my trust issues. My favorite saying is, “Trust but verify.” My distrust of people is surely related to my need for proof in matters of belief. Despite having Faith, Hope, and Charity on my right forearm, faith is very elusive to me. The tattoo merely represents hope. With Faith being the struggle that it is, Deity is a constant challenge. Consequently, miracles don’t exist in my world.

Did I mention that I am a fair cynic? I admit to being a quasi-believer at best. I also don’t presume that everything needs an answer. I’ve already admitted my belief. I think that religion is man’s way of explaining what his mind cannot grasp. Prayer plays a particular role in this. I’m not of the same school. I am okay with not knowing the answers to the great mysteries in life. I will continue to question the very meaning of life until my last breath. I will be okay if I never truly understand. I am insignificant, a grain of sand on an eternal beach. I am perfectly content with the possibility that I am not expected to know. Maybe I am supposed to trust the process, as everyone is so fond of saying these days.

As an aside, I constantly question the larger questions in life. I do this not to dismiss the notion of a God, but to come to peace with it. I want, more than anything, to believe. I’m just not there. In the spirit of an inquisitive being, I seek to be wrong. Almost everyone else will retreat to be right in their own minds.

If anyone should believe in miracles, it is me. I have come out on the other side of tragedy and death more than a few times. I have been in a coma, had sepsis, severe accidents, and chronic disease. More than once, I entered a hospital that most thought I wouldn’t leave without a toe tag. I’m still here. Maybe it’s a miracle. But I don’t think I’m important enough, in the grand scheme of things, to warrant one. My life is good and well-intentioned. But the ripples of my actions don’t cross even a duck pond. Instead, I look at my continued presence as the result of good Karma. Everything is energy, after all, and I know I put out good energy into the world. My reward was getting to stick around a little longer.

Living Life Beyond Complaints: A Stoic Perspective

Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, Roman Emperor and Stoic, wrote the above quote over 1800 years ago. Who knew that “Suck it up, buttercup” was a thing so long ago? Are we to surmise that the great Toga-clad Roman society was no more free from complainers than we are today? I suppose this oversimplification fails to do the quote justice. It’s not about complaining, it’s about strength. Marcus Aurelius, as a Stoic Philosopher, believed that the quality of life is determined by how well you face adversity. In short, not everything requires action or a response.

Still, it is refreshing that, as early as 180 A,D complaining was a thing. It tells me it’s not a lovely side effect of a population growing less resilient.

I’m particularly familiar with this quote because I live it. To be clear, I am not special, nor do I want a cookie for having a challenging life. I don’t know anyone whose life isn’t. We all have problems, and it’s not a contest. One may view another’s issues as insignificant compared to one’s own. Still, that does not change the fact that everyone’s problems matter a lot to them. People need to understand this. Some choose to talk about it. Others keep it to themselves, comfortable in the age-old notion that nobody really cares. Or out of not wanting to burden others. And then others, well, they complain.
Not me.

As a person who has consistently dealt with setback after setback, I don’t talk much about my challenges. I was reluctantly “the sick guy” for a long time. Whenever I encountered anyone I knew, there was an inevitable, “How are you feeling?” coming. Please don’t take this as unappreciative. Good words are not guaranteed from everyone. Take them when you can. I simply struggled with the fact that my illness was the most definable aspect of my persona.
The most positive trait I can offer is that I am not a complainer.
I would rather be known as the opposite of a complainer.
Content. Stoic. Strong. Positive. Optimistic.

Have you ever heard someone refer to another as a survivor? “Oh, he/she’s been through so much. What a survivor. I can’t stand that. We are one of 2 things. We are alive, or we are not. Being present enough to be called a survivor means that you are alive. Logic thereby dictates that you have survived. My attitude is that while above the dirt, go out and live while you can.
Life is to be endured.

The mistake we make is to expect life to be fair or happy. The Declaration of Independence offers us the right to pursue happiness, but there is no guarantee of it. Yet many think that happiness itself is guaranteed, and any other outcome is thereby a disappointment. My attitude is that life is a series of obstacles, challenges, disappointments, and pivotal moments. Mixed in with everything entailed in surviving, we have moments of happiness. Brief periods of joy. Those are to be looked forward to because they justify the struggle. Strong people find something to be happy about. Others complain. They fail to recognize that the very breath they use to complain is something for which they should be grateful.

The choice is simple. Endure in silence, or find something in your particular situation to be grateful for. I’m facing another health challenge after only 4 years of relatively good health (my second longest streak). I’m sure that I could find many things to complain about. But I never will. Not only do people not care, but they also don’t like it. They appreciate someone who makes the best out of their situation.

I have a great life. To focus on what I can’t control is just the wrong way to live. Instead, concentrate on what I have in front of me and what lies ahead. Your stone will someday display a date of birth and a date of expiration. The dash, well, that’s everything in between. Live for that.

The veneer of civilization


“Then you see kids, good kids from good families. Back home, these kids would help little old ladies across the street. They would also go to Bible study. Yet, they do these horrible things. They’re in the country for a little bit, and it’s like the veneer of civilization peels right off of them.”

The quote above is from a Vietnam Veteran. He was interviewed for the 10-part documentary The Vietnam War by Ken Burns. He was talking about “acts of war”. In particular, the acts of savagery committed by some American soldiers while serving in Vietnam.

At an average of 90 minutes per episode, completing the series was challenging. But I did, and I have a lot of takeaways. There are hours of battle footage, commentary, and interviews. All the players are involved, including politicians and soldiers from South and North Vietnam, and the enemy. It covers all of the geopolitics involved in Cold War Southeast Asia. Per usual, Burns provides an honest, balanced and unflinching look at one of the darkest chapters in recent history.

The veterans interviewed did the unusual. They talked openly about their experience. They ranged from the reluctant draftee to the hardened veteran. There was also the wide-eyed, eager recruit seeking the honor and glory his father achieved. Finally, there was the everyday guy from Anytown, USA, who felt the call of Patriotism. They all went to the same place, but all came back very different. It wasn’t like the last war, their Dad’s war. And glory was not in the cards.

A lot of men did and saw things that would haunt them. When villages were razed, livestock slaughtered, suspected enemies gunned down, and food supplies destroyed, part of following orders, a lot of soldiers found their moral compass in danger. Some made “deals with the devil” to rationalize their acts. One soldier said, “I will never kill another human, but there’s no limit to how many Vietcong I will waste.” If they are no longer people, then it becomes easier. They are the enemy; they do not matter.

Then some stretched the thin red line even further. Rapes, mass killings of civilians, and excess brutality sometimes occurred. As it says above, it was as if the veneer of civilization had worn off of them.”

At home, the war had changed people as well. The escalating campaign was enormously controversial. Young people broke ranks with their parents’ beliefs. Students took to the streets and challenged authority figures. Peaceful protest morphed into violence as frustration with a growing conflict grew. Pictures of bombing campaigns and burned children were finding their way into American living rooms, and people were outraged. Some activists decided that violence was justified, and riots and bombings occurred. It culminated when the National Guard opened fire on a crowd at Kent State and killed four. One veteran lamented, “It has gotten so bad we are killing our own at home”. Even after the Saigon airlift of ’73, this country was divided and forever damaged.

When the soldiers returned, there was no ticker tape parade. The hostility towards the war had been directed towards those who had been charged with fighting it. The brave men and women who fought the unpopular war returned from planes and boats. They were unjustly called “baby killers” and were spit upon. These people are still owed the Welcome Home they deserved. But as I have said. Everyone and everything had changed.

What are the rules of civilization? Are they inherent? Are we born to act rationally and be decent to each other? Is it the job of parents to instill the concept of society in us? Is the veneer of civilization so thin that it can be easily worn down? Can we easily descend into barbarism and savagery?

You may not know what it was like to see the political climate of the late 60’s and early 70’s. It isn’t too late. You can still see it. Just turn on your TV. Because it’s still happening, only the target of the outrage is different. Riots, Nazi flags, death threats, mass shootings, shouting, fighting, people just being ugly to each other. So I have to ask; if the veneer of civilization is but a thin covering, what’s underneath?

Embracing the ‘Enough’ Mindset for Happiness

It’s a tired bit from movies and sitcoms.
A character, when faced with losing a friend to marriage, or moving, or some other life-changing event, says something to try to make them change their mind.
“But what about our plans to hike the Appalachian Trail?”
“Who will I travel Europe with?”
“We were going to make that movie.”
The response would be, to great audience applause, “Dude, we have literally never done any of those things.”

I always get a chuckle out of those gags because there is some truth to them. We do often envision ourselves doing something different, something exciting, something completely out of our comfort zone. Some are goals. Others are pure fantasy. Some are doable if one can overcome the logistic or emotional challenges that hold us back. Logistical challenges such as having a job, or being married with children could make hiking the Appalachian Trail a challenge. Emotional challenges, such as fear of flying, make traveling in Europe unlikely. Then there is the fear of change, a likely crippling yet common emotional challenge.

I have indulged in such yearnings myself. However, I failed to capitalize on the opportunities provided by youth. When I was young and free and unencumbered, I could go and do anything, anywhere. Elements of my life always forced me to push those yearnings to the back burner. I worked and made money, but I didn’t save any. I lived on what I made. Before I knew it, I was living to work and not working to live. Unfortunately, that never changed. Still, I had things that I wanted to do someday.

“Someday” is a wonderful notion. It is the carrot at the end of the stick. The mechanical rabbit at the dog track. It is the want of future “stuff” and “experiences.” This occurs when we have all of our shit together, are financially secure, and are emotionally and physically able. We consider the “want-to’s” that call to us through open windows as we toil through the “have-to’s” of life. As we age, or sink further into the harsh requirements of survival, they seem farther from our reach. Many, through planning, good decisions, or good fortune, reach that point. They successfully raise their kids and manage their careers and finances. Eventually, they buy the boat, RV, or Beach House. Some travel to Europe or spend the winter in Florida. I applaud them. They recognized, worked towards, and then achieved their someday.

That’s not me. At my current station in life, a continuously meager existence appears to be my new reality. Any “somedays” I have will be modest for sure. As an accountable person, I can reconcile that. The more mature version of me knows that we are a product of our decisions. My decisions have led me to where I am. I need not look elsewhere for blame; it is of my own doing.

Fortunately, I am a simple man who has never aspired to or envied wealth. You can ask anyone who knows me. They will tell you I wouldn’t be much different if I had a billion dollars. I am all about enough. I hope to have enough to eat every day. Enough money in my bank account so I don’t ever worry about money. To have enough friends surrounding me in good times and bad. Enough physical and mental ability to enjoy the activities that I love. I’m not extravagant at all, nor do I envy those who have the means to do so. I have learned to appreciate the simplicity of life, and I think my “enough” approach fits well within it.

Sure, the “somedays” still beckon me. There are still things that I want to do, only they have shifted in focus. I no longer hope for travel, adventure, and excitement. Now, I wish for peace of mind. I also hope for an extended period of good health and to be free of worry. I know that it is unreasonable to expect out of life an easy existence. That’s not what I want. I want manageable. There is a saying, “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.” Well, the big guy must think I’m a real badass. Sorry, God, surely I have proven to you that I can handle it by now. I want to dial it down a bit. I don’t know what else to tell you.

There was a time when I would say that life had beaten me down. The “enough” mindset comes from a new realization. It is an understanding that my focus has shifted to what constitutes luxury and happiness. Sorry to be cliche’. I learned the hard way the old adage. “It’s not about having what you want. It’s wanting what you have.” I have a great life now. It is full of amazing people and meaningful activities. I have chosen to be with the people I want. I have crafted my life around the activities I enjoy. I have come to peace with my past. I am ready to face my future with the tools I have gained through the adversity of my life. I am prepared, however long I have.
I have enough of everything I need and no tears over what I don’t have. Oh yes, I also have a Motorcycle. That sure helps! I just need enough GAS MONEY.

Understanding Quotes: Beyond the Surface Interpretations

Americans embody a lot of things to a lot of people. One of particular interest to me is the unfinished quote. Is it a testament to laziness? Can I charitably call it brevity? We don’t even care to use complete quotes. We bother to dig into the archives for historical quotes, yet we only use half of it.
A few examples:
“The early bird gets the worm“. It means to strive to be early, ahead of others, it speaks to ambition. Yet, that is only half of the quote. The remainder is, “but the second mouse gets the cheese.” It’s actually not a positive, motivational quote at all; it’s a cautionary tale about the downfalls of ambition.
“Rome wasn’t built in a day“. On its face, it tells us that great things take time. Sadly, the oft-unused other part is, “but it burned in one.” Suddenly, the lesson becomes a cautionary tale of the temporary nature of things.
“Carpe Diem“. Seize the day, right? I can see Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society, imploring his young, eager pledges to charge forward.

But the full quote is, Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero. “Seize the day, put very little trust in tomorrow”. We use the phrase “Carpe Diem” as a call to go YOLO. However, the phrase actually means to focus on getting things done today. You don’t know what tomorrow will bring.

“An eye for an eye.” A call for justice, revenge, an evening of the playing field, right? No, the remainder is, “Only makes the world go blind.” Suddenly, it’s a contradiction to its typical interpretation. Reject vengeance, for it will bring terrible results. Not a call to arms, but a plea for reason and restraint.

And, the topic dujour, how about “I am large, I contain multitudes“. This is a fragment of a very popular, oft-quoted Walt Whitman quote. It is from his 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass. You will see it on many a Hipster’s tattoo or someone’s FB page. Bob Dylan even named an album after it. Brands, mental health campaigns, and diversity initiatives frequently borrow the phrase to signal the exclusivity of all human complexity. It captures the essence of embracing contradictions and the multifaceted nature of identity.
But the full quote is actually, “Do I contradict myself? Well then,I contradict myself. (I am large/I contain multitudes.) It may be the most quoted line of poetry ever. Some variations:
“I am large, I contain multitudes, and every part of me is worthy.”
“My contradictions do not weaken me; they make me whole.”
“There is room in me for every version of myself.”
“Consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds; I prefer multitudes.”
“I am the poetry of paradox.”

There are more than 30 such valid interpretations, but let’s return to the concept of the incomplete quote. On its face, to say, “I contain multitudes,” implies complexity. A testament to the multifaceted human personality. A testament to the great mind. It is also the tool of a fool. A fool quotes it to project more depth than he actually possesses. When you recognize the hypocrisy of the statement, “Do I contradict myself/ Well then I contradict myself,” you can acknowledge it as a statement of defiance. You can see it not only as hypocrisy but as defiance. This is a rejection, at the time, of the European construct of the infallible, resolute, and focused man. Whitman boldly rejects that anachronism and admits the unpopular and controversial. Man is ultimately fallible and can not only make mistakes. He can change his mind occasionally, even reverse a position if faced with a challenge to his mindset. He is capable of Self-acceptance in the face of inconsistency, and the rejection of binary thinking (good/evil, body/soul, individual/society).

Here are my two cents.
A man can be more than one version of himself.
Being a paradox is not the same as being indecisive as to your position. Is it better to “dig in” when he might be wrong? It’s conducive to growth.
Every part of a man’s being deserves a chance to shine, for every aspect of a man’s personality is worthy.

This subject is of particular importance to me. I have suffered with the consistency of identity forever. I often feel that I present the safest version of myself, that the world can’t take me at Factory Settings. I have deprived myself of true identity by allowing this. At some point, my persona morphed from that of an artist to that of a fake tough guy. I used to draw, paint, read philosophy, and embrace intellectualism through tolerance. One day, or at least it seemed as if it happened in one day, I went the path more traveled. I tried to fit in. I became what I thought the people I was with at the time wanted me to be. I still held on to the artist in me, but he was not shown to many.

At some point, I realized that I had gone too far from my roots. I lost myself in the process. I struggled with it. With my insecurities, I feared exactly what Whitman embraced: hypocrisy. I never considered three facts that, once embraced, would change my life.
1)Within me live a thousand voices, each one is true at one time.
2)Embrace the multitude of personality traits; my true friends will accept me.
3)To deny my opposing character traits is to deny myself and the world of what I have to offer.

I am proud to say that in recent months I have undergone many significant changes. I have come to understand and hold in check the less desirable aspects of myself. I have shifted my negative thinking to being more accepting and loving of myself in all of my weird glory. I have gained confidence that I never knew I had. I care much less what others think of me, I care more now about what I think of me.

I contain multitudes as well. The difference is that I plan to embrace them. Not everyone will be able to handle it. But those I call friends will not only embrace it, but they will welcome it.



Self-Love in Dating

Maybe showing up for yourself was the love you were looking for all along
Anonymous

I saw this this morning, Valentine’s Day. Or as undatable people such as I call it, Saturday. It hit me hard, not due to any particular poignancy. It affected me because of the timing.

I have been abstaining from dating for many months. The disappointments that came one after the other led me to remove myself from the situation. At first, I licked my wounds. I then analyzed, overthought, and ruminated on how many ways in which I could blame myself. I mean, after so many disappointments, it had to be me, right? For the longest time, I believed that.
Then one day I stopped. It may have been partially me, but not all of it. It’s a combination of being out of practice, age-related urgency, and forgetting that I was never really good at relationships. Even before someone was willing to marry me, I had a pretty rough history. After 22 years of marriage, I was truly ill-equipped to be on the playing field. I had forgotten how to be tender. I had been conditioned to not feel or expect love or intimacy. I forgot the importance of looking and being the best for my partner. I no longer knew how to give love and support because the role of support network had fallen on another. The excitement of starting a new day with the love of my life had changed. It evolved into a routine. It turned into unspoken sentiments and a lost desire to make improvements. In the place of longing and a shared bond now sat quiet disappointment and bitter resentments. How does a man lift himself from that place? How does he find the courage to enter the Lion’s Den of dating? And how can he do it without being bound by the shackles of his failed marriage?

Looking at it from such a perspective, my lack of success in dating makes more sense. Bottom line, I needed to get myself straight before sharing my life with another.

After reaching that conclusion, it became easier for me to accept my single status. I have always believed that to have a full and complete life, one needs a companion. It logically followed that because I was now alone, I needed to be unhappy about it. I forced myself to take a hard look at that mindset. I learned that there are many single men my age, and they’re not all unhappy. They, like me, find dating in today’s world too difficult. Also, I have heard that many enjoy the freedom of not having to share their lives with someone. At this age, not having to answer to anyone and doing what they want is liberating. I have come around to that. I have a very full life. I have many friends and an active social life. I do what I want when I want. Not out of selfishness, but because I can.

During this self-imposed hiatus, I think I have made great progress in making myself whole again. The cannonball-sized hole in my abdomen left by my marriage is closing up little by little. By not dating, I have been able to reflect on past attempts at dating with a clear and analytical eye. I am more able to recognize my own culpability in things. I also see what was beyond my control. I have distinguished between what I want vs what I actually need. I am better at being alone without being lonely. I have evolved to a place of wanting a companion but not needing one. I no longer feel compelled to force the issue by looking for love on dating sites. Instead, I plan to stumble upon it naturally. Like anything else of value in my life, I will find it as I go about my life. Someone has watched over me, ensuring I get what I need for this long. I’m comfortable trusting the process a little longer.

In the meantime, I plan to continue to work on myself. It’s a constant process, and I’m headed in the right direction. I’m no good to anyone if I’m not good to myself.

A sobering reminder

I wrote this 6 years ago. I scan my previous writings for perspective on what my life is now compared to before. This was written in a very dark time in my life. At the height of my illness, I was lacking purpose. I truly struggled with the return on investment of continuing on. Everything felt hopeless. I remembered a conversation with my youngest. She told me that I was her favorite person in the world. That memory got me through it.
It really is amazing how much things can change. And how things can get better when you feel that all hope is lost.

I’m currently dealing with a tragic suicide within my circle. So many have been devastated by it. An entire extended family, as well as an enormous circle of friends, have had their lives forever altered. Instead of love and companionship, they now crave answers and understanding.
Talk to someone, folks. The poem below is real. That is how close I came. And why I didn’t do it.


When you were young

your favorite line

was “Dad, you don’t know”

well did you know?

there was a night

not long ago

I sat on the edge of my bed

or was it the universe?

one in the chamber

cursed glass of whiskey

liquid false courage

in the other hand

disgusted with yesterday

bored with today

uninterested in tomorrow

desperately seeking a reason

to carry on

I’d lost my joy

and the will to seek it

where once was strength

a cavernous

anguished

aching gash

Where was the zeal?

I’m missing the real

existing but not living

tears of pain roll

down my unshaven cheek

one, just one

fucking reason I seek

to not end it all

the safety off

just drunk enough

sick enough

to call Bullshit

on this timed-out
worn-out
overplayed phase
I call my life

then I think of you

my precious child

your first steps

the sun in your hair

your infinite

infectious smile

golden and pure soul

my heart yearns

stomach turns

my mind scolds me

at the thought of hurting you

if I was to shed

this mortal shell

in the throes of my selfish pain

I would crush you

my dear child

I had forgotten 

in a selfless moment

your love

ceaseless adoration

and your words

that I am

your favorite

person in the world

I couldn’t pull it

the beckoning trigger

for I had vowed to myself 

in a lighter hour

I would never

cause you

a life of pain

in the name

of ending mine

The stranger isn’t always danger

While walking by, I say, “How are you?”

Your look tells me you don’t know what to do

I don’t blame you, I’m scared too

I’m on the lookout for the drop of the next shoe

But consider this, my skeptical stranger

I might be the good guy who poses no danger

I wish I had a badge, some kind of a label

That says “I wouldn’t hurt you, I’m simply not able.”

But a simple greeting knocks you way off track

Once I’m past you there’s no getting it back

“Your loss”, I will say, under my breath

I will continue to do this until the day of my death

Someone has to start a chain of good will

It takes little effort and no special skill

Let’s offset the anger, the hatred and division

With kindness and empathy embark on a mission

Effective immediately, as early as today

Let’s change our thinking and find a new way

To talk and discuss, with respect to each other

Not yell, argue and fight with our brother

This challenge is doable, but not for the weak

Can you halt and taste your words before you speak?

We need to do something, the situation is dire

If cooler heads don’t prevail…well here comes the fire

It’s really quite simple, the words easy to say

Ready, here we go…” Have a nice day!”

80K in 30 days

Screenshot

Suicide is a National tragedy. 80,000 suicides in 4 weeks. Why isn’t mental health a priority?

I’m very close to the subject of suicide. My Masonic Riding Association Chapter dedicates its charitable activities to Suicide prevention through fundraisers such as charity rides. The president of our Chapter lost his son to it.
I have lost many friends over the years to it. There have been so many funerals. More than I care to count. It’s always the same. Nearly all in attendance were thinking the same things. They asked, “How did we not see this coming?” and “What could have been done to prevent it?” You wish for that one last chance to remind someone that they matter, and what they are going through will pass. Instead, your only option is to stand over their mortal shell and say the things that you wished you had said when they were alive. Then the realization sets in, your words are unheard now, and mean nothing anymore. It’s just too late.

I have struggled with thoughts of suicide as well. Greatly. It started when I was on dialysis several years ago. I struggled through some very dark, sleepless nights in which my thoughts attacked me. Feelings of despair, worthlessness, frustration, and exhaustion washed over me, standing guard so as to not allow any conflicting voices of hopefulness intervene. I was convinced that life was not worth living. That I was of no use, in fact a burden to everyone. I didn’t feel needed, wanted, or useful. I was sick, broke, isolated from my support network, and generally feeling that there was no reason to keep fighting. It was such a confusing time for me. I managed to get through each day. But I always knew that I had another battle in store later that night. The one thing that kept me from actually doing it was knowing what it would do to the people who love me.
Eventually, those nightly battles ended. For a while, I believed that they were gone for good. I chalked them up to a phase. I was wrong. I have battled suicidal ideations many times since. Recently, I am sad to report.

Never again, after the events of last week.

A close family friend hung herself last week in a house full of people who loved her. 12 people to be exact. Not to mention the throngs of others who have just found out. She was a mother of 5, a Grandmother of 5, a devoted wife, and a friend to all. She listened with ease, cared without end, and loved everyone in her life. She was my ex-wife’s best friend in the entire world. Now my ex, as well as her enormous family and network of friends, are left holding a giant bag of unanswered questions.

My ex became friends with Lisa when our children were very young. That friendship evolved to include Lisa and her husband. It also included her sister and his husband, along with the third brother and his family. We would congregate as 8 adults and 14 children. Restaurants were fun. I say that sarcastically, but they actually were fun. The adults were as silly and fun-loving as the kids were. For years, we spent almost every occasion with them. Summer days were spent at the pool and lakes. Weekend nights were full of raucous laughter and the joyful sounds of children. I am hard-pressed to think of many nice family days that weren’t spent with their families. Until our divorce, when I wasn’t much a part of things. Unfortunately, the memory of Lisa is a bit tarnished for me. Her friendship with my ex became problematic for me late in our marriage. I felt that the friendship was too much, a bit excessive, and I pushed back some. But I need to be clear, I had no issue with Lisa, only with the situation itself. Even after stating that, I feel awful now. I don’t know if I ever told her that my problem wasn’t with her. I am only comforted by the fact that Lisa probably didn’t hold grudges against me. She just wasn’t like that. I could have learned a lot about forgiveness from her.

The funeral is Friday. It is going to be a very hard day for all involved. The family is one of the closest families I’ve ever known. They love hard and play hard, it logically follows that they grieve hard as well. I anticipate one touching, tearful eulogy after another, each more difficult to process than the last. I plan on providing a shoulder for my ex, if she’ll take it from me. I hope she will because it is the only thing that I have to offer. It won’t be enough, but it will at least be something that I can do for her. She is devastated; there is no other word. I feel just awful for her. She will carry this with her forever. Her mental health, while never great, will be forever affected. For that I am deeply sad.

Seeing the damage done to the living, I now believe that suicide is a terribly selfish act. No one should ever have to go through what Lisa’s family is going through right now. The good memories will prevail. However, the present moment is full of whys, what-ifs, if I had only knowns, and what are we going to do’s. For context, she became a grandmother again just last month. A child that will never know how awesome her Grammy really was.
I can never do that to my family. No amount of pain or despair is worth doing such a thing to them.

Mental health is a crisis of unchecked proportions. See, Lisa was unwell. Despite her ability to help others without limit, she was unable to help herself. Her family was unable to help. My ex, who loved Lisa as much as her family did, was unable to do anything to help.

How many families must endure this pain before we realize we have a problem? I am aware that I am doing a small something by engaging in charities dedicated to this. But the irony that I have thought about ending my life in the same family-crushing manner is not lost on me.

We need to have a national conversation. NOW. https://projectsemicolon.com/

Support the Semi-Colon.

MINSKY: The Journey of an Unfulfilled Android

This is my retelling of Fargo, Season 3, Episode 3, in which the backstory of a dead character is examined. Unit MNSKY, or MINSKY, is the creation of a once-promising Science Fiction writer. His career abruptly ended after a publisher took advantage of him. The book, The Planet WYH, was a promising entry in what would be a successful series. It was relegated to obscurity in a box in the floor. The daughter found it after his death and read it. The producers of the show made a bold and brilliant choice. They told the story of MINSKY, the dutiful Robot, through an animated sequence. It is summarized above.
I am so glad they did.

My name is MINSKY, also known as Unit MNSKY. I am a small robot. I exist only in the memories of the readers of my long-forgotten author,and within the pages of a book, carefully tucked away in this tin box under the floorboards of an old house. Forgotten is my story. I’m out of service. My massive quantities of data have been mined, my metal harvested, my work complete.

My spaceship crashed here on planet WYH 2 million years ago. My pilot and friend died soon after impact. I stood over his fading lifeforce, only able to offer my one sentence, “I can help.” As I would painfully discover, I can’t help. All I have are good intentions. In this new world, I hope that is enough. My mission is to walk the earth. I aim to document all that I see.
Alone, I witnessed the creation of matter, the birth of life, the rise and fall of civilizations, and so much more.
As I walked, slowly and deliberately, the path of discovery, I was a mere spectator to the wonders before me. Water creatures left the surf to breathe air and walk. Giant creatures battled for dominance in a world that extinguished them, without acknowledgment for their conquest, with a single asteroid. I wandered through centuries of Ice and barren terrain. I saw villages morph into cities, cities become countries . I witnessed rises and descents, hopeful building of civilizations, and the wanton destruction that followed. I was witness to the creation of remarkable, benevolent scientific inventions that advanced civilization, as well as the destruction of entire civilizations at the hands of terrible weapons created by the same beings. I wandered for almost 2 million years as a mere spectator. The only time beings interacted with me was when I was an unwilling participant. See, I had to stop every century to recharge. While doing so, I was quite vulnerable. Some creatures took the opportunity to attempt to harm me. Once, one of my upper body appendages was torn off as I sat helplessly. I wasn’t offered assistance or kindness; I was taunted and berated. As an Android, I don’t experience emotions such as sadness. But I know what it is; my database prepared me for all things. My intelligence tells me that what I experienced was cruelty, a base emotion displayed by the non-evolved. Cruelty’s antithesis, kindness, was rarely offered and seemed to be in short supply.
That’s not to say that I am not programmed to offer simulated versions of “emotions”, despite being a rational Android. I occasionally extended an appendage, in its literal sense, to beings I encountered in my travels. If I saw someone struggling, I offered an “I can help”. Only to be reminded that, other than being able to enunciate the words, I am unable to act on them. One being was angry at me, upon my failing to help, calling me “useless” and “worthless”. It pleases me that as an Android I am not susceptible to verbal attacks. Besides, I am only an observer here to document and gather intelligence. A one-armed Android tasked with wandering for eternity until my mission is deemed complete.
One day, as I emerged from my recharge slumber, I experienced my first contact with extraterrestrial life since the crash landing as I found myself before several very distinguished members of the Federation of United Planets. After being recognized as the oldest sentient being in the universe I was commended for my longevity and thanked for the massive amounts of information I recorded. I was then told that it was time for me to shut myself down. I nodded in agreement, reached for my head appendage, opened it, located the switch, and shut myself down. My service was done.
I had wandered 2.38 million years. In that vast amount of elapsed time, I had observed and reported as programmed. I had done nothing else.

I traveled, but I did not enjoy.
I observed without the benefit of awe or curiosity.
I wanted to help, but I wasn’t able to.
I recorded my observations, but I didn’t learn from them.
I was done with my mission, but I hadn’t accomplished anything.
I was able to enunciate my desire to help, but I wasn’t able to help.
I existed, but I did not live.
I didn’t retire; I was shut down.
I have no legacy, just an off switch.
I had a long experience, but I didn’t have a life.
I am a sympathetic character, but I have no understanding of what that means.


Jesus, how sad is that?

I love this episode and animated short so much. The art is minimalist yet enthralling. It is both simplistic and maddeningly beautiful. It is poignant yet heartbreaking. It beautifully saddened me. I find myself affected, which is not an easy feat. MINSKY’s journey parallels so many aspects of life that it morphs into an existential meditation on the tragedy of an unfulfilled life.

Life as an observer will never be fulfilling. If you feel like you were put here for a reason, go and pursue it. If you feel like you have a job to do on this planet, take action. Don’t end up like MINSKY.