Fairness

The other day I overheard a young woman loudly state, while involved in a heated conversation with what I can assume was her mother, that she deserves to be happy. She followed it up by emphatically stating that it is her “Constitutional right” to be so. I wanted to jump in so badly and offer that the pursuit of happiness is mentioned only in the Declaration of Independence and nowhere mentioned in the Constitution, that the only promise implied was the pursuit, and that it was only meant as an assurance from a young Country that it was committed to freedom for all individuals, without persecution, to pursue God-given (inalienable) rights, one of them being happy, which in and of itself cannot be guaranteed.

But common sense and experience prevailed. I inferred her age and concluded that not only would I not make any kind of meaningful impact on the conversation, but also that it is not entirely her fault. She was a twenty-something, a member of a generation that has been raised on validated feelings, cancel culture, banned history, and soft truths delivered in a manner as not to offend delicate sensitivities. I kept to myself, knowing that while I meant well, I would probably come across as an old fart dishing out unsolicited opinions. I could see how the conversation would go. I could even see the ending, the introduction of the concept of fairness.

This is where my concerns for today’s generation lie; the expectation or assumption that life is fair. In the great quest for equity on all fronts, somebody made the bold assumption that all things, including happiness, would be evenly distributed. They want life to be fair.
Newsflash: LIFE.IS.NOT.FAIR. Don’t expect it to be and you will never be disappointed.

I have had a hard life. Many challenges have risen to meet me on the road of life, and I have had my share of hardship. My life has been a struggle to say the very least. But that does not mean I haven’t experienced happiness. I have had many moments that I can recall, and they are etched in my brain. But they were brief and fleeting. In between those moments was everything else that I, and countless other people have to do every day.
Such as dealing with people and things that I did not want to but had to.
Working jobs that I hated because people depended on me and there was no plan B if I lost my job.
Biting my tongue and not punching the fucking shit out of somebody because I either worked for or with them, or I feared going to jail.
Facing the truth even when it was painful.
Allowing my children to feel hurt and sad because I knew that by fixing their problems for them, they wouldn’t learn anything.
I’ve had heartache, illness, financial problems, and relationship issues. There are so many examples, but I’ve made my point. I and countless others have survived all of those things and so much more and didn’t develop a victim mentality or lament the lack of fairness. If you get how life works, you do it because that is what life is: survival. Getting through all the crap in order to enjoy something, anything, that makes you smile…that’s happiness.

Chase it, create a healthy definition, and appreciate it when you have it. Know that you are not entitled to it. And don’t expect to be happy. Because life is not fair.

Not my dog Sam

I have a 4-legged enigma sleeping on my feet right now. He is an adorable 4-year-old English Cocker, brown with big, thoughtful eyes.
He’s not mt dog, he’s my mother’s. I say this tongue in cheek because, while mom and I share a house he is solely and defiantly her dog. It doesn’t matter that I am as responsible for loving and caring for Sammy (Samuel L. Spaniel, guess who came up with that name), despite his current spot on my feet he usually wants very little to do with me.
It bugs me. A little.
I could dedicate a whole post to how stupid it is that I should let a dog affect my self-image at all, but I won’t. It’s not that he doesn’t like me, he is just unhealthily attached and fixated on my mom. He has been since the day she met him at a breeder’s house on a cold Connecticut morning, 4 hours from home. As she described it, “Of the 6 puppies to choose from this one chose me.” And he still, to this day chooses her. And if she’s not around he then chooses nobody. Even if I’m sitting in the same room.

It’s comical in a way. He snubs me like a mean girl in any High School. And I don’t take it personally, I was joking about that. He will play with me, let me throw his ball and make me chase him to get it back. He is happy to take chicken from my outstretched hand and when it’s dinner time he will come to me. But if mom is out he pouts until she comes home. That is both difficult to deal with and hard to watch. It’s difficult, because, in her absence I have to actually pick him up and put him outside, no exaggeration, to pee. Walks can be more like drags.
It’s hard to watch because when Mom is not around he’s actually sad. It is the worst case of separation anxiety I have ever seen, canine or human.
When I think about what bothers me the most, I think it is that I want a dog of my own. I don’t have a place of my own so I can’t. So the next best thing would be to feel that the dog we have is mine as well. The sad reality is, no matter how much attention I give, how many ear scratches and tummy rubs I give, and how many walks I take him on…he is not my dog.

Except when we are in Florida. Mom is here 6 months a year now and this is the first year I have come to visit. I was pleased to see what a nice place it is, how beautiful the weather is, and how friendly the people are. I was not prepared for the dog that sure looks like Sam, but isn’t. I don’t get it. He is friendly to me, relaxed and affectionate, and when mom goes out he is happy to be in my company. He is so different, it’s quite strange.
I guess he is a Florida dog. I’m different when I’m here as well. I’m not going to try to figure it out. I’m just going to run with it. I’m sure once he comes home in May he will return to ignoring me again.

I’ll just file this under the “go figure” category.