July 20, 2007

• Scary
  

  As a rule, I don't scare easily. That doesn't mean I won't nearly jump out of my skin when I'm quietly concentrating and the dog sneaks up behind me and barks in my ear as loudly as he can. But I don't call that being scared. That's more like being startled. And I use the word in the earliest sense of its meaning. The dog barks and I jump a little. The body actually jerks or starts quickly. There's probably some explanation for it encoded in its DNA so I don't pay it a lot of mind. On the other hand, I've observed I will often get annoyed at the dog, as if it was a canine conspiracy reminiscent of a Gary Larson cartoon. What's the matter with the dog anyway? Can't he see I'm busy? Poor Buddy. He has no idea about all the requirements I place on him. Interestingly, my wife just passed through my office and went out onto our front porch. Buddy (the dog in question) went with her and the minute he set foot on the front porch he started barking wildly and loudly. Connie (the wife in question) said, Boy, you're noisy. Needless to say my ears perked up and took it all in because it was agreement. She was agreeing with me that the dog is noisy and barks a lot. The tone of her voice let me think, rightly or not, that she too gets annoyed with the dog when he barks and startles her. Agreement! Oh, how we love agreement. I love agreement. Now I am justified in feeling negative. Perfection.

  But now we must come to the scary part of all this. The agreement part. I'm not the only one loves agreement. But the part of me that loves agreement isn't the part of me with which I wish to identify. It's not the best part of me. It's not the part of me I wish to follow and go with when it has ideas. It's a part of me that loves to be right, loves to justify itself, loves to make others wrong so it can feel better about itself. And wouldn't you know it? It's the part of me which is always handing out invitations to its parties. It took me a long time to realize I didn't have to accept every invitation I received. Too long. You see, I'm not a very bright person. Almost everyone I know, or have ever met in my life, is smarter than I. Hell, to balance my checkbook I still have to count on my fingers. String theory makes perfect sense to me but I can't remember six times nine when I need the right answer. So, you see, all the time I'm writing here I'm very aware of how little I know. How much I lack and how very much I would have to change to be the kind of person I could admire. Because I've lived with this knowledge for years it's not scary any longer. It's just the way it is and there's not much I can actually do about it outside my imagination.

  What scares me is the consistency of some comments people leave when I write something. Like, I agree to a certain degree and I think your perspective is interesting and good to a certain point and I think we agree on a number of things. Or like this, I think people may get annoyed because they dont like or agree with what you may of said. Here's the scary part. Why would anyone want to agree with me? Of the billions of intelligent beings who have lived or currently live on this planet why would anyone waste their time and energy agreeing or disagreeing with anything I might happen to write? I am, literally, no one. Nothing on this planet has my name on it or ever will. No one on this planet owes me anything. Yet I am a debtor to hundreds of thousands of people, most of whom I've never even met. The people who grew my food, made my clothes, built the cars I've driven, carry away the waste I make, etc. I'm nobody and I've done nothing. See, the thing is, I'm really okay with being nobody.
  

  • 1:46 pm
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