Showing posts with label happiness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label happiness. Show all posts

Sunday, April 20, 2014

Good Morning Jessicca...

Letter to my Daughter
Sunday, 20 April


Sunset Boulevard

Good Morning Jessicca…

Can it ever be argued one day that we have too much freedom, too much personal autonomy and that liberty and the pursuit of happiness has led to self-indulgence and a ruinous sense of entitlement?  It is an argument that is made by some now but not likely from someone trying to hold a family together on irregular work and minimum wage.  Who, then, is it that sees this nation as being one of individuals corrupted by wealth and whose vision of freedom no longer includes the responsibility of citizenship?  It sounds like a caricature of us made by someone on the outside of our national boundaries looking in.  We are the ever acquiring Yankee, manipulative, pushy – always seeking a new advantage under the soft empire of globalization.  If words and money won’t do then there’s always the military:  with actions in Panama, Grenada, Somalia, Sudan, Bosnia, Haiti, Kosovo, the Persian Gulf, Iraq and Afghanistan; all since the end of the Cold War.

Of course, much of our almost continuous conflict of the past several years is the result of 9/11.  Al-Qaida and Osama bin-Laden needed to be destroyed.  Saddam Hussein was not to be trusted.  Iraq was a preemptive war.  Our initial military incursion went off with nary a hitch.  Unfortunately the Iraqi people didn’t follow the script we had for them.  Matters took an ugly turn.  Chaos erupted and casualties mounted.  With Iraq emasculated there wasn’t much left to check the growing influence of Iran in the region.  Troubles mounted.  Wars have a way of dislodging the foul detritus of unintended consequences. 

The good news is that only volunteers and their families were adversely affected by years of fighting overseas.  These people represented only a tiny portion of America.  Meanwhile the rest of us went on a spending spree.  The best way to thumb our nose at terrorists was to demonstrate the robust nature of our economy.  Taxes were cut as we decided to defer the cost of the war to some vague point further down the road.  Our purchasing power made for a marvelous time.  Jobs were plentiful.  New financing plans made it possible for most anyone to become a homeowner.  Home prices soared in response to overwhelming demand but that’s not a problem.  Forget the principle as you could now make payments solely on the interest you owed.  It didn't seem wise but if banks approved it then it must be OK.  Besides we were all enjoying ourselves so who’s to notice the drowned fly in the punchbowl. 

There were other little nagging indicators the party wasn’t quit what it claimed to be.  The easy availability of credit cards enabled us to spend beyond our wages and, if your debt got out of hand, you could always bail yourself out with a loan based on the soaring equity of your home.  Forget buying stocks on Wall Street.  What better return on your money was there than owning a home?  New car, new home, big screen TV and dinners out with the family at least twice a week – life is good.  We were all busy giving ourselves high-fives when, suddenly, the lights went out.  The Grinch pulled the plug and panic set in.  The national glut turned out to be just another Ponzi scheme that came due.  The emperor truly does have no clothes and we are in over our heads, simply losers after all.

Life has its ups and downs, even on a national level.  We dig out from the rubble and tend to our bruises.  Hopefully we’ve learned something from it all.  What that is we’re not exactly sure.  Democracy has many voices talking at once.  It’s hard to discern a clear message but what I’m getting is something to do with individual freedom tempered by responsibility and one’s compact with society includes recognition that personal success always requires the participation of many others.

Love,
           Dad


Sunday, November 17, 2013

Good Morning Jacob...

Letter to my Son
Sunday, 17 November


Cold Valentine

Good Morning Jacob…

You know who it is that writes on all those walls in bathroom stalls in every coffee shop, truck stop and neighborhood bar – everywhere that’s within walking distance of a parked car?  Elmer Fudd.  Surprised?  Come on.  You’ve known it all along.  Think about it.  After all, who is Elmer Fudd, really?  Yeah, he’s the guy made to look stupid, right?  He’s looking for the wabbit.  Where’s the furry little bunny?  Why should he care?  Because he’s wearing that funny hat that lets everyone know, “I’m on a sehweeus mission.  I’m going to shot that wabbit, I am.  Be vehwee, vehwee quiet.”

I’ve talked with Elmer Fudd on more than one occasion.  I can tell you I know something about what makes him tick.  How would I know?  Because I see a good deal of me in Elmer Fudd.  I want to find the hat that I can wear and people will see it and they will know I’m the real deal.  I’m on a serious mission.  So far, though, all the hats I wear don’t seem to fit me right.  They just kind of slump down over the top of my ears so it looks like I’m having to grow some more so I can fit into what it is I’m wanting to be.  You know how frustrating that is?  My closet is filled with clothes from all kinds of stores.  Look at me.  See?  I’m an adventurer today.  I’m a rugged man’s man, climbing rocks in the outback in search of grizzly.  Maybe tomorrow I will step outside in a fine three-piece, pinstripe suit and be a captain of industry on an evening stroll about the neighborhood.  Possibly.  On the other hand I’m beginning to feel like deck shoes without socks, white slacks and a Hawaiian shirt with Bird of Paradise over a field of black.  I’m stunningly casual, right?  Anyway, that’s what the sales clerk told me.

Ever notice how some people can fix their eyes on yours and take your hand and walk you into whatever dream they want you to believe and you go along because they are so sincere and so smart and just incredibly confident and satisfied with who it is they are.  I’m amazed there really are people like this.  How do they do it?  Ask me to do the same thing and I wind up looking at your shirt and flubbing my lines.  I don’t make any sense.  I find a reason to excuse myself and go sit alone in a corner filling up on cookies.  It’s not fair.  I really, really need to be someone I’m not. 

Some people have it all figured out.  They’re the celebrities talking about their latest passion on late night TV talk shows.  They’ve redecorated their kitchen or something.  Some fabulous new someone has become the love of their life and they’re about to tour Europe for the entire summer.  Sometimes they’re people that just seem kind of quiet.  They don’t have much to say because they speak only to other geniuses.  They spend their days filling blackboards with equations that reveal miracles of science.  Sometimes they’re the guy your aunt is always talking about.  How many times have you heard her say, “Everything he ever did turned to money.  He just has a way.  My, what marvelous ideas he has.”

If only I could come up with one of those ideas I could be really happy.  I’d pay my bills on time.  I’d be someone to somebody.  I could go out to eat and take someone with me.  I’d pick up the tab and pay the tip, too.  I’d be very generous because my life would be blessed.  People would tell their friends about me.  “You know who I want you to meet?  He’s so clever.  And he’s fun, too.  Too bad he’s so busy flying about here and there taking care of business and solving difficult problems.  He’s such a nice man.  What a shame it is he has so little time for himself.  That’s the downside of being so badly needed.  You’d love him.”

It ain’t going to happen for me.  I know it.  What a crummy deal. 

I’m headed to the mall.  Maybe there’s something I can wear that lets me feel the way I want myself to be.  I’m thinking possibly expensive jeans with a western belt, a double-pocket shirt with metal buttons and pointed-toed boots.  I’m Hud.  I won’t have to talk to be the part.  I’ll just walk around with a knowing, cynical look.  Actually, it doesn’t really matter how I show my face.  People take one look at me and they know.  I can’t shake it.  I’m Elmer Fudd.  Be vehwee quiet.  I’m hunting for wabbit.

Love,
          Dad