With summer almost here, it almost time cotton candy, hot dogs, games and fun. Unfortunately fair’s not coming to town. The trucks, the rides and treats might all show up for a few days but there will be kids and adults alike expecting fair. Johnny whose cotton candy is smaller than his sister’s cries about fair. The father who remembers when the ticket for a ride was a quarter, not a dollar will complain about fair. The Scrambler operator will hear about the pay that his friends get at their jobs and wish for fair. Fair is not coming to town because it’s usually a one sided proposition.
When dealing in many of life’s currencies, it is smart and possibly necessary to pay attention to equity. At times this should be pedestrian and others miserly. Regardless the perception of fair comes from the perceived value exchange. Time, money, love, gold, loyalty and a slew of other currencies trade at different values for each individual. There is no standard exchange rate. Even in monetary terms, there is constant fluctuation in the value of the dollar vs. the yen vs. the pound. Fair is not coming, it needs to be created.
The world is operating on a deficit in many currencies. The problem is that many people are miserly with currencies that are infinite. The ones that we individually create. So therefore we cannot run out of them. Love, empathy, friendship, etc. are worth giving away in the hopes of creating more. Determining a level of fair exchange is individual but why hoard these currencies? We (the world) benefit from their free exchange. Hatred, malice, jealousy, etc. are also infinite but should be wielded with great caution. They tend to injure and despite our great civilizations, we are still animals. Wounded animals tend to cower or lash out. Both perpetuate a black market exchange that corrupts the soul.
Fair is not coming to town. Your exchanges are bound to be imperfect and unbalanced. The question is; do you feel proud of your balance sheet? The sum total of your life cannot be measured in dollars and cents. It can be estimated whether or not your life made sense. Philanthropist, miser or tyrant is your choice to make and it will be decided by your actions. Is that fair?
In high school in the 90’s, it was difficult not to be bombarded with the safe sex talk of that era. The positive test of Magic Johnson with HIV gave a famous face to a disease that had not fully hit mainstream awareness. Many actions were taken to help protect young people from their hormones. Not least of all the education system’s attempt to prepare us with lessons about condoms. I remember very plainly Mr. Vellucci, my bio teacher, asking us if we understood how condoms worked. Or did we need him to demonstrate using a banana as he had been instructed to do. It was all very well intentioned and I’m sure that it worked to some degree. Unfortunately with the widespread use of the internet and mass media, our children need to be protected again from a disease that threatens to kill every last one of them: LIFE.
One of the best movies from a pure story standpoint that I’ve seen is “The Usual Suspects”. The film takes you on a ride where you’re continuously led down paths for particular reasons. A main reason for the perplexing nature of the film is the doubt surrounding the myth of Keyser S
Personally I never heard that version of spook story when I was a kid but I can see its usefulness to some people. The fairy tales and legends that we are told as children vary greatly depending on the desired outcome from our upbringing. Aspirational and cautionary tales alike are used to push the child in particular directions. Keep on trying courtesy of “The Little Engine that Could”. Be prepared by “The Three Little Pigs”. Don’t be sexually promiscuous by “Little Red Riding Hood” (Didn’t know until I talked to a German teacher). These stories were all fashioned to get a result.
It was January 2nd 2003. A clever little trick of mine to always remember the day that I proposed to my wife 1/2/03. As I waited in her apartment with dinner ready and candles lit, I was extremely nervous. That feeling was only compounded when she arrived. Then I started to ask and I could feel my legs shaking. This was gut-wrenching but necessary. The fear and the nerves came from risk. The risk of putting myself out there and the possibility that the answer could be “no”. It ended up going in my favor but I think that risk is an important factor to the things that really matter. You need to care enough to be willing to lose.
For most of my life, I’ve had a portion of Teddy Roosevelt’s speech at the Sorbonne memorized. “It is not the critic who counts… The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena.” It’s moving. It moves me in the sense that I actually take action when I think of it, hear it in my head or in my heart. The issue is at the moment, the critics have such a large megaphone that it becomes hard to hear our heads and our hearts. The echo of other people’s point of view tends to linger, burn and even cut the ones who are actually in the arena. The credit may belong to the man in the arena but that credit is hard earned because people want you to lose and never let you forget it.
Each week in fourth grade, we had a folder that contained all of our work. On Friday, if you had everything done, the word ‘Complete’ was written on your folder and you got to do some craft or game. If you didn’t have everything done, you received a note of ‘Incomplete’ and you needed to finish your work before getting any free time. In the entire school year, I think that I was ‘Complete’ only twice. It took me most of the year to finish my macrame owl due to my limited free time. I’m quite certain that I only passed fourth grade by the skin of my teeth. Perhaps I should have (or continue) to feel badly about my incomplete track record or tendency. The fact of the matter is that I don’t.
The world is filled with things that cut. Like walking through a patch of thorn bushes with exposed skin, injury is an almost certainty. In the short term, bandaging the cuts is the right strategy. In time, the wounds will heal. If too many cuts pile up, the bandages become wrappings. You become a mummy. Movements constrained by the bandages on wounds that never healed. Avoiding cuts completely is an impossibility but choosing a new path and learning how to wield a machete are both options. Band aids are not a long term solution, they are a short term fix. This concept is obvious when thinking about real wounds but with metaphorical wounds, this is a common strategy.
Living in the world of higher order organisms, we are not as dependent on stretching ourselves in order to survive. In fact over the past century we’ve been rewarded for being small amoebas. Stretching or standing out was discouraged. Get good grades, get into a good college, do your job and follow the rules. Being a small amoeba is not as smart as it used to be. The systems that rewarded the small amoeba are breaking down all over the place and we’re being asked to stretch again.
Living with a teenage boy can be disgusting. Having grown up in a house with three brothers, any one of us had the ability to make everyone else leave the house based on a bodily function. We were delighted by our own disgusting-ness. Since the offensive odor belonged to us, we were almost immune to it. Eventually we all turned into civilized human beings but I’m sure there was some real doubt from my mother for a while. I’m sure that most mothers occasionally envision their sons growing up to be lifelong bachelors. Not by choice but by necessity. Her grownup boy would be alone in a one bedroom apartment playing video games, farting and giggling. He would be completely nose-blind to his effect on others. Luckily most boys figure out their effect on others and keep their crap to themselves.
Huryk Unlimited 