The boy sat eating his cereal before bed. He slurped milk and then looked up at me. "Dad... can we get a lakehouse?"
I had actually been waiting for a question like this. It used to be... "Dad, can we get a pack of Pokemon cards?" But he is aging into an acute awareness of the have and the have nots.
We have several friends of good fortune who like to share. #1 spawn has a friend whose father is chief muckedy muck of something at a company that you would know. Last year they bought a lakehouse an hour north of us. And while #1 spawn has stayed several times, this weekend was our first trip as a family. The place is beautiful, with a big boat that was on a constant rotation of pulling kids around in inter-tubes the whole day. It was a fantastic day. A day that you remember. And as I watched the boy eat his Captain Crunch I could almost read his mind. How cool would it be to be them.
We are, at the very least, predicable. Pleasure seekers. Hardship avoiders. And that scariest of words... entitled.
I joked off the request... but it stuck with me for the rest of the night. We have volunteered before a homeless shelters... but perhaps it was time for a return trip. Just a reminder of what it is that we DO have. Instead of reminders of what we don't. The spawns are pretty well balanced for the most part. They understand the dynamics of the world better than many. But there is always room for reminders. Hell... I need it sometimes too.
There is that razor's edge on which we must all balance. The acknowledgment of what we have... and the blessings that we take so for granted on a daily basis. And the desire to continue to try for betterment. I live in an area and a circle of people whose lives revolve around keeping up with the Jones. And I sometimes like taking jabs at those that go overboard. But for the most part, the people we hang with are those that don't make a big deal of what they have... or what they don't.
It is like climbing a mountain with no summit. We get a handhold and won't let go... scared to death of having to go back down. We get so used to life the way it is right NOW... that we forget what it was like a week ago. And so we don't want change if it means losing what we have. But we desperately want change if it means getting a handhold further up the cliff.
My goal for today is to be satisfied with right now.
Showing posts with label change. Show all posts
Showing posts with label change. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Pieces of Eight (repost)
From a few years back... something that resonated with me that I had forgotten that I wrote.
The air is still. The world is quiet. It is an odd pause in the bustle of the busy street. The constant flow of jets overhead stops for a moment. The stream of red lights going and white lights coming over the far away hill show that the arterial vessels of civilization still pump. It is just my little world here that has gone quiet.
The dog sniffs the air expectantly. I listen too. Listen to the quiet. Smell the cool air. A bird sings somewhere. The frozen grass crunches underfoot. We are caught in between, it seems. Caught in that waiting. Waiting for the cold to end and the new growth to begin.
There is the temptation in this world to fear the quiet. We grow nervous by the waiting. The expectation. It is worse than bad news. Bad news can be dealt with. Handled. Faced. Worked on. Gotten over. But quiet is harder. In it lurks our worst fears or our greatest wishes... or perhaps even the disappointment that when the quiet is gone again, all will be just the same.
A new sound emerges. Low and distant. Growing louder. The dog and I turn toward it. It comes from the sky. High up. But not the dull constant whine of a jet engine. The jagged honking of an enormous vee of geese. Hundreds of them. They follow the leader, the vee breaking and reforming in an organic, and cosmically mathematically way. They are returning. Coming home. The scales of the quiet are broken and despite the crunching of the grass, and the wispy breath in the cold air... the change is coming.
I have been through these times often enough to know that the quiet isn't to be dreaded any longer. Change comes regardless. And on its own terms. I am merely a passenger. I can look back at my life and see those crossroads that came before me. Some were happy. Some not. But they were all valuable to who I am now.
The quiet spaces are like silver coins in my hand. Some are worn and dirty. Some are small. Some large. But all valuable in their own way. And together they add up to a lifetime. Am I worth more now than I was then? Maybe. Or maybe not. Worth rises and falls on the whims of strangers. And those that count their coins constantly have buried their heads in the past. Trying to control what is uncontrollable. They will not buy future happiness. They are only tokens. Reminders.
And so I pocket the coins. They settle there, a comforting weight. And I tell myself that they are worthless to anyone but me. And I watch the geese coming. I watch the change coming. Without fear. Without expectation. But with a rueful smile.
The air is still. The world is quiet. It is an odd pause in the bustle of the busy street. The constant flow of jets overhead stops for a moment. The stream of red lights going and white lights coming over the far away hill show that the arterial vessels of civilization still pump. It is just my little world here that has gone quiet.
The dog sniffs the air expectantly. I listen too. Listen to the quiet. Smell the cool air. A bird sings somewhere. The frozen grass crunches underfoot. We are caught in between, it seems. Caught in that waiting. Waiting for the cold to end and the new growth to begin.
There is the temptation in this world to fear the quiet. We grow nervous by the waiting. The expectation. It is worse than bad news. Bad news can be dealt with. Handled. Faced. Worked on. Gotten over. But quiet is harder. In it lurks our worst fears or our greatest wishes... or perhaps even the disappointment that when the quiet is gone again, all will be just the same.
A new sound emerges. Low and distant. Growing louder. The dog and I turn toward it. It comes from the sky. High up. But not the dull constant whine of a jet engine. The jagged honking of an enormous vee of geese. Hundreds of them. They follow the leader, the vee breaking and reforming in an organic, and cosmically mathematically way. They are returning. Coming home. The scales of the quiet are broken and despite the crunching of the grass, and the wispy breath in the cold air... the change is coming.
I have been through these times often enough to know that the quiet isn't to be dreaded any longer. Change comes regardless. And on its own terms. I am merely a passenger. I can look back at my life and see those crossroads that came before me. Some were happy. Some not. But they were all valuable to who I am now.
The quiet spaces are like silver coins in my hand. Some are worn and dirty. Some are small. Some large. But all valuable in their own way. And together they add up to a lifetime. Am I worth more now than I was then? Maybe. Or maybe not. Worth rises and falls on the whims of strangers. And those that count their coins constantly have buried their heads in the past. Trying to control what is uncontrollable. They will not buy future happiness. They are only tokens. Reminders.
And so I pocket the coins. They settle there, a comforting weight. And I tell myself that they are worthless to anyone but me. And I watch the geese coming. I watch the change coming. Without fear. Without expectation. But with a rueful smile.
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