Thursday, August 30, 2012

Pork Chop Night Part 3


At the top of the stairs there was a door that opened into a large living room with a baby grand off to the left and back a little. I hated it because it was black and I had to dust it nearly everyday to keep it nice. My mother always told me not to bother with it and that the maid will just get it in the morning. But she wouldn’t, not well enough at least. She always left dust in the cracks, every crack, and it drove me mad. I was always dusting it and it was always dusty. I made my way past the dusty piano, trying not to look at it, and into the formal dining room, which is where we always ate. The places were already set, one for me my mom and my dad. My dad’s plate and silverware were missing leaving just an empty tablecloth and an unused glass. My mother was sitting at the table waiting for me. “Hello Marcus!” she said in a voice a little to high and a little two loud. She was drinking a Highball, she loved Highballs, and from the tone of her voice I could tell it wasn’t her first. I hated it when she called me “Marcus” too. She always put the emphasis on the ‘ma’ and sort of forgot the rest like ‘MAHcus’. She only says it that way when she has had at least two Highballs. “You’re a little late for pork chop night.” She said. She hated it when I was late for pork chops. I’m not sure why, she didn’t even cook it. Tony the cook did.  “Your father is having his in his study.” She said as nicely as she could muster. “It’s just you and me tonight.” I said nothing. I didn’t say much to my parents ever. Not that they would really listen anyway. I mean, they did hear. They always heard what I said but the never really thought about what I was saying.
“I said, your father is eating in his study tonight. It’s just you and me. How does that make you feel?” They were always asking me this. “How doe’s that make you feel.” Or, “What were you thinking when you did that?” I go to this doctor who asks me questions like this all the time. My dad hates it. “He doesn’t need to go to no brain doctor, Maxine.” He said when my mother suggested it. “He’s just fine.”  Dr. Anderson is his name. He keeps talking about some Freud or something and asks me questions about just about everything. I don’t say much to him either.

I didn’t care much either way if my dad was eating in the study or in the damn foyer. He often took his meals in the study saying, “I’ve got work to do.” My father was the New York City Council Speaker. Pretty high up I guess. He’s always got some dinner or gala he’s got to go to.         

My mom and me ate in silence, not unusual. But it was a palpable silence. There was something very unusual about it. I finished the pork chops and most of the apples that were in the glaze. I left the lima beans. I hate lima beans. They are the vilest of all the beans in the bean world and they cannot be trusted. Tony brought another highball into the dinning room and set it right next to my mother who had her forehead resting on her cocked arm which was on the table, rumpling the table cloth into two small waves. She didn’t look up. I left the dining room and made my way down the long, wood lined hall to the study. I found the door slightly ajar. I go on my hands and knees and crept through the door on all fours. My dad’s chair was one of those big, green leather jobs with the big brass pins in the back and the scrolled wood arms. He was sitting in it as always and it was faced towards the window overlooking the park as usual. I crawled over to the large cherry wood desk and leaned against the back of it. I did this often. He didn’t know about it, but I liked the smell of his cigars.        

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Happily In Pursuit.


Well, I broke my back. I was mountain biking, I leaned back a little too far, I reached the fulcrum point of my dirt jump bike, and I looped out and landed on my back. Luckily I only cracked one vertebra on the anterior surface. It’s OK and I will make a full recovery. I hate telling people I hurt myself because then they always say, “I’m so sorry, are you ok?” and the answer is yes, I’m fine. I hate it when people feel sorry for me, so I usually just say, “yes, I’m fine” even if I’m not. But I am fine aren’t I? Even if I don’t think I am. I am so blessed and privileged that for me to show even the slightest discontent would be grossly frivolous. My life is amazing, and so is yours. Yes, my back hurts, but my access to modern medicine is enviable around the world. Its all relative, and relatively speaking, we all have it pretty damn good.

I turn 27 years old this week. When I was 7, or even 17, I would have never guessed in a million years that I would be here with a broken back writing this right now. When I was 7 I wanted to either be a Vintner or a Garbage Man. This was back when the garbage man still rode on the back of the truck, I thought that looked like fun. As for being a vintner, I was a very strange child. When I was 17 I had no idea what I wanted to do, all I did know was that I wanted to be a millionaire and drive around Ferraris. I had no plan of action to obtain that goal, but that’s what I wanted. And here I am, 27, a part time graphic designer and a part time warehouse manager with a broken back and thinning hair. And you know what? It’s amazing. I didn’t plan any of this. My “wildest dreams” did not come true; I’m just a putz living in a suburb. But here is the thing about dreams. You’re always told that dreams are something to attain, like you can own them someday. Put them in a mason jar under the mattress and save them for a rainy day. This is not true. The pursuit of happiness? Bullshit, but only the pursuit part.

Happiness is not a destination, it is a realization.

I have a friend who writes a blog called Finding Freedom. Here is the thing though, freedom is already here, it’s not lost, you don’t have to find it; you already have it. You just have to see it. People think that “if I quit doing ‘x’ I will be happy” or if I start doing ‘y’ then I will be happy” or “if I have ‘z’ then I will be complacent”. Happiness is not just around the corner, its right in front of you. Its all around you, its in you right now. All you have to do is open your eyes. Nothing can make you unhappy, or angry or sad or anything else for that matter. You can only make yourself these things. Say a gust of wind comes and messes up your hair. Did the wind make you angry or did you choose to be?

I struggled with depression for years as a teenager and young adult. I took anti depressant pills and everything, the whole works. I know I know, If you are unhappy its always because “X” made you unhappy or because “Y” hurt your feelings, never because you chose to react that way to the situation right? Wrong, it’s a choice, it’s an awakening. This American dream that has been shoved down our throats, want this, want that, want more, want more. If you live in a $600,000 house you want a $1,000,000 one, that will make you happy. (Guess what happens when you get to that million dollar house?) You Drive a BMW? If you had a Land Rover you would be happy. You have a flat screen? A bigger one would make you happier. Overweight? If you loose 50 lbs you will be happy. And on it goes. Its not real, its BS. Sure there are moments of happiness sprinkled in here and there but when does it end? When do we realize that we are no happier in a 3 million dollar mansion than we are in a $20,000 trailer home? The answer is when we finally open our eyes and look around. When we finally realize that this peak that we all try to climb to, this Mt. Happiness, is all smoke and mirrors. Its like raking leaves in the wind. We have to stop relying on the things that don’t matter to make us happy, because eventually the ether will wear off and we will still want more. We need to stop relying on each other to make us happy because people will let us down, whether they mean to or not. And we have to start making that choice to open our eyes and look around and realize that happiness and freedom have been side by side with us the whole time.

All these things by the way, the Ferrari, the mansion, the yachts, loosing weight etc. these aren’t bad things. These are very good things. The problem arises when we put these things on a golden pedestal and say, “I can’t be happy until I attain them”. If these things are your goal, as they are mine, then go get them! But you must cut the tether that your goals have on your happiness. Because that’s not how that works. Why should you not be happy in your pursuit?