It Pours
A wise man once told me a truism about life. (Well, actually, he didn't tell me. He told his daughter, who then proceeded to tell me.) I don't often buy into the notion of little nuggets of home-grown wisdom like that because, by and large, they're schmaltzy bullshit that doesn't pan out under the scrutiny of real life. But this one hit me when I first heard it, and it has hit me time and time again, to the point where I can't call it coincidence anymore.
He likened the bad things we experience to a figurative pile of shit that gets dumped onto you over the course of your life. Depending on the time, you get more shit or less shit dumped onto you, but over the course of a lifetime, everyone gets the exact same amount. It's how we manage and deal with it that dictates our own happiness.
And while there are a great many people that are most certainly far worse off than I will ever be, the fundamental truth stands that it's what we do about our situations, our chances, our opportunities that dictate how our demeanor ends up. Even during the most trying moments of our lives, this concept makes complete sense. I recall four years ago, after my grandmother died, my mother turned to God to help her through. She went and talked to her priest and vented her feelings and frustrations in the confessional. When she was through, Father Kevin looked her in the eye and told her, "You know what they say about how God never gives you more than you can handle? That's bullshit. Sometimes it is too much. But that doesn't mean it can't be dealt with eventually, and with the right help." Same message, different messenger.
All of which is a fairly roundabout way of saying that, after almost a year and a half of doubt, self-loathing, and dissatisfaction, I kind of figured something was due to give. And boy, did it ever.
The other old adage I tend not to buy into is "When it rains, it pours." Sure, the connotation is often negative, but not everything ends up piling on all at once in unmanageable ways. After all, if the wise man's metaphor stands to reason, there will be moments where the shit just sort of dribbles down at a steady pace and you have no problem dealing it when the time comes -- kind of like washing the dishes you use for dinner right after you finish eating, so that you don't end up with a sink full of dirty dishes later on.
But yesterday, it poured, in the most glorious kind of way possible. The kind of storm of good fortune that doesn't have you cowering inside under shelter but begs you to run out and dance crazily in the torrents. (I know about this kind of storm because I've been in one, at a Dave Matthews Band concert in 2001. People were literally trying to run out from under the overhang so they could get soaked along with the rest of us. It was one of the few purely transcendental moments of my life.)
At moments like these, I feel like you have to step back and acknowledge how amazing they truly are. Which is the entire point of this post.
I feel bad saying this, but I get the sense that over time, while this blog has certainly been more about the pensive, well-thought-out side of my mind, it's also been a lot more depressing than A Tournament of Lies. My shit pile has been on the rise for quite some time, and since I see writing as therapeutic, I would come here to reflect on the things that were going on, to try and make sense of the misery and break through the malaise. Sure, I knew in the back of my mind that my life, on the grand scale, wasn't nearly as fucked up as it could be, but no one ever wants to hear that when they're mired in hopelessness. So here I vented, I raged, I reflected, I coped. And it worked marvelously.
But now is not the time for anger or sadness or disappointment. There will be a time for that later, I know this. I've been blessed for the first time in a long time with an overabundance of joy, and it's about damn time that I brought some of that back here.
So that's your official notice. Happy Dave is on the clock, and while he'll be watching the sky for the next shitstorm, he wants to make it perfectly clear that, from the looks of things, there's not a cloud in sight.
He likened the bad things we experience to a figurative pile of shit that gets dumped onto you over the course of your life. Depending on the time, you get more shit or less shit dumped onto you, but over the course of a lifetime, everyone gets the exact same amount. It's how we manage and deal with it that dictates our own happiness.
And while there are a great many people that are most certainly far worse off than I will ever be, the fundamental truth stands that it's what we do about our situations, our chances, our opportunities that dictate how our demeanor ends up. Even during the most trying moments of our lives, this concept makes complete sense. I recall four years ago, after my grandmother died, my mother turned to God to help her through. She went and talked to her priest and vented her feelings and frustrations in the confessional. When she was through, Father Kevin looked her in the eye and told her, "You know what they say about how God never gives you more than you can handle? That's bullshit. Sometimes it is too much. But that doesn't mean it can't be dealt with eventually, and with the right help." Same message, different messenger.
All of which is a fairly roundabout way of saying that, after almost a year and a half of doubt, self-loathing, and dissatisfaction, I kind of figured something was due to give. And boy, did it ever.
The other old adage I tend not to buy into is "When it rains, it pours." Sure, the connotation is often negative, but not everything ends up piling on all at once in unmanageable ways. After all, if the wise man's metaphor stands to reason, there will be moments where the shit just sort of dribbles down at a steady pace and you have no problem dealing it when the time comes -- kind of like washing the dishes you use for dinner right after you finish eating, so that you don't end up with a sink full of dirty dishes later on.
But yesterday, it poured, in the most glorious kind of way possible. The kind of storm of good fortune that doesn't have you cowering inside under shelter but begs you to run out and dance crazily in the torrents. (I know about this kind of storm because I've been in one, at a Dave Matthews Band concert in 2001. People were literally trying to run out from under the overhang so they could get soaked along with the rest of us. It was one of the few purely transcendental moments of my life.)
At moments like these, I feel like you have to step back and acknowledge how amazing they truly are. Which is the entire point of this post.
I feel bad saying this, but I get the sense that over time, while this blog has certainly been more about the pensive, well-thought-out side of my mind, it's also been a lot more depressing than A Tournament of Lies. My shit pile has been on the rise for quite some time, and since I see writing as therapeutic, I would come here to reflect on the things that were going on, to try and make sense of the misery and break through the malaise. Sure, I knew in the back of my mind that my life, on the grand scale, wasn't nearly as fucked up as it could be, but no one ever wants to hear that when they're mired in hopelessness. So here I vented, I raged, I reflected, I coped. And it worked marvelously.
But now is not the time for anger or sadness or disappointment. There will be a time for that later, I know this. I've been blessed for the first time in a long time with an overabundance of joy, and it's about damn time that I brought some of that back here.
So that's your official notice. Happy Dave is on the clock, and while he'll be watching the sky for the next shitstorm, he wants to make it perfectly clear that, from the looks of things, there's not a cloud in sight.
posted by Dave at 4/23/2009 10:45:00 AM
1 Comments:
:) good. I'm glad things are looking up for you!
-e
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