Letting Them In

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My late friend Tracie found it infuriating that I wouldn't allow her to visit me at my house without someone else there to chaperone. Truth is, she should understand now that she's dead that it was a great compliment to her that I would allow her in at all. Besides her, there is only one other woman about whom I ever cared that I would have allowed into my house, and that's saying something. Most people don't really understand just how much our identity and peace of mind are tied to our domicile, and they invite people of all sorts to visit them and traipse around in the places they have of refuge. I already wrote about my house being a refuge, but it's really true. It's part of our defense and display of our own true selves.

It's very personal who you allow into the inner sanctum of your life. Your house, it's location, decor, etc., are in many ways extensions and reflections of your innermost self. No matter how you try, because you live there, it tells me things about you that you might not want me to know. You put on display the things that matter most to you and that you want to impress on visitors as meaningful. You leave other things out or in places that tell me truths you didn't know you were telling. When you have guests over, you probably clean, organize, and maybe even put out things to make it more welcoming. You spruce up your visage so that people will see you in a good light. You're inviting them in, and you want them to see your best self. Six years ago, the girl I was seeing wanted to visit me where I was staying. I wasn't comfortable with that. At the time, I told her she couldn't come because nobody was there, so I sent her pictures, but truth be told, I realize now that I didn't really want to allow her to come over. I didn't want to let her in. By contrast, I never felt inclined to change anything the three times Tracie came to visit. She was never alone, never stayed long, and never came with much advance notice. She already kind of knew all about me anyway (which was the major reason why we never dated). I didn't feel like I had to put on airs. Only one other woman regarded me that way. I didn't have to do anything special to impress her; I just had to be me. It's just a shame that she found something in who I was to reject me after all.

After hiking a few weeks ago, having walked 12 miles on the mountain, I came home and cleaned up everything. I swept and mopped the floors, tidied up the yard, cleaned the bathrooms, did dishes and laundry, and I even vacuumed, washed, and tidied the Saturn. Yeah, my saturn! Bestill your hearts! I haven't cleaned like that for two years when I thought a woman about whom I really cared might one day come by. However, most men I know clean when a woman is coming over because they are "hoping to get lucky". I have nobody special, nobody even with potential. It just felt right. Like the yard on which I finally worked, I decided that some things need to be done even if nobody sees them. Now, I wasn't going to invite this particular woman over to live with me because I'm trying to live a virtuous life, but if she came over, I wanted her to feel comfortable and think that I cared about taking care of things so she'd know I'd take care of her.

Most people don't seem willing to be selective about their company. Unable to discern between attraction and love, they invite a hit parade of guests into their hearts, their lives, their homes, and their beds. When things don't work out because they don't really love them the way that they think they do, it leaves emotional and psychological damage. Those same people go out and continue looking for "love" in all the wrong places, inviting people into their inner sanctum, changing only their sheets if they're lucky or moving to another apartment. Maybe that's why, when so many relationships fall apart, the people move away. Let's not pretend that the people we know are living chaste lives; as a member of academia, I know that when students tell me about their significant other, they mean the person with whom they are being physically intimate today. We are too free with whom we allow access to our intimate places.

I realized recently that I like very few people enough to invite them into my house and by extension into my life. You probably know people who consider you a friend but who never come over or never invite you over. The most intimate of relationships (platonic and romantic) only exist within the walls of a home. I would invite very few people over because it's my place, and I'm not there to validate or impress them. I know my decor is masculine and sterile, but it's where I live my life, and I'm not sure I want to invite everyone I meet into it. My parents worried about me when I was young because I didn't really date much. I realized that since my father was in the military we would be moving soon, and so none of those girls would be part of my life for any length of time, let alone eternity. I really only started dating seriously when I was 21, when I was near to finishing college and the duration and location of stay depended mostly on me.

Especially sacrosanct ought to be the bedroom, the boudoir. I realize that many people invite anyone they like, and if I had kids, I wouldn't let them have friends of other genders in their rooms alone. You know what I mean. When I was young, my parents rarely allowed us into their bedroom, and as an adult I feel awkward entering the private quarters of another person. It's their most intimate place in their home, and it's probably not a place to which we should allow as free access as we do. Far too many people allow anyone willing to join them in their bedroom and in their bed. A former employee of the college told me about a year or so ago that although he had an attractive and loyal girlfriend he would troll the clubs and bars looking for one night stands. I'm sorry, but I'm not really excited to share, particularly that. I sleep there, and I like to sleep soundly knowing that nobody has been in my bed who shouldn't be.

In the modern, materialistic, and immoral time in which we live, people are very free with their intimacy. A few years ago, I sold my extra bed to a former student worker after his fiancee called off the engagement and moved away. He said I probably wouldn't understand it, but I did. He wanted to get rid of the bed because it contained emotional attachment to her, and he was trying to divest himself of ties. The best way to avoid this in a world void of chaperones lies in doing things in public places, with other people, and during daylight hours, not because we do not want greater intimacy but because we value meaningful connections with people. All too often, people feed us the usual- flowers, chocolates, and promises they don't intend to keep. It is well known that most men use "love" as a ruse to get sex. Many women have overpromised and underdelivered in my life. Each of them have their own reasons. The reasons matter, because the reason we do a thing matters at least as much as what we do. With the exception of one, they left for selfish reasons, and she is the only one for whom I pine.

Nobody really teaches us how to let people in, how far to let them in, or who should have access. They teach us to be wary of strangers, and then we find ourselves surrounded by them as adults, particularly when we're looking for a date/mate. We cast up walls around us only after our intimate places are violated and ransacked by people we think we can trust. Each of us is born naive and trusting, and each time someone betrays that trust and hurts us, we throw up walls. Usually they are emotional. Usually we employ bitterness and cynicism as a bailiwick against future siege of our heart, mind, and life by people who will spoil our substance. Even people who don't intend to ransack our refuge sometimes do it, and when they do, we rightly feel hurt, resisting future attempts to truly let people into our lives. We keep them at bay, at arm's length, and rather than emotionally connecting, we use them for whatever gain we can obtain. Their future is not the same as the past of those who hurt us, but we don't want to risk it, and sometimes we do unto others before they do unto us.

It's easy to understand; we do this because we have been betrayed. We allow our walls to come down, let down our guard, and then they stab us in the back and leave us bloodied and dying while they spoil our lives. We need to think the best of people that we love- believe the good and doubt the bad. We need to believe that those we love would do differently if they only knew better, if they knew how it hurt us. My biggest grouse against my ex wife is that, when I needed her most, she took the side of my detractors, my enemies, and without corroboration bought their lies. I know exactly when she quit the marriage, and for a long time I resisted further betrayal by being callous and belligerent with every woman I met. Thanks to Wil, I finally realized it when he heard me berate my sister and asked me why I hated women. Usually when I get burned, I burn the bridges. Partly, it's to settle the score; the rest is to heal. In one single case, you may have noticed I've kept an olive branch out just in case she wants to take it. Trouble is, two years later, nothing helps, which is interesting because I've never cared about anyone this long after the fact before. Two years later, I would welcome that woman into my house even though she hurt me.

True satisfaction in life is not just living but finding a reason to live, a reason to love, a person to love. We do not find the purpose of life alone; we find it with someone else. Perhaps for this reason God emphasizes family so much. Void of my own family, I find the greatest satisfaction in the company of my family, which is probably why losing all of my grandparents this year hurt me so badly. I lost several of my strongest cheerleaders. In those tender moments, my relationships with my sibligns and parents provided the balm in Gilead to get me through the day, the month, and the pain because we have real relationships. My hiking buddy has seen me interact with my sister and told me he wishes he had that kind of strong relationship with his sister. It's the only relationship with a woman that I really have. Loving heals, it mends our souls, and it makes our life more meaningful. Having someone to love and whom I thought appreciated my love made for the best year of my life. Christ taught us to be charitable, to love the unlovable, even if they are our own kin. He encouraged us to serve others because we're all part of the family of man, especially until we find someone particular to love and with whom to found a forever family. Even a momentary, random act of kindness done out of true love makes life easier and more meaningful that day. Trouble is, in order to love, we have to let people in, to give them power to hurt us and hope they won't use it. This means we will have pain. Our pain from lost love lasts until new love comes to fill our hearts. It doesn't replace it. It gives us something else on which to focus. Love is the only real satisfaction in life, true love, not that selfish and fake love on TV and in stories and elsewhere. Not many people get a second shot at their true love. If you do, make it a good one.

Your heart knows the truth. Trust it, for life is short. --Guenivere Pettigrew

As They Walked and Walked and Walked

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According to my Fitbit, if I keep up this pace, by Christmas of this year, I will log enough miles to circumnavigate the moon on foot. It seems like all I ever do really is work out and go to work, and sometimes I know that's not very newsworthy. It's become almost an obsession to get as many steps as possible or burn a certain number of calories each day. Even on Sunday I "only" burn 3300kcal or so. I'm driven because I have feedback and because it gives me a goal every day that I can accomplish, for which I am the driving force, and for which I and I alone am responsible. Despite no longer receiving an incentive from the state, I stick to it, and I use the feedback to gauge whether I can relax in the evening. One huge benefit from all this walking is that I'm acclimated to the weather outside. I no longer feel like it's that arduous to walk a mile when it's 105F outside.

We are expected to walk and walk and walk and walk. Last Sunday, even though it's not a holiday commemorated anywhere outside of Utah, they decided to invite sermons on pioneers and their faith. One of the speakers reminded us of the fact that the journey was long. I didn't realize that they made 10-15 miles a day. I guess that makes sense since you're moving families and cattle and wagons across terrain where there was narry more than an animal trail. They were going somewhere where few ever went before. I've seen trails in the mountains like that. They are steep and narrow and treacherous, and so you're lucky to make a slower pace. I also found it interesting that I managed to make most days at least 12 miles worth of steps. It took them MONTHS to get from the Mississippi to the west. It may take me a lot longer to get to my destination. However, sitting down or turning back won't get me there. I am expected to walk and walk and walk and walk. I am expected to move forward and make progress and get closer daily, however meager the progress may seem. It's trudging. It's slow. The only way to get there is to take that first step and then keep taking more.

Most of life is routine. Despite the pleasant pictures plastered across Facebook and similar media, adulthood consists of responsibilities and duty. There are bills to pay, chores to do, a job to work, and the minutia of living to attend. When I read Dickens or study Rome, I remind myself that for most people, including people in most of the modern world, the biggest concern is not what outfit to wear, car to buy, or party to attend but how to feed my family today. It's not glamourous. It's our duty. It's the business of life to sustain life. So what if I get up, work out, read scriptures, go to work, and walk my errands afterward every day, day in and day out? At least I can do those things. I'm not worried about what I'll eat, and those other things have to be done somehow by someone. I don't always have to be entertained, and I enjoy my own company, so doing things I like every day, every weekend, and every summer makes for a life I lived on purpose and with purpose.

We are what we decide to do. So much happens to us that is not of our making because so many other people are out there doing what they feel like to break up the routine of responsibility. Sometimes we like to blame things on others, but ultimately we own what we become. A king may command a man, and a parent may demand action of a son. In the end however the keeping of that man's soul is his and his alone. He cannot say someone else made him do it or that virtue was inconvenient at the time. Often the only things we control in a situation are our attitude about it and what we choose to do as a consequence. I feel guilty that I was so angry for a year after I was divorced, but that's perfectly normal. I'm over it now and on to better things, and things really have improved since then. There is only one thing about my life I would change, and only for someone really special.  Maybe things are not exactly what I would like, and maybe what I decide daily doesn't lead directly to what I claim I desire, but it does lead to a purpose-filled life, and I think I'll feel good mostly about how I spent my time, talents, and money when I stand before the judgement bar.

Aristotle wrote: "We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence is then not an act but a habit." Sure, we may make missteps on our journey, be tempted to cut trail or be misled onto the wrong ones. Our footing may falter, and we may stumble. Eventually every man needs Christ. The journey begins with many small steps, as many as you can, as far forward as you can, and the victory is in seeing it through to the end. You are what you REPEATEDLY do. I have made mistakes. You can see them here, and maybe you can feel the bitterness and anguish in my soul. We do not have to hang for a moment or two or ten because Christ already did hang for a moment. The Refiner's Fire seems very hot, and sometimes it seems overwhelming. Many people who come to Vegas can hardly believe the sweltering blaze that greets you outside the climatized halls. However, I no longer notice. I have walked and walked and walked so much that it's routine, that it's become easier, because my capacity to achieve increased while my reliance on creature comforts contracts. I feel like this is a blessing, an achievement, and I feel good about it. Sure, I know I must continue to walk, but many days it doesn't seem so bad. When it does, I take those walking moments to commune with my Maker, and afterwards I feel better, even if for a moment, especially on days when He gives me pennies.

Dog Days of Summer

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When I awoke this morning, I nearly decided to just stay home today instead of going up on the mountain. Something told me that I should go, so I rolled out of bed and even managed to arrive 15 minutes early. Lots of interesting things happened, but the dogs stand out in my mind. Today was apparently the day to bring a dog. That made me sad. I had a lot of interesting conversations and met some nice people, but I still went back to my house alone to wait out the afternoon sun before I go do things starting at 6PM as I am wont to do.

Every time I see a dog off a leash, I feel like a heel. We're supposed to find a nice way to remind people to keep their dogs under control. I know I encountered at least ten groups with dogs. I probably pissed off every single one of them. Maybe two dogs were on leashes, but even when one dog was leashed for some reason another wasn't. I was even on alert while on the way down when I heard crashing through the forest and saw a blur until it got close enough for me to see it was a dog going full bore through the brush. THank God it wasn't a mountain lion. It seemed to work to say that with so many other dogs and the risk of being a snack they should restrain their canine companions. I've watched my dog run around full tilt, and I saw the carefree look in the dogs' eyes, and it was hard to say, but I know it's supposed to be for the best, for everyone and their dog.

We're supposed to be up there to help people have a more enjoyable time, so those conversations are not my favorite. My most common conversations are about the trails, distance, direction, etc. Many people asked me about when trails would reopen (probably summer 2017). Others were very interested in how much further. Fortunately, I've walked that trail enough to know what the mile markers are, so it's nice to be able to say "you've passed the 2 mile marker, and it's 3.45 to the junction, so you have just over a mile to go" and know I'm right. From time to time, I talk about other places to go and random facts. Most of the people are pleasant at least, and some of them are great.

This is probably the best thing I've ever done for socializing since I moved to Vegas. It's totally me, doing what I love, sharing what I know, and getting exercise. Ok, so I haven't made a single friend or met anyone to date, and I might not, but I do have substantive conversations with people from the age of 8 to 71, and I get a chance to see people from all walks of life, at least those with fortitude enough to go beyond the first mile. I see families, parents with children, couples, friends, meetup groups, and lone wolves like myself. I find that we share many things in common. One fellow today even admitted that he at 40 still hasn't found anyone either to add to his life. Maybe I'm not so odd after all. I could do a lot of things, but I may have finally found a way to interact and interface with people like me. We exchange names, phone numbers, and handshakes, and for a moment these people are the most important people in my life.

For the first time this summer since I started paying attention to people I see, I saw some people again that I saw previously. It's a group of four women, probably of polynesia or french indochina descent, who push up the hill slowly and steadily. I've only ever encountered two other people on the trail that I had seen before. There's a guy from Japan that does the same trail at Red Rock every weekend, and I once ran across a girl who turned me down for a date that ended up on the same trail. Today I spoke to folks from Cuba, Korea, Seattle, and Illinois. THere was even someone born and raised in Vegas. It reminded me that people are people, no matter from whence they come, and that there are good people everywhere, maybe even in my own Faith.

It was a beautiful dog day up on the mountain. Armed with my ready reference, I identified wild flowers I didn't know, two of Mt. Charleston's endemic and threatened butterfly species, and several types of birds and rodents. I held conversations with seven groups of hikers for a total of 80 minutes, covered 10 miles, and gave out information. It was a good day. We've actually had a very pleasant July in Vegas, especially on the mountain. I got to sit alone at Rain Tree for 20 minutes and pray to God and listen. I returned home quieted about things that bother me and refreshed but tired. It's been a decent summer.

Staying Power

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Vegas is a strange dichotomy when it comes to what you can see here. We have universities, places of worship, and a ski resort, but most people think only of the casinos, strip clubs, and vast stretches of barren desert. Most of the people drawn here that I meet seem to be among the ilk that think that image matters more than substance and they live accordingly. I know lots of students who have personal trainers, plastic surgeons, fancy cars, and both bodies and lives that evoke the envy of most onlookers. I also know because I'm older that most of this is either artificial or because they were born lucky. Five years from now, they might be fat, poor, and even homeless, because those who follow the devil's commandments in sin city quickly find that he doth quickly drag them down to hell.

Up on the shoulder of the mountain just below Mummy's Head peak there is a tree I visit often as a reminder of what really matters. Rain Tree, a bristlecone pine that marks the intersection of the North Loop and Mummy's Head Peak trails, clocks in at over 3000 years old, which makes it one of the oldest trees in North America. The next oldest tree in the near vicinity appears to be not more than 500 years old, meaning that Rain Tree has watched many other trees come and go, and it also means it's very possible that most of the bristlecone pines nearby are his descendants. Despite the winds that almost always blow and the frigid temperatures, despite the storms and rockslides, despite fires and even the knives used by men to carve initials in his trunk, this tree persists. Rain Tree is not one of the prettiest trees ever; in fact, bristlecone pines aren't really all that pretty as far as conifers go, but it has staying power. Through all the challenges and vicissitudes of fate, it's still there.

I'm not among the prettiest, smartest, wealthiest, most popular or most powerful people on the planet. However, I am one of the most persistent. Despite the daggers shoved into my back by people who come into my life, I'm still here. Despite the storms of office politics, political intrigue, and even dissonance in my own Faith, I'm still here. Despite being given the cold shoulder by virtually every woman I've ever met in my life, despite the fires of temptation and disappointment, despite setbacks and the discovery that I made right decisions based on bad information I'm still there. I'm not the prettiest of trees or the one with the best plumage or foliage or root system, but I'm still here. Where else would I go? Who else should I be? Like Rain Tree, I have trusted all of my life in God's providence, and even though I'll never be an underwear model or an Olympian, I'm still doing what I like and living life the best I can where I stand.

One of my kayak partners is a woman in her 50s. She regularly participates in triathlons, mountain bike treks, and river adventures in her kayak. You can tell if you look at her face (mostly I think due to exposure) that she is 50, but when we went out Friday night on the lake to watch the sun set, you couldn't tell from her muscles or her body that she was that old. She continues to do what she can where she can to be the best person she can be, and that shows too. I could only be so lucky to find someone to marry who will still be smart, active, and good company when she's 50. No woman yet even lasted a year or two, but I digress. Like Rain Tree, she has staying power. She's not one of the prettiest, but her inner abilities make her good company, and we enjoy going out when occasion allows. I think she also enjoys my company because I'm not going with her with an ulterior motive. Sure, I get to use her extra kayak for free, but I'm not constantly hitting on her like the other guy is who is 62.

Many people are born lucky. Some are born with great genes, great fortunes, or great abilities. We celebrate and laud the prodigy because they inspire us. They also overshadow the valiant and diligent efforts of others to achieve despite obstacles. Eventually however, the ones with staying power are the only ones who remain. Consider the actors like Tim Curry and Mark Hamil who thrilled us in our youth who have not aged well. Consider the athletes who squandered all of their wealth. Consider that Amy Winehouse despite her talent some say drank herself to death at a young age. You probably know someone who was able to eat whatever they wanted when they were young and still looked drop dead gorgeous, someone who always seemed to get the best deals or jobs, and someone who seems to have the perfect family. Most of those are not enjoying that anymore. It's easy to look sharp when you haven't had to do any work. It's easy to keep your armor shiny when you never have to test it. However, when put to the test, I don't think being a member of the Lucky Sperm Club makes you more likely to succeed. It just makes you more likely to be chosen.

I like to visit Rain Tree because I relate to the tree. I'm not top shelf, but I'm still there, being me, doing what I do, and trying to be the best man I can be. I'm still looking up to God, standing in Holy places, and rising above the din and sin of Sin City. I go to the mountain because that's where God used to visit His people, and because it's hard. I hiked those trails with pretty and petty and prodigious people; skinny people quickly find that even if they go to the gym or are fit that it doesn't necessarily prepare them to hike a mountain.

Despite all of the things that happen up there, Rain Tree is still there. It brings to mind the words of an old familiar scripture: "Remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall." Winds and storms will come, but if you are build on the rock, that rock on which the wise man built his house, you CANNOT fall (emphasis added). I'm still here, because when I was young I built a relationship with God and His Christ. People seem to respect that, and then, as I have frequently and often opined, they reject me because of the particular Faith to which I belong. I'm still here. If I were not of God, with God, interested in God, and reliant on God, I would not still stand. Eventually the devil drags down his disciples.

My hiking buddy told me yesterday that he thinks I'm better than I was when I met him. I'm not sure I agree carte blanch, but I am in better shape both physically and financially than I ever have been, and sometimes I even agree that I look better than ever. More to the point, I'm still here. When the storms rage, I don't abandon God; I turn towards Him. I know most people use disappointments and challenges like this as an excuse to change congregations, to change Faith, to lose faith, and sometimes to abandon God to their baser natures. I feel more like Peter who said, "Lord, to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life." Where else would I go? I built my life on this Rock, and I will succeed or die trying.

Sometimes I find my own lack of faith disturbing, but I think God knows my heart. I'm still here. I may not be the best, the smartest, the prettiest, or the most able, but I am still available. I'm still here, and I will go and do whatever He asks as well as I am able. Discipleship is akin to discipline, and I spent most of my life establishing that so that I could be like Rain Tree and stand strong in the storms of life. Five years from now, I'll still be here. You might not like who I am, what I believe, or what I'm doing, but you'll how to find me, and you'll know how you'll find me when you get there.

Sacrificing Closure

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Many years ago, my Institution of Religion instructor John told me that "Sometimes what you sacrifice is closure." Today I think I realized what that means and why he told me that. John recognized that I was earnestly and honestly trying to be the best man I could be, and somehow he knew that I needed to know that moving forward. Closure doesn't necessarily heal, and sometimes it's worse. Closure sometimes requires work for which we did not plan and which cannot be easily accomplished. Finally, closure is almost always selfish. It's about you.

They say to be careful what you wish for, because it's not always what it's cracked up to be. Every time I eat a donut, I regret it. Then there's the woman in the lung cancer ads who prayed desperately to have the tube removed from her chest only to discover it hurt more coming out than going in. The cost of a larger house is higher tax and more cleaning. The cost of a fancy car is higher insurance. Closure can be a two-edged sword because in order to heal, sometimes you must reopen old wounds. In her song "I Almost Do", Taylor Swift sings "I bet it never occurred to you that I can't say hello to you and risk another goodbye". It never had until I heard that, and as much as it hurts me to feel like "Someone that you used to know", I don't want you to be hurt again by having to say goodbye again because I force you to say hello.

In an episode of Blue Bloods that I watched on Saturday, they illustrated how sometimes closure makes things worse. Danny Reagan finds cause to revisit a kidnapping/murder case that went cold months earlier. When he revisits the mother of the deceased boy, you can tell from his tone and candor and stance that he's reticent to reopen this wound because although it will probably give closure to catch and convict the killer, it won't bring back her son to her if he's dead. It will tell her what happened to her son and by whom, but it will only ask her to revisit the pain and anguish and agony as the story goes before a jury. I spoke with a young woman on campus back in June who knows that pain. She confessed to me in confidence that she'd been raped some time before. She refuses to press charges to avoid the shame and to avoid having to rehash unpleasant circumstances. I told her that it's her decision to make because it's her suffering. Convicting the man will not change anything for her, and it probably won't give her any peace, so I can't blame her for wanting to let it go. If you don't get the outcome you seek or if the possible outcomes won't change things for the better, closure might make it worse than leaving it be.

On other occasions, seeking closure creates more work. Obi-wan warns Han against pursuing the TIE fighter towards the "moon" by saying, "It's too far out, it would be good to just let it go." When Han moves forward anyway, they get caught in the tractor beam, have to fight their way out of the Death Star, and ultimately go into combat with the Death Star to protect the Rebel Base. That was a heap of work so Han could shoot one more TIE fighter!

If you get your way, what's your plan of action to move forward? Assuming when you give the ultimatum you get your way, what are you prepared to do? Most of us are attuned to rejection, such that once when I asked a girl on a date and she said yes I was so taken aback at the acceptance that I couldn't think of an idea of what to do because I expected her to reject me. I planned to quote her in my book. Instead, she threw me a curve and left me cotton mouthed.

In our previously mentioned episode of Blue Bloods and the case of the student, if they sought closure, they have to go to trial. They have to recount the events again, in lurid and lucid detail and have it questioned and probed. That sounds uncomfortable! Then there's the manpower involved in investigation, arrest, and trial. Closure creates a lot of work, and as willing as we may be, sometimes the person to whom we promise closure pays more than they get. I've said before that I love nothing so selfishly that I won't let it go for its own good. When I was falsely arrested, my attorney told me that although it might be fun to put the idiot detectives on the stand, it wasn't in my best interest. My best interest was that things just went away and let me get back to my life.

Assuming things go well, you need to be ready. I once showed up to move a family in my congregation over ten years ago to find them completely unprepared. In a huff, I decided to force it and do it my way. Owing to disorder in their house and my fitful pace, the move was done quickly but poorly, the goods backed efficiently but not safely, and the loads packed tightly albeit not securely. I never heard any complaints, but I remember not finishing until long after dark, which upset my wife as well, because this was long past the expected time. A few weeks ago, I ordered rock to be delivered. They told me it would be after noon, but when I came home from cycling, I found the truck there dropping the rock. I had the afternoon off, so when I came home, I started shoveling feverishly to get it out of the road, and just as I finished, the clouds rolled in and dropped rain. I had worked during the hottest part of the day, and I slept through the storm rather than enjoying it because I wanted closure that day. Other things likewise take work, and if you don't have the tools, a plan, the tenacity to finish, then you just won't do well.  Not to mention, nothing smells worse than wet manure!

If you come unprepared to act assuming you get the closure that you want, sometimes you end up improvising and doing things neither efficiently nor well. Miracle Max taught us that if you rush a miracle, you get rotten miracles. Likewise, we warn students in lab that if you try to force glass through a rubber stopper, it's usually you who gets cut. If you try to give an ultimatum, if you try to force something against the grain, in the wrong time, in the wrong way, then it's usually a crime to God even when it's not a crime to men. Only virtuous means lead to virtuous ends.

I finally understand why Passenger repeats a phrase in its hit song "Let Her Go". He says "you only know you love her when you let her go and you let her go". It's not accidental that he says it twice. You're not just letting her go. You're letting go of her. If you care about something you set it free, and then you move forward. Rather than sitting on the porch or keeping a weather eye out daily hoping to see it, you let her go do what she's going to do, and if the path leads back you left the door cracked open. You haven't been there for a while, but you know you'll open it to the possibilities. It's what the father of the prodigal did. He let his son go, and then he let him go be what he was going to be. When the boy came back, he was disposed to help; he wasn't watching. He was going about his life as his prodigal son had. He let him go and he let him go. You only know you love someone when you let them go and you let them go. Closure is about you.

Six years ago, when a woman I seriously dated dumped me for a man with a skinnier waist, I decided to burn the relationship. I told her proudly, "I know I'll make a good husband and father, but if you think you can do better, good luck and goodbye". She sheepishly said goodbye and then I hung up the phone. Although it allowed me to move forward and heal, I realize now that I hurt her in order to heal. The only person served by this was me. It didn't help her. It didn't help that other guy. I certainly don't encourage you to say those words to anyone because it won't help you. It's an ultimatum, and they are rarely, if ever, given out of love. That was all about me having power, having the final say, and deciding when and that it was over so I could move forward. Hippocratus did teach me to first do no harm, so I'll do nothing and let it go.

Handling grief well is hard, so much so that I'm not sure if anyone does it well. This year, I buried all of my grandparents, went through a serious medical episode, and watched my hiking buddy bury his mother. A woman who I thought might one day date or marry me (Friends From All Walks) decided although she didn't know this had happened that she wasn't interested anymore and stopped talking to me completely. I lost another acquaintance after the SCOTUS rulings. I hurt myself hiking. I am still wrestling with a feedback loop from 9 Aug 2013 that will not close. There is nothing I can do about any of these things that will heal because the onus to act is on other people. I can seek closure, but only at the expense of other people. I can seek justice, but only at the expense of innocents. I can seek to heal only by either waiting on God or hurting people I love. I could burn people, and that might make me feel satisfied or proud or clear for a moment, but it won't necessarily make anything better or easier, and it certainly won't heal others if I lash out in anger. So, I let it go as much as I can because my attorney was right when he advised me after a wrongful lawsuit so many years ago: "If you decide to sue, I can use the money, but it will be better for you if you let it go". It would have hurt innocents and people I liked, and I would be the only one directly serviced, so I let it go, and he was right. Even Dantes admits to Ferrier in the Count of Monte Cristo that the priest was right. Let it go. True love is forever.

So, I decided today to follow John's advice and sacrifice closure. Even if you get an answer, it might not help, it might not make it easier, and it might kill whomever you want to make the miracle. If you rush a miracle, Miracle Max's wife taught us, you get rotten miracles. I really do believe that "Everything has been done in the wisdom of Him who knoweth all things." God knows me, He loves me, and He has a plan. I don't know what it is or how I fit into it, but I trusted Him four years ago, so I'm trusting Him now. I even found three pennies today, and as agitated as I was this morning, when I picked up the first, I honestly and seriously considered whether I really trusted God, and then I DECIDED to trust Him and let it go. I may never have closure, but I can have peace and faith and trust that some day I will reap what I sow however disappointing 2013 and today might be.

Beer Cans and Happiness

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As I prepared to take some large metal items in to recycle, I decided to maximize the utility of my trip by taking all the metal I could find. Consequently, I started collecting aluminum cans. My collection lead to several interesting discoveries that made sense but were not obvious, but the most interesting thing I noticed was the type of can most common in my zip code. I found a LOT of Bud Light beer cans, and that made me sad.

From my kayaking cohort, I know that Bud Light is a beer they won't even accept when it's free. Basically, it's a cheap beer that will get you drunk. At least 15% of all the cans were Bud Light (various sizes), and of the beer, Bud Light constituted 60% of the beer cans found. I found them in paper bags, in gutters, in storm drains, and in the concrete wash behind the house. I found them everywhere, every morning, every day, every time I looked, I found at least one.

Although neither scientific nor conclusive, this constitutes a warning sign in my mind. Apparently I live near a lot of people who are so miserable and so poor that they'll buy this piss beer to drink away their problems for a while. I know many if not all of us self medicate in one fashion or another in order to get through whatever pain we suffer, but alcohol has long been a staple of those trying to forget, at least for a short while, things that they prefer not recollect. The abundance of this particular cheap brand of beer struck me as interesting.

During the time of this experimental collection, I also held some conversations with people about why people do what they do. I have come to the conclusion that many of the people who live in Vegas and most if not all of those who come here are desperate to escape their humdrum lives. Either they have horrors they hope to erase, mistakes they hope to fix by gambling, or other pains they hope to medicate away through "vegas rehab". I think far too many of us live "quiet lives of desperation", and because they do not believe in or turn to God, they must turn to chemistry to find an escape from reality. Unfortunately, it does not and never will last.

Every attempt of which I am aware to run from your problems ends in failure. I understand why people try. I know my own share of trauma that I revisit far more frequently than I like trying to change the outcome in my head. Last night, as I prayed, I asked God for help carrying these moments, because nothing I know or try actually seems to help for more than a week or two. You cannot fight the past with present, and you cannot solve emotion or irrationality with logic. Those things happened, and they changed you, so running from them is as effective as running from yourself. I exercised until I injured myself, and now I eat things I regret almost immediately, and it manifests itself I'm sure in my visage and demeanor because I know it's evident in my blood pressure. Like Gaston tells Lefu, more beer won't help. It's just more beer.

This morning on the drive in, I counted five Bud Light cans in the first 1.5 miles, and that made me sad. I actually had a decent evening. There were no fireworks, and there was nothing special about it, and I didn't accomplish overmuch, but it was a quiet, decent, comfortable night, which is saying something for July in Vegas. I know that somewhere nearby, there are people who, no matter how they may appear on the outside, feel miserable, lonely, angry, or agitated on the inside. Some of these people will appear to have everything. They are prisoners of conscience of some sort, and the beer is probably a way to escape. People don't drink cheap beer for fun or flavor or frivolity. They usually drink it because they are sad, and I am sad because I don't know how to help them. They probably got everything they liked and still aren't happy.

It brings to mind the words of a tale I heard as a boy. A king who loved his daughter sought a way to bring her lasting happiness. As the story goes, the wizard provided a toy box that would produce whatever toy the princess wanted when she wished for it. The girl quickly grew unhappy. The king went back to the wizard who provided another box that took away all the toys. Without anything else to give her, the king spent time with his daughter instead trying to comfort her, and that's when she became happy. Happiness is found within.

Down in the gym at work, there's a young lady who talks with me almost every time I visit. On one of our visits, we discussed my trip to Alaska and the quiet isolation of the wilderness. I told her that one of the most important things I learned from that trip was that I was comfortable alone because I liked who I was. She told me she hoped to get to a place where she was content with who she was and what she was doing. That's where you find lasting happiness- contentment. I console myself that despite the disappointments, dejection, defeats, and desertion, I did the best I could with what I had in those circumstances. It's unfair to judge my past self with present information. I don't need to turn to beer because I have other things I actually enjoy. I can watch a thunderstorm for the sake of it. I can eat a freshly grown garden tomato and actually enjoy it. I can read a book, play an instrument, go for a walk, or take a nap, and I get real pleasure out of those things because I am ok with simple. Leonardo DiVinci allegedly said that simplicity is the ultimate sophistication. Plus, I'm righting myself with my Maker, and Bud Light is nothing like God's Light.

Smelling the Flowers

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I picked up some flowers at the store tonight for a close female acquaintance whose birthday is tomorrow. However, like usual, I asked several other customers checking out flowers to smell them for me to tell me which ones smell best. For many years now, I haven't been able to stop and smell the flowers, and they're not the only things I cannot smell. In fact, if I can smell it, it's pretty strong. Every time I get a physical, the doctor asks me what I did to my nose. It's obviously not drugs or normal damage, but it is damaged, permanently.

My loss of smell goes back to graduate school. As fate would have it, although I tested out of general chemistry lecture based on my AP exam score, they required me to take the lab. I was no priority for the teacher, and so it was my final semester before I managed to take general chemistry lab (think Chemistry 101). By that time, I'd taken advanced chemistry, microbiology and biochemistry courses, and so this was mostly elementary to me. The TA, knowing I knew at least as much about the class as she, took to vanishing during lab. If I'd known how it worked, I would have reported her for this, particularly since this led to my injury. One day, while doing organic functional groups, we were evolving bromine gas from bromobenzene, and a female pointed her flask in my face and asked, "Does this smell like bromine to you?" Enough bromine made it into my nose to scar it and me for life.

This causes problems and sometimes gives me peace. I can't smell for example the other gas they put into the natural gas so that you can tell there's a gas leak. Volatile chemicals at work do not register with my nose; I get a headache after a while which is how I know, but other people in the room often ask how I can stand the stench. This caused my injury earlier this year since I couldn't smell the chemical I inhaled that caused me to lose consciousness. On the other hand, I can't smell the methane emissions from humans with indigestion. Some unpalatable foods don't register, and the only reason I can smell vomit is because I know what hydrochloric acid smells like. When I can smell a forest fire or the pine trees, you know the scent is strong, and when I can smell your perfume I know you bathed in it. Working with essential volatiles (essential oils) in graduate school helped me train my nose to recognize flavor and scent components so I can pick out nuances between beers, wines, cheeses, and other foods and gave me back some sense of taste.

People tell me that scent and memory as well as scent and taste are linked, and so it's amazing that my memory works as well as it does. I tell people who accuse me of having no taste that they're exactly right. I have never really felt bitter about this, and the people who know me seem to understand that I don't pick out things based on scent. Only one woman I ever dated was a woman I could actually smell, and I remember to this day how she smelled and how much I loved that I could actually smell her and like it. I take that as a sign of chemical compatibility, although only a minor component, and it's something of which I am aware as I meet others.

My olfactory handicap reminds me that there are other ways to stop and enjoy the flowers. I plant them in my yard, make care not to crush them in the wilderness, and pay attention to their nuances and mathematical complexities when I have occasion to study them. I give them because I know what they mean, because they are a sign of life, a sign of new life and good life, and because I know that flowers are a committed step in plant development. Fortunately for me there is usually someone around to smell the flowers, to appreciate them, and to enjoy them. I wish it were someone in particular.

Go to the Mountain

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Today was an exceptionally pleasant July day in Vegas, but even moreso up on the mountain. It was only 57F at 9:00 when I arrived at the trailhead for my daily hiking assignment, and when I left hours later it was only 71F. Despite warm temperatures and wind in the valley, there was a chilly wind up on the escarpment, and even the sun didn't feel that intense on my back. It was a pleasant day by temperature, by company, and by scenery, and I'm glad I went. I'm also glad that I was on my way back down and not in the long line of cars heading up single file in the afternoon.

Despite the popularity of this trail, there were not as many cars as normal. Despite the popularity of this trail, nobody passed me or even caught up with me all day until I turned around to head back after my calf started complaining about the pace I was keeping. I passed a large scout group headed up to camp near the peak, but most people were just going to the spring or the giant Bristlecone Pine Tree that's among the eldest trees on earth (I think it's #10). Despite the traffic, there was only a single piece of trash. I was also surprised that only one person ever afforded me the right to pass; I stopped for almost everyone else. I was also kind of annoyed that most of the females didn't say anything to me, but since all but a few were "with" someone, I didn't let it get me down. I was having a great day. The weather made it impossible to dampen my mood.

Despite hot seasonal temperatures in the valley, it was a pleasant October morning on the mountain. I wondered as I started if I was underdressed. The 25lb pack on my back kept me warm, and since I sweat a lot, I was careful to only take it off once when I needed more water bottles from inside it. Arriving this early during peak sun times gave me the maximum of shade when I needed it and periodic breezes from the side to keep me cool as I went. This was probably the most pleasant weather day I ever experienced on Mt. Charleston, and it was a shame I couldn't make it to the peak, although it was probably even more chilly up there! In all, I only drank a liter of water while hiking, which I think reflects just as much on the weather as on my conditioning.

Despite the late day, it was a time of growth and prosperity on the mountain. The lupines were just barely blooming, and they were not the only wildflowers out above 10,000 feet. It was finally time to see the new purple pinecones that bristlecone trees produce, and although not as plentiful as in former years, the new growth on these trees attested to a good year on the peak. WHen I stopped to empty rocks from my shoes, I marveled at how many dragonflies gathered around me, riding the wind and saying hello. There were birds and small mammals everywhere, and on the way back down I saw mountain lion scat that wasn't there an hour or so earlier when I passed by the first time. Even new people were plentiful, as I met at least a dozen who were on their maiden trip to the mountain, which was splendid. I am glad to see them come and taking good care of the wilderness.

People get satisfaction out of life in vastly different ways. I have been to places of natural and sublime beauty in the wilderness and in places just outside my back door. Other people I know here in town go to clubs, parties, concerts, and other entertainment venues, spending countless hours and sums of money to see what throngs of others know. I know that I am not alone in my preference for the wilderness, that I prefer to go out and see something natural, historical, artisinal, than go out among the throngs. It's my personal preference, but I thank God for it, because I have seen some pretty country and amazing things. I've seen hummingbirds protect their nests from my intrusion to their domain, watched lightning from my backyard, explored the mountains to see each type of wildflower burst forth, walked in hail during summer thunderstorms, and let butterflies land on my legs ostensibly to take salt from my skin. You can't buy those experiences, and you certainly won't get them in a crowd. So, I go to the mountain. The only thing that could have made today better was to have a special someone with whom to share it, which would have changed it, but I would have changed it to share it with her. Go to the mountain, go often, and go early.

Price of Freedom

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July marks many emancipations for me. In addition to the obvious American Independence Day, this is also the month in which I settled all claims and counterclaims with my ex wife. I left an oppressive job to move to Vegas in July. It's the month in which I left for a mission, and the month in which I returned home. Two women broke up with me in July. Yesterday, the long string of hot weather in Vegas finally broke, and I felt strange celebrating it "only" being 106F. While I thank God for my freedom, all of these things come with a price, and sometimes we forget that.

This morning, as I jogged around the zip code, I marveled with great sadness at the debris littering the streets and gutters. Up near the temple, there was evidence of small fires, probably started by fireworks. I thought of all the money these things represented, money that we essentially just lit on fire for our own amusement. I always find this paradoxical since the municipalities and casinos provide fireworks that so many of my neighbors spend their own money. Perhaps most annoyingly, the fellow who owns the house next door which has renters was shooting off large rockets from the street, so close that they shook the house. I had a great view. It was super loud, and I remarked aloud at the smell of saltpeter, sulfur, and burnt paper that filled the air as my neighbors wasted their substance in riotous ways.

Very few of us consider really the cost of Freedom. I don't have any relatives who died in combat, but many of my college buddies didn't come home. With all the talk of slavery of late, everyone seems to forget how many Union soldiers died in the Civil War to secure freedom for the slave. For my own part, I know a little of that victory. On July 12, 2010, my attorney told me that I now knew how it felt to have to pay for my own freedom as we left the courthouse having to pay my ex wife more money. I won my freedom, but it came at a high price.

Ultimately, the price has already been paid for all men everywhere for all time. It was paid at Golgotha. God's own son sweat drops of blood and shed tears of pain so that anyone who wanted could be free. Most of us don't appreciate, understand, or avail ourselves of His vicarious sacrifice. Too many of my neighbors (I remind myself I live in "Sin City") think freedom is licence to live lives of licentiousness and lasciviousness. They think freedom means to do whatever they like. They think it doesn't hurt anyone. It already hurt Christ. Now, I will confess I don't really understand how it works, but I know THAT it works, because in my own private moments, I feel the quiet presence of the Comforter and through the spirit of God know that all is and will be well. That doesn't mean I believe it all the time, but I cannot deny it because I know I have felt it, and I know God knows that too. I think far too many of us run away from Christ, run away from freedom, and think that because we can drink beer, talk on our cell phones, post to our facebutt accounts, go out to parties, fornicate with strangers, get away with crimes because we don't get caught, and rise in rank despite our viles that we are free. We are not. We are already bought with a price. We are eternally indebted to God for all that we have and are. I awoke today because it was His good pleasure that I do so.

Everything comes with a price. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something. I find it absolutely infuriating and frustrating that so many of my contemporaries will spout this about things that excite me but totally swallow the logical fallacy that things are free that they happen to prefer and seek. Everything has an opportunity cost. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. So maybe you won't feel it today or tomorrow or this decade, but those smug villains among us who think that they have escaped justice as they lie on their deathbeds without having faced the consequence in essence deny the Savior. If it's only a crime if you get caught, what need have they for a Savior? The price has been paid. They are still trying to outrun the posse out to collect the bounty on them without knowing how to really obtain amnesty. Liberty is not license; it is duty.

As beneficiaries of civil society, we have a divine duty to do all in our power to perpetuate principles of virtue, justice, and neighborliness. As parents, neighbors, employees, friends, countrymen, and members of the Family of Man, it is our imperative duty to nurture children, instill faith, and transmit to future generations the moral strengths and values that are important to civilization and vital to eternal salvation. How we do this is largely left up to us until and unless we transmute those ideas into ones that undermine civil law and God's law. That's the price of freedom. Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty, and we must pay it if we intend to keep this Republic. When in doubt we must look upward; when we fall we must seek mercy. We get these from the Author of Freedom, from Nature's God, not from Gaia or government however worthy fealty to them may be.

I am not proud to be an American; I am supremely grateful. Only an infinitesimal fraction of God's children through all time have the privilege and honor to be born to the opportunities and advances of being born in this great land. As others looked upward last night to the display, I stood in my backyard, bowed my head, and I thanked God for His privileges on myself and any putative posterity with which He may deign favor me. In looking inward, I looked up to the heavens. I see different things perhaps than you do. I see myself eternally indemnified to my Creator and His Providence for the opportunities and obligations afforded me, and so I will stay true to my noble purpose because tolerance does not require me to abandon high moral ideals. Being free, being an American, being a Christian, and being prospered obligates me to pay a price, and it asks me to show my appreciation for the price already paid for me by the Savior of man. I don't know why He decided it was wise to birth me in this time, on these shores, to this family, and entrusted with the knowledge and talents I possess, but I know that as with all talents I am expected to do great things with them. Holidays like this invite us all to consider what sacrifice we are willing to set on the altar of freedom. What price will you pay?

Causing Our Own Suffering

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Owing to two funerals in April of this year, I filed an extension with the IRS and only filed my taxes today. Although I'm getting a refund, as I clicked submit, I scowled because they kept some of my money. Last week, the Supreme Court handed down some rulings with which I vehemently disagree and which I intend to protest by getting behind the Article V Movement completely. Why should they have the last word? Why should I pay for, endorse, and support things I find morally reprehensible? To sin by silence when they should protest makes cowards of men.

In his groundbreaking work, Common Sense, Thomas Paine outlined how government is the source of our suffering. He writes:

"Society in every state is a blessing, but Government, even in its best state, is but a necessary evil; in its worst state an intolerable one: for when we suffer, or are exposed to the same miseries BY A GOVERNMENT, which we might expect in a country WITHOUT GOVERNMENT, our calamity is heightened by reflecting that we furnish the means by which we suffer (emphasis in original)".

Here we are, as if we live in a nation without law and without order, experiencing the same lawlessness that permeated the middle ages. Men live in fear of one another; the strong prey on the weak. A few mortal, imperfect men (and a few bitter, angry women), clothed in the black robes of a false priesthood, reject the precedence of American society and "fundamentally transform it" so that it sustains what they believe. They reject government of the people and continually overturn things decided by common consent in the ballot box. If everything comes down to a single vote in the Supreme Court, then that's the only vote that counts. Who in Hoboken is Anthony Kennedy to presume the arrogant stance that he has the final word on all matters of law in America? None of us voted for him.

Far too many people confuse society with government. Society existed before government, and it persists even when and if governments change. While there is society without government, there is no government without society, because in order for government to rise there must be people. Most of our politicians (and my dean) don't seem to understand that. They insist that although they can persist without us, we cannot exist without them. Without people, what need is there for professors, policemen, or politicians? How can rights come from government if people can exist and even thrive without it? How can I have a right to life if and only if I accept and bow to a government? Tell that to the gypsies, homeless, and feral.

Government is a necessary evil. We find ourselves furthermore spending a portion of our substance to furnish protection for the rest. Then, they take that portion and use it in ways and means that we would otherwise protest. This they do by FORCE, by fiat, by threat of the IRS. Every April, we renew our familiarity with that signature page that invites us to ask if we are being honest, and if we're not, the IRS may send armed agents to your door to take MORE. I feel more and more the anger shared by Samuel Adams. As we watch America lose every advantage ever in the war against terror and tyranny, his words lend our cause a terrible aspect:

"Contemplate the mangled bodies of your countrymen, and then say "what should be the reward of such sacrifices?" Bid us and our posterity bow the knee, supplicate the friendship and plough, and sow, and reap, to glut the avarice of the men who have let loose on us the dogs of war to riot in our blood and hunt us from the face of the earth? If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquility of servitude than the animated contest of freedom — go home from us in peace. We ask not your counsels or arms. Crouch down and lick the hands which feed you. May your chains sit lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that you were our countrymen!"

Why should I subsidize the efforts of men who would hunt me from the face of the earth? There is an all out war on Christians in this country, as if the white barbarians of the North are the source of all villainy on earth ever. These people love money, they would rather have their portion now and go waste their substance in riotous living. Then they come, with arrogance, and DEMAND to be taken back as the prodigals. There was a time when people came to America to contribute and now they come in order to see what they can take from us. We don't want them to be destitute; they desire that for us. They are not tolerant. They want to force us to conform to them.

We pay for our own suffering because we do not ask what is right. We do not stand for what is right, and we do not try to make ourselves right before Nature's God. If we want Him to protect us, then we need to repent. We need to stand fast for truth and right. As I posted to my Twitter yesterday, People who like Trump feel about him as Lincoln felt about Grant. "I like this man. He fights." Who else is fighting for us? If we want God to fight for us, we need to be humble in order to invite His presence. We need to be virtuous so that He can stay in our midst. We need to be submissive to accept that there may not be a Princeton early on and that the Valley Forges may be frequent and heavy. We need to be willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause. Money is not enough. Giving money is easy. As it cost Christ at Golgotha, the process of freedom will cause blood and sweat and tears to roll, and it may result in our death. Days like Independence Day invite us to consider what sacrifice we are willing to set on the altar of freedom. Today, 239 years ago, they read the Declaration of Independence on the square in Philadelphia and called for public display on the 4th. Will you suffer or sacrifice? Only the latter secures the blessings of freedom for ourselves and our posterity.

I pledge my life, my fortune, and my sacred honour to this cause. I would rather dash myself against the rocks trying to establish a beachhead on the shores of tyranny than live in a world without the America in which I believe.

Manipulating Nature

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I tried to do something "nice" for the world this week, and I realize that maybe by interfering I may have hurt what I tried to help. You see, as a scientist, I know that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Hopefully, that's somewhere else, and my efforts will bear good fruit, but I cannot assume that I am always going to experience good outcomes or that my efforts, however well meaning, actually made things better. Sometimes, by interfering, the change we cause differs from what we might hope.

Monday morning, I left the building to walk from the science building to the graphic design building. On the way there, I noticed an injured and nervous little bird. Later that day, I took a handful of trail mix (I removed everything besides the nuts and dried fruit) and a crucible of water and set it near the bird. Each day, I checked the site, refilled the water, and checked on my "little friend". At length, he grew to anticipate and tolerate if not welcome my visits, and I patted myself on the back for my efforts to save this little bird.

This morning, I found a very different scene. When I arrived at the spot to refresh what I left for him, I found the bird dead. Some of his flesh had been picked from his head. Up on a ledge not too far away I saw as I walked back toward the stairway entrance that there was a young hawk sitting there. It was then that I wondered if my "help" had been for the hawk rather than the bird.

You see, there is a natural order, a natural law to things. Some things are supposed to win and grow stronger, and other things are supposed to fail to give rise to what was victorious. Humans however like to prop up the weakest among us and subsidize things that cannot stand on their own and then reward ourselves for our virtue when what we're doing is probably harmful to the whole.

This small bird probably became dependent on me rather than reliant on itself for its own prospects. While it's possible that he would have died regardless of my intervention, I think I set him up for this particular tragic end. He knew where to go to get food and water. Doubtless other birds knew this too. Eventually, this put him at risk for predation because he would not stray to a better place because I gave him food and water. The other birds knew this, and they took advantage of it. In giving him a crutch, I may have doomed him to his end rather than saving him.

Sometimes it's best to leave things be. If we were to assume that things are ours to do with as we please, we become as guilty as any mastermind who meddles without the right or the authority. I am not a vet; I am not a bird. I do not owe that bird a thing. I did this because I wanted to help. Instead, he was eaten by another bird. I found that sad. We like to think we can change things, that we are special, that we have some sort of control. We forget that every time we establish a dependency, we weaken others. If keeping an animal in captivity and feeding it and caring for it makes it weaker then so does subsidizing a person, medically, financially, pharmaceutically, etc. We manipulate nature, and we weaken our own.

I am not saying that everything we do does more harm than good. Sometimes humans do great things. I am however not convinced that the things we do are either as virtuous or as effective as we betimes like to think. When your efforts to change your stars or the stars and fates of others fail, remember that you are not the only force acting on a situation. There will be a bump, and there will be a bruise. Sometimes there will be a win, and sometimes there will be a loss. That is the nature of things, that everything has balance, and that sometimes the opposite will happen from what we hope. It doesn't mean we shouldn't try or that we did things wrong. We do the best we can with what we have. Then we wait and see what nature has in mind.