Damage Done

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In a town far away many years ago, there lived a young boy who was destined for greatness except for one small problem. One day, the boy went to his father for help dealing with his character deficit. He told his father of how he wanted to limit and eventually eliminate his anger, and his father brought him a pail of nails and a hammer. The father told his son that, whenever he felt the urge to be angry, he should go outside and hammer a few nails into the fence until he felt in control.

As days went by, the boy made regular trips to the fence where he hammered nails in, sometimes five and sometimes as few as one. Gradually, he reduced the frequency of his sorties as well as the number of nails consumed per sortie until he no longer felt the need to go outside and hammer in nails. When he asked his father what he should do, his father said that whenever he felt in control to go out and remove a nail from the fence. More time passed, and soon the boy had removed all the nails from the fence.

Something didn’t sit well with him, and he went to his father again. He asked what could be done to fix the fence, now made unsightly by the frequency of nail holes. The father wisely replied, “There is nothing you can do. The damage is done.”

For a fence, it makes no nevermind if we hammer a few extra nails in or hammer in nails where they don’t belong. When it comes to other people, since we can’t go back to the way things were, the damage remains. However we may attempt to smooth things over, an act once perpetrated may be abrogated but never undone. However, you can never be hurt by things you don’t do.

Supported? Hardly

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Yesterday morning as I arrived at work, I noticed something peculiar. Just outside the parking lot, we drive through a school zone where policemen are known to be vigilant in their patrols. The car in the left lane entered the school zone without slowing at all, and as he passed I noticed a bumper sticker on his car that said “Back the Badge”. I huffed a scoffing hrumph as he sped away and wondered to myself how that could possibly be true while I watched him in the midst of breaking a law.

Earlier in my life, I performed a scientific experiment to gauge the degree to which people were likely to keep the law, and I’m sure each of you can testify to instances where drivers around you obeyed the speed limit because a policeman was in proximity. On the occasion of this test, I secreted myself in a bush at a stop sign that was often violated and counted the ratio at which people actually stopped at the sign. After that, I had my kid sister (then 9 years old) sit on her bike at the corner. The frequency of stoppage increased. After that, I sat at the corner in a shirt and tie with my clipboard. Stoppage broke 95%.

One Sunday in Florida years ago, my parents commented at the sparse attendance at the start of our church meeting. As people trickled in late, we learned that the police had held a sting at the stop sign a few blocks away and had cited perhaps a dozen vehicles for violating it. I have never forgotten that, and I have tried to always obey the law whenever I can and regardless of whether people around me choose to do so.

Much ado has been made in the last few years over politicians who claim to “support the troops but not the war”. Seeing as how the business of soldiers is to make war, that kind of statement constitutes a great farce of contradiction. If you don’t support what they do, how can you possibly support them?

On Trees

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My sister asked me a random question along this subject: "What would it be like to be a tree?" As I drove across Wyoming and looked at the scraggly stumps that pass for trees, I came up with a few topics that give me pause to reflect and respect trees.



Trees withstand loneliness and solitude. In some of the most inhospitable conditions, trees manage to eek out a living, growing larger year after year and betimes even reproducing. Many trees grow in places they shouldn't, like one growing in a tributary river near Jenny Lake in the Tetons that had grown in the middle of the river, wrapped around a large boulder. Sometimes they seem to defy gravity, erosion, and the weather. They stand in the middle of nowhere, while winds whip around them, still pointed largely upward due to geotrophism. Trees stand strong. Years ago, I heard this excerpt from a poem: Good timber does not grow in ease/ The stronger the gale the tougher the trees.

From that image, I move to how trees demonstrate fortitude and a stalwart nature. When the going gets tough for people, we pack up and move. Trees like all plants must face their troubles. Sometimes, when we take a stand against powerful forces of opposition, we stand alone like trees, but if we stay straight against those winds of opposition, others marvel at our steadfast resistance. Trees don't give up easily. Neither should we.

Finally, trees come with a promise of fruit, of expanse, of the good things in life that come from staying true to our nature. It is the business of all living things to multiply and replenish themselves, passing on what is good in them and providing good forage for other life forms around us who can taste of our fruits and be nourished thereby. How welcome a sight might have been an apple tree, however bedraggled it may have appeared, to the weary pioneers coming across the Oregon Trail!

If I were a tree, I'd hope to be of the type I saw on the plains of Wyoming- tried and true.

Go West Young Man

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Although I've crisscrossed the nation several times, this was the first time I followed in earnest the route taken by pioneers across the Continental Divide. Some symbols struck me on the crossing that particularly deserve commentary.

When pioneers struck out for the plains, they were allotted a very small amount of personal property to take along so as not to bind up the progress of wagons. Today we cross the distance by car in as little as a day, but it took four to five months for them to do so on foot with wagons. People were allowed as little as 17 pounds of personal property, and so at the point of departure, there were immense piles of abandoned property. In some way, I envy their being able to put their problems behind them and get rid of deadweight. There is so much pressure of encumbering possessions- that everyone needs a new car every few years, an iPod/iPhone, a flatscreen TV, and the latest and greatest gadgetry. The pioneers took what they needed, and I believe that helped them be happier.

As we drove across Wyoming, the constancy of the wind really struck me. Walking into the wind, driving against it, watching the clouds driven by it, it struck me about the potential for increased strength occasioned by walking into a stiff wind. Americans enjoy a strength of character, will and spirit comparable to none because of the scope and range of challenges that combine to hedge up our way. By and large, we simply press on like our pioneer forefathers of old, growing stronger as we push and pull our way to the "West" uphill against opposition. That opposition makes us strong.

Make Time

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Going to Wyoming this last week was good for me in so many ways. I got away from constant attentiveness to fiscal and political news and didn’t miss it one bit. Although I took my phone, nobody called, and only two emails in my inbox were really pressing and important. I noticed when I came back however a difference in my thought process as to priorities, which I wish to discuss.

Now that I’m suddenly a factor of some degree in the lives of people I know, I sense almost a reticence on their part to return that slice of their attention I previously occupied to me. Some of them admit it, having already made apology, but few looked forward to my return. It showed me how few friends I really have and made me glad of the opportunity to have spent time with family.

Since I’ve also been embroiled in conversations regarding relationships and read Dr. Laura’s book, I think about the role of prioritization from that point of view too. I read Cheaper By the Dozen as well this week, and the basic premise of that story is how the parents prioritize their careers and other activities over their families. Since I know so many people whose parents did that, whether inadvertent or blatant, it gave me reason to pause.

People make time for things that are important. I really wanted to go on a trip Fri-Sat to see a Dodger’s game in LA, not because I like the Dodgers, but because it’s on my Bucket List. Instead, I visited an uncle in the hospital who caught Staph and spent time with my sister, not that my friends or the associations that might be forged thereby weren’t important but because family comes first. Over the past month, several people in my locale came aware of the fact that I rise early to exercise and expressed an interest in accompanying me. Only one of them has ever availed themselves of my company, and that person has been sporadic. Not that I blame people; it’s hard to get up at 6AM and exercise (remember I arise at 5AM to read Scriptures before I exercise). I know that by the time I get home from work, I won’t want to do anything, so to do the things that are important (spiritual and physical health), I made decisions to make time for those things. Since time is limited, we do things that are best for us.

Herein lies the relationship codicil. I think so many problems in relationships arise because the relationships take a back seat to other things and people use the relationship as a rationale for those decisions, even if they do more harm than good. Like in Cheaper By the Dozen, the dad claims he took the job he always wanted to make a better life for his family, but he focuses on the job so much that his family suffers.

The order of operations in our day makes no sense either. In frontier times, my ancestors spent all day working with their families. They spent time when they were rested and in good spirits around those that they loved, in a spirit of community, then they went out in the evening to unwind with strangers at the barn dance, the bar, or a community roast. Nowadays, we go work all day with strangers and unwind on our families. Our coworkers benefit from our better mood earlier in the day, and we arrive home and dump on our families, knowing they will love us anyway. Our families get the short end of our short tempers and spend time with us only after we are physically, intellectually, and psychologically exhausted.

I envy in so many ways the pioneers who crossed the plains. I spent some real time as an adult walking in their footsteps this last week. They had a simpler time- not driven by the pursuit of wealth and power. Much as we may mock the 223 residents of Chugwater, WY, for their meager existence, I think I know why people love Wyoming so much. I long for the day when I can enjoy that existence they’ve known all along.

PS. I have nothing against Chugwater. Until this week, I didn’t even know it existed.

Old Gives Way to New

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Wyoming is a place that still holds fast against the encroachment of the modern world. Beyond their cityscapes, it seems the people take on a resistance in the shadow of the Great Tetons and buttressed by the wild and mighty Snake River to anything that might disturb their peace and tranquility. I think that’s why it impressed me so much. I felt at home there. The things that I feel are important are still important in Wyoming, and I didn’t feel alone despite being separated by miles of prairie or yards of rock and timber from the nearest living soul.

Despite my expressed desire to be left in peace, I do not want to live entirely alone. Grudgingly, I have returned to the dating meat market and found it much more difficult than it used to be, for many reasons. I live in a section of the Vegas valley populated largely by Legacy families, who have lived here for generations. The kids all attended the same schools, and the parents even grew up together, and I constitute one of the unwashed outsiders. Plus, I work 23 miles from my domicile, as opposed to the majority of my neighborhood peers, further isolating me in terms of associations. I face geographical and familial barriers when I go up against others my age on the hunt for companionship.

My other major hurdle is my own policy of Friendship First. First off, it gives competitors myriad opportunity of unknown duration to beat me to the punch and garner favor with the would-be targets of my affectations. Secondly, I run the risk that the girls I like will find someone to whom they are attracted whom they will seek to get to know rather than letting me grow on them. Either way, time is not on my side in a society that still encourages marriage to the “wife of youth”.

Basically, the prevailing mindset of friendship first seems lost in the heat of an emotional moment. Having been there myself, I cannot fault my peers, and I still maintain that friendship first is the best policy. Whatever happened to courting? As I’ve mentioned before, men primarily focus on “sealing the deal” and moving into a committed and exclusive relationship (even if they’re carrying on such relationships with several different women concurrently), and so a single date seems tantamount to a betrothal.

I simply cannot compete with certain categories of men. While I try to build a relationship of trust, if they manage to skip to the chase, all my efforts are wasted. Time to rethink my plan? No. Back when I went on my mission, there went about the saying that “your girlfriend won’t wait, but your wife will.” I have every confidence that I will find the person I need in time, however flawed my system may seem in the moment.

Chuckwagon Culture

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One of our family Jackson Hole/Teton traditions has been to visit the Bar-J Wrangler Chuckwagon dinner. As I sat listening to the music after the meal concluded and having read a significant portion of DeTocqueville's "Democracy in America" I realized suddenly where the strength of America truly lies. Under that awning, people from states we've never visited come together to share in the legacy of the American west, having put away any rivalries and competitions for an evening of fun, food and frolic.

In the days of the Old West, the cowboys would gather at the end of the day around the Chuckwagon. Here, they would brag of the day, of past cattle drives, play music, and enjoy a community of brotherhood born of their common employ regardless of their past. DeTocqueville talked about how America benefits from a wilderness in that it brings people together for survival, even when we are at peace. That cowboy spirit of togetherness binds Americans together, such that when you pick on one of us it's tantamount to picking a fight with every one of us.

Now, from time to time overseas, I feel embarrassed at the behavior and demeanor of my countrymen, but when we converse, we are friends for no other reason than our common citizenry. Strangers at first, we, like in all our common provocations, come together for a common cause. I've had Americans offer to buy me a meal in Europe for no other reason than the chance to converse with a "friend" abroad.

Unlike any other country, America was born for freedom. The chuckwagon culture of the west embodies that concept of freedom- on the range, unbounded, unchecked. Everyone who lived a cowboy's life chose it; they did it because they loved it. Americans believe in the things they do. I appreciate this small glimpse into yesteryear and wish I could truly understand and empathize with that way of life, not because I want to hug trees or go back to nature, but because I envy that band of brothers.

The strength of America lies not in its bristling seacoasts but around the hearth and campfire.

Americans Lack Classes

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Despite my altruistic aims at helping inculcate my sister into the society of her peers, I realized this week that my presence at social functions and such may prove more of a detriment than an asset. She and I share many similarities, but I have always felt her destined for a better society of confluence than myself, and by being affiliated with me, I cannot help but worry that she will be denied the companionship of those with whom she rightly belongs by being affiliated with a throwback of a bygone age such as myself.

Americans lack class, having dispensed largely with the concept and largess of aristocratic affiliation with which most of the civilized world remains beset. As such, we seem ignorant of our place when conversing with strangers, each of us believing himself to be the equal of his neighbor by virtue of our plenipotentiary society. However, among the American people, we divest into cliques of varied nature. I find myself by chance sadly among the lowest echelons of American society, not for lack of intellect, wealth, or good breeding, but by virtue of the things with which I choose to occupy my time.

One grouse Europe levies against America is that we lack culture. Most Americans truly do not look to philosophy or classical literature in their free time, preferring instead to buy beer and hunker down around some gladiator event or a camp fire. When I spoke last eve with a friend about my "summer reading list", he remarked that it consisted of things "85% of folks would never ever consider reading", ranging from DeTocqueville to Marcus Aurelius. My fascination for these subjects automatically makes me an outsider in my own country because most Americans prefer not to discuss that sort of thing.

People who therefore freely associate with me are most accurately described as the outcasts of American pop culture. Having nowhere else to go, we converge together and belong to that group of outcasts, not unlike the Land of Misfit Toys... The well-endowed among us, whether fiscally, aesthetically, or fashionably, eschew the outcasts and any who may be found in our company for a myriad of shallow reasons at which I shall make no attempt of explanation. This phenomenon is as old as time.

One of the themes of Pride and Prejudice is (gasp) prejudice. The gentry in whose company Mr. Darcy finds himself disprove vehemently of any and all association with the Bennett family, especially after the youngest sister elopes with Wickham. Mrs. Bennett is one of the most classless people I've ever heard, without tact and reserve in any situation, and although Mr. Bennett is himself some sort of aristocrat, fiscal restraints on his home relegate him to an undesirable peerage and denigrated role in the echelons of England. This particular theme of the novel deals with the differences between the Haves and Have-nots.

Ironically, I have much more than some of the pretentious busybodies from whom I shy and to whom I would shuffle my sister. Unlike them, I am debt free with $25000 in assets, a full-time job in my career field, and a myriad of skills that tend toward my putative self-sufficiency. I am also done with college. I have already bought and sold a home, bought and sold several cars, traveled to Europe twice, and written and published a book (details forthcoming). How many of those in my age bracket can lay claim to that curriculum vitae? I am well spoken, well read, and interested in becoming more so with age instead of this pish-posh about Xbox and Playstation.

Yet, this makes me abnormal.

I make no nevermind about fitting in. I am comfortable with myself. I worry only about judgment by association for those who may appreciate me but may not want to be counted among my entourage of dork henchmen while they still have a chance to be someone in their own right and ascend the ranks of what passes for American peerage.

It Need Not Be

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I read several books this week while crisscrossing Wyoming, and one particular part thereof particularly commands my frustration and concentration.

I read The Whistling Season on the recommendation of a friend whose opinion I really value, but ever since I read a particular line from the book it has bothered me.

You and Rose--
--have done what a man and a woman do. That's so. Nights are long here...

Doig writes this as if it's a forgone conclusion that every single man and every single woman will simply gratify the lusts of the flesh. I have spent most of my life trying to disprove that notion.

I am attracted to women. I happen to enjoy what Doig references in this passage. However, we are not all animals, and we need not be.

This particular passage has obfuscated every other notion I might have retained from the book. It has consumed my thoughts and embroiled my frustrations. I refuse to accept the premise, and I adjure you to do in kind.

Vacation

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I shall be on vacation until Wednesday, and therefore, I beg my leave of you for a time.