pride

It burns hot

A story from the red book:

an ice cream cone with strawberry ice cream

I say that I am angry, but I should use a more precise word. What is that word?

It burns hot as I run through the hall. I see the apartments rush by. Some doors are open to life shining brightly. Love drifts out in pure laughter. I don’t stop; I urgently push on so that I cannot hear the voices trailing off behind me.

I have been here before, but every time it feels new. One time I left behind a luscious feast. On another, the party was just getting rowdy when my tripwire was triggered. I pride my self-awareness but this pattern is invisible to me. I am alarmed once I stop running but I never go back.

I try to live by the principles of a life in the sunlight. I am kind and willing to help. I walk to the park and laugh at the squirrels. I don’t understand the explosions.

Once I reach home, I search for something to eat. Maybe I will reward myself with some ice cream. I never remember the route I took. I guess it doesn’t matter. It was a safe journey.

No one asks me how I know it is time to go. I get quizzical messages as I flee. What did they do wrong? Why did I have to ruin the celebration? It’s one worry or another. By now, they should realize I will ignore their entreaties.

It has been a long time since I was able to laugh at myself. My breath is a struggle once it starts. If only I would let go of the door. I could be undamaged.

Am I in a loop? What repairs do I need? Instead of my disorder, I could give my regrets when I am invited. I could make an excuse just before I should have arrived. It would be easy. After a few withdrawals, I might stop getting invitations. After that, I might not be aware of what I have done. I might get peevish and isolated. I can erect strong fences of resentment but that won’t fix anything.

I could find someone to blame but it would just be denying the truth: I am my own trouble. I think it would be better if I could admit my quirks. I could make it into a funny story. Calling it a quirk would remove the firing pin. I could say, pardon, I need to take a break and then move into another room. I would find an empty chamber. The hammer would strike a void.

Being famous vs. being important

A thumbtackFor a while I’ve imagined that I’d like to be famous. It’s easy to see plenty of examples of famous people in the news. You see their glamour, the attention they get. I can imagine that that attention is what I need.

When I reflect a little, though, I see a lot of downsides of being famous. People see you for your fame and not as a person. I would need to be careful to not hurt friends that don’t want all of the attention. My beat up car, messy yard and deficient house cleaning could lead to a callous remark in the grocery line.

Impermanence is one strike on the heart that shows why being famous is a down. You write the awesome novel. Then what? If you don’t write another, you’ve become a flash-in-the-pan. Your academic work is lauded in textbooks. If in 20 years, an unexpected discovery overturns all of your scholarship, the fame fades quickly. If you made a mistake, even more so.

Selective vision is another strike. Who will really care that you have a life-long commitment to support the local civic club once you’ve create a substantial industry? Incidents where where a president answered a child’s letter with compassion and kindness are lost behind the glamour of a successful career in politics. In the end, a celebrity has their life’s work washed down to one paragraph in an obituary.

Superficiality strikes darkly at fame’s aura. A famous person could really proud of something small, but in fame, it would be pushed from their mind. Their one giant success will blot out the little things that meant more before fame hit. To most, a famous person is little more that the avatar for their social media.

Fame is a very fickle mistress who has an insatiable appetite for more.

Being important is not so negating.

I can be important in many different ways. What is important to me is based on my values and experience. If I’m important to someone else, it means that our paths crossed in some way. I can be grateful that I said this right thing or listened at that right moment.

A small effort of kindness, really nothing in my eyes, could make a lot of difference in someone’s life. It could allow them to make a difference to others I’ll never meet

If I am important, I don’t have the expectation that I keep up the poseur’s show to protect any fleeting fame.

I can be important without any demands on my time. It doesn’t matter that I won’t be important tomorrow. I can go back to bed and do something important the following day.