Dateline – Somewhere in the Kingdom of Eugene – Garbage cans rattle. Drunken voices. Bicycle tires. Squeaky wheels of a shopping cart – a late-night Target run or a homeless person’s migratory mischief? It’s a hot night in town, and the natives are restless.
I keep one window open – not only for air but it helps. Rose Marie the landlord refuses to let us run our air conditioners between October and April. The open window lets me hear trouble before it arrives, with 9-1 punched on the house phone to save time.
Every new arrival to Eugene should come with a Handbook for the Care and Feeding of Free Range Humans. They’re everywhere, and we’re all Free Range Humans when push comes to shove. How best to pursue peace with a maddened Denizen of the DSM-V, off their meds and barking at the Martian Spiders of Mill Avenue? Watch a video on verbal de-escalation. Keep a tight hold on that battered table leg you keep behind the door for late-night callers. Violence isn’t the answer – but it is an option.
Labor unrest surrounds us with the Bigfoot Strike – reflecting larger social discord among the civilian population. Now we’re watchful, anxious, uncertain residents of an occupied city, smiling corpo-clowns bent on domination through indolence and indifference. The only thing we can control is what we own, and what we own isn’t even the contents of ourselves. Horror, rage, fear. The bomb is laid, the fuse is lit.
Or maybe not.
Changes in perspective can be valuable. One of the great logical human fallacies is the idea that we know everything and the other guy knows nothing. I remember when my Uncle Tom used to come out for a visit to us. Successful guy, ran a business Back East – every once in a while he’d show up on our doorstep with nothing more than a backpack and a duffel.
Here’s why that’s important – Tom could afford four star hotels and all-inclusive resorts all over the world. That wasn’t what Tom wanted – he wanted something else.
Tom loved those weeks he spent sleeping on our family room couch. Bare essentials, no tourist itinerary. He survived on endless cups of black coffee and peanut butter on toast. He’d stand out in our driveway, looking at the LA mountains in his bare feet and a pair of gym shorts. I didn’t understand what he was looking for but I do, now.
He explained it all to me when I was eighteen or nineteen. ‘Gotta get out beyond the comet’s tail of things that you drag through life,’ Tom said. ‘Need to look back at yourself, see what really matters.’
We wouldn’t see Tom again until the next family gathering – whatever that was. Tom was a different guy then – smiling, happy, but different. As a father, as a husband, he had responsibilities and obligations to assume. Getting five people across the country safe, happy, and in one piece – you need the organizational skills of an Army Quartermaster and the patience of Job. Tom did it all, and he seemed to enjoy it but his smile was different.
Then there were the other times – stripping it all down to two shirts, gym shorts, and underwear. Tom’s step was lighter, his laugh easier. He slipped the surly bonds of his life.
Maybe that’s what we all need right now, too. Our lives matter, they’re important. But sometimes you need to get out there beyond the noise, hopes, fears, and regrets. Then we can look back at ourselves, and see what really matters.
