Happy Puffiness

Once upon a time. Not so long ago. In a land. Not so far away...

There were sick people. People who were sick, (sometimes but not always), (and to some degree but not completely), due to circumstance beyond their control. People who were living from one week to the next, uncertain if there would be a next. People who were in pain, not just due to their illness, but also in part, due to the anxieties created by their illness. People who were labeled as unfit for civilized society. People who were dubious and/or afraid of the process of getting better and fitting in; being herded like cattle; with no consideration for their individuality; with disdain; and in some cases, with contempt. People who found it very difficult to be at all actively hopeful.

But then, a ruler, (considered wise, just, and benevolent in his self-proclaimed ability to see, interpret, and take action on the BIG PICTURE), came into power. This new ruler made many proclamations... Including a mandate requiring "all illness be treated with reasonable care" not to exceed any of the multitude of limitations put in place by the appointed administrators of the BIG PICTURE. Including an edict prohibiting unreasonably frequent care and encouraging provider penalties as one came closer to stated limits. Including a decree that those with multiple health challenges, (because of the edict on frequency of care), may at times, for some afflictions, be officiously denied care. Including a declarative rallying cry that because many and most do not take undue advantage, we must all be super-diligent in identifying and labeling those who do; (and those who appear to). And including a justification that these reasonable directives will make a whopping dent of a 1.3 percent reduction in this great land's debt.

As time went on, more and more people fell victim to this illness. In part due to the increasingly virulent nature of the disease, and in part simply due to the fact that there were more and more people. Yet the stigma remained; and in an effort to accommodate more and more people, the rules became more and more complex; and less and less forgiving.

The people knew the disease was contagious. Many ignored the danger. The people hoped for a hero. Many sat on their hands and hoped. A few searched for a hero; but many of these, had little experience, low standards, and were looking in the wrong places. There was no hero to be found.

With no hero, and with no cure in sight, the sick people began to shrivel. With dwindling substance, the sick people began to disappear. As the sick people became less noticeable, the sickness also began to disappear. As the sickness became less noticeable, the stigma began to disappear. As the stigma became less noticeable in the increasing numbers of dwindling sick people, the sick people also took note of the less noticeable illness, and soon the sick people also believed that the sickness had begun to disappear. Eventually, the sickness appeared to disappear completely, and the (largest-ever-number-of) dwindling people unanimously rejoiced.

Upon believing they were cured, the people looked to give credit. Many gave credit to the self-proclaimed, wise and benevolent ruler and his self-important minions. This gave rise to additional layers of self-important minions and additional strands of rules. As these sticky complexities became thicker and more complex, the people also appeared to puff up and become more substantial. At first, it was only the self who recognized the additional substance within and around their self. But as time went on, others began to notice more substantial others. As the ever-larger numbers of formerly sick people appeared to add substance to their formerly dwindling selves, and as others began to notice others, they again, unanimously rejoiced. And each day, as time went on, the people awoke more and more puffed up, and each day, as time went on, they again, unanimously rejoiced. And each day, as time went on, they believed that each day would be more puffed up than the last. And they rejoiced.

Then one day, the people awoke; and, with a tickle in the back of their thoughts, they looked again; more closely; for a moment; and then they were reassured by others; and they looked again; and then they reassured their self. Yes! They were indeed more puffed up today, than yesterday. And they rejoiced.

Then one day, the people awoke; and, with a slight uneasiness in the back of their thoughts, they looked again; more closely; for a moment; and then they were reassured by others; and they looked again; and then they reassured their self. Yes! They were indeed more puffed up today, than yesterday. And they rejoiced.

Then one day, the people awoke...

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Crossing Happpiness

TO THE POLITE, WELL-SPOKEN GENTLEMAN DRIVING THE BOX TRUCK ON TUESDAY, WHO IS NOW SEEKING ME OUT TO ISSUE A FORMAL APOLOGY:

Hello again,

It was nice to meet you on Tuesday when our verbal paths collided and our physical paths experienced a near-miss; (which considering the swath of your 24 foot box truck vs. my 180 pound limber, athletic frame, was definitely to my advantage). I appreciate your current concern with setting the record straight by admitting your mistake and issuing an apology, but I feel it is no longer necessary since I am confident you have already researched the applicable laws, discovered the error of your ways, and are now remorseful and repentant.

In case I am mistaken in this last assumption, below are the pertinent facts, to refresh your memory and to aid you in your contrition:

  • At approximately 2:15pm local time on Tuesday afternoon I was walking eastbound along Broadway, on the sidewalk situated on the south side of Broadway.
  • As I entered a marked crosswalk, crossing what appeared to be some sort of delivery entrance into the hospital, I heard some honking behind me, followed by a squeal of brakes. (Granted, I could have turned to look, though I'm not sure how I was expected to differentiate your honk directed at me, from the 30 to 50 cars and trucks honking in my 3 to 5 miles of pedestrian adventures each day.)
  • It was not until I felt your over-sized grill bearing down upon me from over my left shoulder and turned and saw your vehicular behemoth looming over me, that I realized all this ruckus was for my benefit; (so thoughtful).
  • When I then turned around, I could not help but see you gesticulating wildly, and though I could not read your lips, I'm sure your verbalizations were in no way hurtful or untoward.
  • I then, (since you were safely stopped), stood for a moment in the middle of the marked crosswalk alternating between outstretched arms and pointing down at the marked crosswalk.
  • As I turned away from you and proceeded eastbound, and as you completed your 90 degree turn into the delivery entrance, I heard you shouting something out your window. Believing this to be an invitation to continue our gentlemanly deliberations, I marched up the hill and politely inquired as to your employment status; believing that if we could not resolve our issues, I might have some further recourse.
  • You proudly, (and rightfully so), indicated you were self-employed, and proceeded to inform me that you held a strong belief that because it was a marked crosswalk, your mode of transportation took priority over mine. I believe that what you courteously pointed out to me was, (nearly verbatim), "You were in the crosswalk. My truck has the right-of-way."
  • Perhaps you simply mistook the maxim "Might is Right" for the law, but (as previously stated) I am confident that you have since found the truth. To quote state statute 300.375.1, "When traffic control signals are not in place or not in operation the driver of a vehicle shall yield the right-of-way, slowing down or stopping if need be to so yield, to a pedestrian crossing the roadway within a crosswalk."
  • We then ended our discussion when I restated my belief that you were mistaken and bade you a fond farewell.
  • You were still extolling the virtues of newfound friendship and saying your goodbyes, as I walked down the hill and around the corner.

If someone were watching from a distance, I realize that all the finger-pointing and arm-waving may have given the impression that this stimulating exchange of ideas was in some way adversarial, or even angry; but regardless, I am happy to have aided you on Tuesday in becoming less of a danger on the roadways. I am sure in your research you also discovered that since 2011 pedestrian fatalities have increased by 6.4 percent, and in that same time they have increased from 11 percent to an all time high of 14 percent of all traffic fatalities.

As you now acknowledge, it is ludicrous to believe that a pedestrian on a sidewalk should stop at every entrance to every parking lot and every driveway, turn around to watch traffic coming from behind them, and wait until all traffic has passed, just in case one driver may want to turn into said ingress. Now that you know the rules of the road that are in place to avoid a mismatch such as we nearly experienced, perhaps you would be so inclined as to pass this message along to your brothers-in-big-trucks at your next "Might is Right" Rally.

Then perhaps, with this momentum, we can work together to educate your colleagues, sisters-on-cell-phones.

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Heightened Happiness

In April 2015 I wrote A MANIFESTO ON HAPPINESS. This week I wrote ANOTHER MANIFESTO ON HAPPINESS. Drawing from these two personal declarations, I struggle mightily with tolerance for quiescence and duplicity. I have considerable difficulty understanding how any one individual, given the opportunity, would not choose to learn how to live. Yet I look around and see many individuals, with opportunity, choosing quiescence, duplicity, and ignorance. This sounds harsh. It is harsh. It is what I see.

Perhaps I need to better understand that many individuals are afraid. And that many individuals are afraid to admit to being afraid. Based on recent feedback, in this moment I am uncertain if I am one of these individuals; or not. In this moment I can see multiple past moments in which I chose quiescence, duplicity, and ignorance. In this moment I can foresee the potential for multiple future moments in which I will choose quiescence, duplicity, and ignorance. This sounds harsh. It is harsh. It is what I see.

And herein lies the larger difficulty. If I am aware of my personal uncertainty; and if I am aware of my personal ignorance; and if I struggle mightily with tolerance for another's ignorance; then how am I to express my frustrations, ingenuously. How am I to move beyond this newfound, debilitating self-vilification...

...Except to first heighten my tolerance for the widespread quiescence and duplicity I see in all directions; including within.

Is there another choice?

I cannot compel or coerce or legislate knowledge over mindlessness; presence over absence; skepticism over groupthink; uncertainty over blindness; tolerance over malice.

I cannot compel or coerce or legislate flexibility over clinginess; hard work over easy; discretion over thoughtlessness; humor over drama; transcendence over comfort.

I cannot compel or coerce or legislate an all-hands-on-deck search for wisdom.

I see no other choice.I must heighten my tolerance for the widespread quiescence and duplicity I see in all directions; including within.

I must endeavor to expand this compassion equitably; even when the effort does not appear to be equitable. I cannot know, with any degree of certainty, another's level of effort. So, I also cannot know, with any degree of certainty, how my effort compares. And in this regard, I will never attain a completely objective perspective. But with critical analysis, that includes feedback and a "minimize harm" component, I believe that I can heighten my tolerance, in all directions; including within.

I need not compel or coerce or legislate my Humanity. My Humanity comes shining through daily in the mistakes I make; in the alternative I choose; in the effort I put forth; in the apathy, malice, and hatred I express in my thoughts, words, and actions; and in the tolerance, compassion, and love I express in my thoughts, words and actions.

I need not compel or coerce or legislate my Humanity. My Humanity comes shining through in the moment. In this moment.

Enough said?

... ... ... ... ...

Enough said.

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Another Manifesto on Happiness

I have read multiple times, from multiple thinkers, that to study philosophy, or to philosophize, is to learn how to die.

So if Philosophy is the love of, and the search for, wisdom, and if wisdom is some balance of knowledge, experience, skepticism, uncertainty, tolerance, flexibility, effort, discretion, a sense of humor, and transcendence, then it appears to me that to learn how to die, is to learn how to live.

The more I fear death, the more likely I am to ignore death and/or renounce death. If I ignore death and/or renounce death, I am living duplicitously.

If I have any questions about death, I must learn how to die, so I may learn how to live, ingenuously.

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Extending Happiness

Following is a portion of a poem I penned approximately eight years ago:

My wife and kids, they think I'm weird
     I find it such a treat
I'm so content, enthralled, endeared
      Upon that cushioned seat

We all must have a place of peace
     A sanctumesque retreat
A place to go-let go-release
     Replete-discreet-complete

Upon my mower I hold dear
     The power and the noise
Snug seat, cup holder for my beer
     Penultimate man toys

Drowns out all sound; my mind roams free
     My troubles disappear
I sing, I cuss, I shout with glee
     Because no one can hear

It's like a thousand waterfalls
     Struck dumb with wondrous awe
The Man Gods have decreed to all
     Horsepower is Man Law

This summer I have rediscovered these joys.

This week I have read some arguments that maintain knowledge is NOT the exclusive realm of the brain. These arguments challenge the common assumption that motor skills, (such as playing tennis), do not require knowledge because knowledge requires verbalization, and it is difficult (to impossible), to provide a detailed, verbal accounting of, (or even be aware of), the knowledge utilized before, during, or after demonstrating the skill. Sure, the tennis player has knowledge of the game and proper technique, but I am confident that the tennis player does not consciously think, "I will put this foot here, and that foot there, and pull my arm back to 18 degrees behind and 7 degrees below my shoulder, and..." One is hard pressed to account for knowledge in the arm or legs. Yet, how many people do we know who talk with their hands? And who is to say with certainty that this is not knowledge? The argument could certainly be made that these arm gestures appear to help some individuals with reasoning and thinking. One argument I read likens this bias toward the brain as the sole seat of knowledge, with the drunk looking for his keys under the streetlamp because "that's where the light is;" (though he freely admits that his keys could be anywhere on the street). The brain is where the light is.

(*I should note that all of these paraphrased arguments have come from "The Stone Reader: Modern Philosophy in 133 Arguments" edited by Peter Catapano and Simon Critchley.)

This interesting argument against convention, extends to nonbiological body parts such as cochlear implants that obviously aid in knowledge. And from there, though I believe we may agree that the brain is the throne of knowledge, one essayist argues that the smart-phone, (and other similar technological innovations), might also qualify as a lesser seat of knowledge.

And this brings me back to my bright yellow mower seat. Yes! I am going to argue that this is an aid in acquiring knowledge, and it therefore, (with a small leap), also qualifies as a seat of knowledge. Knowledge need not reside in the brain. Knowledge can live in muscle memory, and in a biological arm or a prosthetic leg, and in the warm, calming influence of a morning shower, and in my Blackberry, and even in my bright yellow mower seat or the nearby cup holder; (I don't know about Johnnie Walker wisdom, but I can certainly attest to the impact of a strong cup of coffee).

While mowing, I feel energized and electric. After five hours on my mower, I feel full and content. When I initiate a connection, my mower knows something that I don't, and I am fortunate to glean some of this knowledge during this otherwise, seemingly mindless process.

Yes, without the brain, the knowledge attainable from these extensions to the body and the world cannot be processed. And yes, I must create that connection; but once I do, I find an esoteric transfer of knowledge from the lesser seat to the light. I am learning. I find knowledge in my mower seat, and, occasionally, in the cup holder.

Extending Happiness

Extending Happiness

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