the longest field
It’s 4:00am and my alarm is ringing. I usually wake up naturally no later than 5. But not today. Not any more. I fumble with it, no longer used to it’s buttons and switches, and eventually silence it. I take a deep breath and look at the clock again. It’s 4:02am.
I stare up at the ceiling or, rather, in the direction the ceiling should be in. I could confirm this if it wasn’t so dark. But on faith, because it always has been, I assume it’s there. I run through my schedule for the day. I consider my options for running from that schedule entirely and the potential outcomes of doing so. Most aren’t good. Some are fantastic.
Back in 18something people settled the towns of Dallas and Fort Worth. There was likely nothing there but rolling hills, bluestem grass, mesquite trees, limestone poking up here and there, and the mighty, fertile trinity river. I’m sure Dallas had a purpose — a point for it’s people existing alone in isolation instead of becoming a part of many of the other cities already established. And Fort Worth was, given it’s name, probably a Military installation of some sort. But I can’t help but wonder why these people, alone and on the wild frontier, would choose to divide themselves instead of starting together. Maybe it’s as simple as Military and Civilian. Maybe there’s something more to it. In the end, I think the question is more important than the answer.
I run through upcoming deadlines, bills that are due, and events that I’m frantically planning for. I panic at the thought at having so much to do and facing life changes that are likely going to give me even less time to do them in. I worry about my daughter sleeping beside me, breathing the deep, heavy breaths, of deep, heavy sleep. I know there’s no such thing as a “perfect” life. I know that the best life I can give her is one filled with honesty and peace, comfort and challenge. I wonder how those things can even exist along side one another in the world we live in.
There are so many liars and cheaters and thieves in the world. There are so many who think only “what’s in it for me”. So many that are willing to take and take and take, and tell little fibs and white lies so that they can feel better about taking even more. How can we possibly have both honesty and peace? Honesty disrupts the natural order of things. When everyone has two faces — the one they show the public, and the one they see in the mirror before bed each night — breaking anything down into simple truths is going to be a call for defense and eventually offense. Least of all honesty fosters peace. But I can’t imagine a world in which I teach my daughter how to lie and cheat and steal, simple because everyone else does.
And challenge and comfort? Ha! Our view of challenge is fueled by concepts of competition and success and the eternal drive for more more more more more. We’re left with the thought that, to be anything we have to be the best. And if we’re not the best, then the only option is to work harder, and stress more. We are driven to earn more money and buy bigger houses so that we can cram them full of more stuff that we buy with the money we earn. We are pushed to afford huge kitchens with giant pantries to fill large plates so we can eat more food. Then we are encouraged to spend more money on a membership at a fitness club where we then spend more time we don’t have burning away all the food we ate. This eternal circle leads to stress and frustration and self doubt. And, with very few exceptions, there is no end. Yet somehow our society directs almost every form of personal challenge directly into that whirlpool of self destruction. When staring at millions of people caught circling this drain of impossible challenge, how do I teach my daughter that anything less is acceptable? Especially, when, even I am caught in that trap.
With so much challenge and impossible goals there is no time for anything but the most superficial of comforts. We’ll take our two weeks of vacation, get as drunk and high as we can at an island resort, find a moment to sneak away and sleep with a stranger, and then come back to the insanity circle and claim to be refreshed and ready to go again. Is that really comfort? How do I teach her to savor every small comfort and tiny nook and cranny that life has to offer in a society where the only way we can find to feel good is to escape from it all?
I throw the covers off me and look over at the clock again. In bold, steady, mocking green light it says, “4:16am. You’ve wasted 14 minutes. Get moving!”