I was born a fighter. Given the unfamiliar circumstances of
my birth, even my name was chosen based on my ability to endure. From what I
understand, they did not expect me to survive the process. Apparently, I did
just that (and then some). From the time I was a little boy, I have known
struggle. It seems to never end. I am resolved to keep going, to keep fighting
in spite of it all. I have come to a point where any chaos I encounter, any
toll that life takes, is merely an inconvenience. I have learned not to give
them a moment's time. They have no power over me. I refuse to let life cripple
me. I can't stand it when others do just that. I can't stand it when someone
constantly whines about their lot in life. I hate it when someone fixates on
the pain and all their needless suffering. I understand fully that we all need
to express ourselves. It is cathartic to purge your feelings and explain any
reasons. I write about my experiences all the time. I am easily annoyed when
people ruminate in misery rather than continuing on with dignity. I don't
expect that people really work that way. I don't believe I will find many
exceptions to the rule. Most times, most people need to just shut the fuck
up.
I do not
expect my fellow humans to have the same resolve that I do. Everyone struggles through
this life and not everyone can take it. Some people become so lost in all the
misery that they no longer function at all. What may cause me discomfort may
very well bring another to the brink of madness. One thing after another can
add and add until you pop your last nerve. When I go to sleep at night, I don't
think about the day behind. I don't think about the day to come. In my mind's
eye, I find the otherland. I focus on those things which give me pleasure. Most
nights, as I lay me down, you will find me battling crime as a superhero or exploring
a cave in the mountains of Tibet .
I soar to the moon and back. I have love on the last day of my life. In the
morning, I start reality all over again. I don't fixate on my problems. From
the way things appear, you wouldn't know anything was anything at all. I don't want
to complain about life and all the heartache it can bring. I don't have the
need to make people aware of every detail of my life. I try to grin and bear it,
even if it means I might have to undergo a little more suffering along the way.
I prefer to do that suffering in private.
The irony
lies in the fact that I am complaining about people who complain. I say,
"Fuck 'em if they can't take the joke." People are people and they
tend to bitch about anything. Most times, it seems they are simply trying to
fill the dead space between us all. I see no need to whimper. I see no need at
all. In October of 2016, an illustration happened at the bottom of the staircase
in my home. As I raised my right foot to move to the bottom stair, my cat
Shadowe slid underneath my appendage. He is always trying to beat me up the
stairs. I stepped on him hard, not with intent, but that is regardless to my
point. He screamed as I crushed him a little. I fell forward, smashing my face
against the lower wall of the landing. The force was one to be reckoned with.
My head slammed into the wall, full on the right side of my face. One of my
front teeth, a canine, snapped in two. The Chiclet was tossed clear across the
foyer and down the kitchen floor. There was no blood. There was no real pain.
There was no lachrymose, not even for a minute. I sat myself upright and shook it off. The only other
symptom from the fall was the matter of my right eye. So what, so it wouldn't
open for about an hour. As an accident prone klutz, it was just another day. I
guess I'm lucky I didn't snap my neck. This would not have been the way I
wanted it all to end.
As I waited
for the dental solution, I tried not to bring notice to my newly found hole.
I'm not much of a smiling man so it was of little challenge to obscure the
thing with my normal facial expression. I don't grin when I bear it. I told my
Father, and my partner, and joked about it on my Facebook page. In public, I
tried not to draw attention to it. It would be several weeks before an opening
with my dentist. A few hours after the event, my partner was surprised by how
little the "tooth capitation" seemed to have affected me.
In the following weeks, I simply kept my mug shot shut. I
seemed a little unhappier to some. I seemed distant to others. I was only
hiding the flaw, no longer smiling to avoid this type of revelation. There was
no heart breaking, it wasn't even aching. There wasn't even a cloud in the sky.
No biggie, I got by. What else am I supposed to do? There is no merit in not
letting it go. It wasn't even worth the repeating. Shit happens all the time
and karma catches you when you least expect it. I don't need to whine because
it happened. I don't need to complain how unfair it all was. Woe is me, makes
me wanna puke. Adult rational conversations on the matter are acceptable;
blubbering, needless suffering is not. I try not to dwell. Life is still
worthwhile, I just don't smile.
Life is
nothing if not consistent. There is never a moment of peace and we all know it.
Whether we admit as much is also irrelevant to my cause. For the whiner, there
appears to be a sense that one should be not only immune but unavailable for
life's more trying moments. They act as if they are special, somehow above the
consequence that merely existing can bring. I do not claim to be resistant to a
few sessions of bitch and complain. Here and there, we all do it. We take some
part in it at some time or another. It shouldn't be a lifestyle. Nothing can
turn you off quicker, with perhaps the exception of pus and gore, than a person
who will not shut up about how hard life has been for them. I don't mean
mentioning, I mean ruminating. Spread the misery. No shit, life is hard. Welcome
to my world pal!
I have
great respect for people who suffer in silence. I'm not talking about when a
radiator falls down stairs and crushes your leg. I'm not talking about losing
your adult child to suicide. I'm not talking about your heart attack or your
battle with alcohol. There is little more annoying that the constant drone of a
bellyacher. It is always enough to make one scream, at least in your head. Not
everything is negative and rarely does any positive outrun chaos in the race. People
who moan and groan about their lot in life are like grating chalk. One should
always be prepared for the noise. Why are they surprised that things are so?
I'd like to know why they even think they have the right to exception. As if
their lot in life merits more mercy than anyone else's. From the time they rise
until they fall back down again, they snivel about looking for someone willing
to listen. Everything is empty and sad and melodramatic. There is nothing worse
in my eyes than an unadulterated chicken, blaming life and their God for the
things that happen to them. They even complain for other people, as if their
own laments failed to add up to the appropriate amount of whining. I cringe in
the company of a cry baby.
I have
never met my friend Donna. Social networking brought us together and Facebook
is our common ground. She lives in London , Ontario while I reside in Paris , about 100 km east. We haven't even
discussed meeting. I guess we don't need to. Almost every day over the last year,
we have connected on one platform or another. We are kindred spirits and like
minded. A few months ago, Donna informed me of her cancer. That is really all
she mentioned until her treatments began. As if a matter of fact, with each
step she took in motion, she let me know the prognosis. I am glad to talk to
her about anything she is comfortable with. By now her treatments have more
than ended, although not all came back with good news. She is nowhere back to
whatever normal she once bore. Her plight continues. Not once, not even a
single time, have I found her wanting. She never whined to me, cried to me or
showed any sign of weakness. Her outlook was positive from beginning to
complete. Somehow amidst all her chaos, she found strength on some level. I am
sure I did not see all there was for her to be. Her private moments, or time
with loved ones, are her own to share. I only see courage. I only witness
fortitude and bravery and calm. The deeper the pain, I suppose, the thicker the
wall. The thicker the wall, the safer one stays.
Linda was
my friend for a few years back in the mid-1990s. We met through mutual friends
and started hanging out in the most casual of ways. It was a laidback
relationship, based on little but that was enough. It was the right time and
the right place for both of us. At the time, I was fresh from the suicide of my
partner. Linda was, to say the least, overweight. Well over 350 pounds of flesh
weighed her down daily. She didn't even try to lose it. The result was a
lifestyle made of pain, misery and discomfort. She did not fail to let everyone
know her lot. It became a daily briefing, a feature in our morning news. Over
and over she repeated the same complaints. When she started, I used to sing in
my head. For the longest time, I thought her discourse might have been written
by Mozart, or Handel or even Quincy Jones. The time I spent with her was really
nothing but noise. The constant drone of how hard this life is and woe is me,
woe is me. Once I started dating again, I withdrew from the drama. My new life
would have to do. I saw her years later, in a mall somewhere in Southern Ontario . The first thing out of her mouth was:
"You look much better than I feel."
I'm not
claiming to be better, I just claim to live better. I realize that everyone is
limited by their perspective. Not everyone is capable of strength in the face
of hardship. It's not even that I think people like this are weak. They're not
weak, they are annoying. Boo fucking hoo. If I have to hear one more person
squeal over the miserable life they lead, I'll fucking scream (still in my
head). How do these people find so much energy in the act of telling it but
can't seem to focus that energy on making things better? Why subscribe yourself
to such needless suffering.? Why does it always seem that some of those
afflicted by this life tend to ruminate in their own misery? One of my strong
suits has always been my ability to listen, to give what I expect others to do
for me. I have never signed on for a cascade of the whimpering soul. I want to
have empathy and compassion, but mostly I just want them to stick their misery
where the sun don't shine. Relationships are primarily based on presentation.
What you give, you often end up getting. Bellyaching is not a lost art. It
still echoes. It finds life in some people. I prefer silence to the barbs of a
harpy. I think I have seen a few here and there. I know, it's in every one of
us. I cannot help thinking that it all just seems so needless.
"Smile tho' your
heart is aching
Smile even tho' it's
breaking
When there are clouds
in the sky
You'll get by
If you smile
Thro' your fear and
sorrow
Smile and maybe
tomorrow
You'll see the sun
come shining thro'
For you
Light up your face
with gladness
Hide every trace of
sadness
Altho' a tear may be
ever so near
That's the time
You must keep on
trying
Smile, what's the use
of crying?
You'll find that life
is still worth-while
If you just
smile."
(Smile, Charlie Chaplin 1936)
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