Barely Worthy Of Lincoln

 

Part 12 of 30

My Fragile Self-Esteem

I’ve mentioned here a number of times my closeness in spirit, temperament, and really in every other way, to Abraham Lincoln. In this age of claiming one’s spirit animals -- some pick their car, their dog, unicorns, the spirit of Liberace, or famous gangsters -- a long time ago I picked Lincoln. And against a lot of advice -- even my own family imploring me, “Pick Grandpa!” My siblings said pick Dad, Mom, even my pet rabbit Shed. On a larger scale I could've pick a teacher, or an animal outside the family, the lizard family, even Bigfoot!

But I've always liked inspirational heroes, astronauts, athletes, and Abraham Lincoln. Especially Lincoln. Because they drilled it into our heads when we were in school, “Lincoln’s great, Lincoln’s fantastic, there’s no one like Lincoln, Lincoln’s tops, Lincoln, Lincoln, Lincoln, the Great Railsplitter. Anytime we had to come up with any inspirational snippet of advice, “Be good to others” or “Wipe your shoes before stepping on the rug,” they likened it to something equally kind, gentle, and wise that Lincoln said. Lincoln was the Prince of Pith, always on the mark, the ready, set, and go of pithy stuff, memorable stuff, none of which I can think of now that you put me on the spot.

Let me look up something in “Famous Quotes of Lincoln," a cheap paperback I had rebound in leather. "My best friend is a person who will give me a book I have not read.” Lincoln said that. Meaning he and I have a lot in common, because I don’t read much either. Or how about this: “America will never be destroyed from the outside…” That’s good, because America’s where I live and I don't want it destroyed outside. Then there’s “Whatever you are, be a good one.” Ouch, this one’s kind of painful. I’m a vulnerable guy, very antsy, with extremely fragile self-esteem; right now I'm having the Code Blue of Fragile Self-Esteem.” I can't even pretend it's good. Yet if my Spirit Animal doesn’t see a problem with it, who am I to quibble? It's not good to be so low. Lincoln didn't say that, of course, because he's tall.

My biggest thing about Lincoln is just to keep him in my thoughts. And try to be worthy and responsible as a nice guy with such a great Spirit Animal tagging along behind me, trying to keep up. If he could just open doors for me, tell me when traffic’s coming so I didn't have to look both ways before crossing, and generally look out for my usually disastrous finances, all would be good.

But am I worthy of Lincoln, a guy with self-esteem so often in the pits? That's a good question, because Lincoln's a busy man. He’s got a lot to do. I could come up with excuses for him all day, and how do I know that’s not him as my internal voice being his own worst critic? What if Lincoln turns out to be the president with fragile self-esteem -- hard to believe? But I wouldn’t doubt it. Because why would guys like me be so drawn to him? Interesting stuff. If you don’t like it, please leave. But if you want to fawn over me like Honest Abe does, be my guest.

Our First Word, From Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson

So there you have it, the first word of the New Year goes to a famous thinker of long ago, Ralph Waldo Emerson.

I always like the idea of the New Year getting off to a profound start. You shouldn't just blurt out any old crap, especially on a blog like this. It needs to be classy, like when you land on the moon. The first thing should be something major.

And who better -- unless it'd be Whittier -- than Emerson? Who always had profound things to say, and he was able to say them in a 19th century way much better than I could ever manage. I actually know this, because I've started to read his essays at least 20 times. I get up to about page 12 and that's it till next time! So what little I might know about it in terms of content, I make up in my absolute knowledge that it's profound and hard to understand. Emerson has philosophical authority up the gazoot chute, forward and back.

Now, though, that the first word for the New Year has been given, and you've had some time to ruminate over it, I can write anything. First, however, I'm a little embarrassed, I haven't actually read the quote! Seriously! I googled his quotes and this was the first fairly lengthy one. I was thinking, the bigger the quote the less I myself have to write.

So let's see what it says. "Finish each day and be done with it." Maybe not a great first word, since he's talking about the end of the day and not the start. "You have done what you could." How true, how true. Emerson isn't expecting perfection, just do what you can. I need that, because it's in my nature to appear the coolest guy in the room, when, realistically, I'm not. "Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in." I can relate to that easily, big blunders, massive absurdities. "Forget them as soon as you can." Done!

"Tomorrow is a new day." I resolve tomorrow that I'll be massively competent. "You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense." I shall begin it serenely, I shall begin it serenely, I shall begin it serenely... Probably not. As for having "too high a spirit to be encumbered with [my] old nonsense," it's not true that I'm totally unencumbered with my old nonsense, but the older I get, the more I how little it matters. But that has less to do with my spirit being high and more to do with just a realistic outlook. That no one really cares.

This is pretty good progress I'm making! If I'm not mistaken, I think I halfway understood that quote. Maybe I'm just about smart enough to try and muddle through one of his essays again. Later in the year, if I'm not doing anything else.

Beggars Have No Choice

SUMMARY: Looking at the phrase, "Beggars can't be choosers."

I'm sitting here contemplating the implications of this, and it's blowing my mind. In my thoughts I'm taking it all the way from the simple choices we all make to metaphysical questions of free will period.

Did I make the choice to write this post? Or is some higher power, with too much time on its hands, compelling me? If times, events, and circumstances are all set in stone, am I simply a marionette, a wooden-headed dummy dancing to the pulled strings?

Hmm. See what I mean? I've got myself tied in knots, or if there's no choice in the matter, the strings have themselves tangled inexorably around me and I'm stranded, no recourse to the life I prefer or even a more interesting imprisonment. At least add a sexual component to my misery!

And it's all because I started thinking of beggars. I saw one and this whole conundrum was triggered in me, and now I'm bound! But still -- thankfully -- I feel subjectively like I'm making choices. I'm at least sitting here apparently writing this out of my own head. As bad off as I feel right now, I don't feel I'm completely in the beggar's position, having no choice. Because, as they say, "Beggars can't be choosers."

OK, assuming the rest of us do have some power of choosing, at least for the sake of argument, we are so fortunate that we're not beggars, who have no choice. Wouldn't that be bad?

I'm wondering how it must be for them, no choice. Wow! When did it start? Obviously when they started begging. Up till then, it would seem they had a choice, but once they crossed that magical divide -- whether in the decision to become a beggar or in the first instance of actual begging -- all choice was lost. From then on, life for them became absolute compulsion.

I feel that the implications of this are staggering. Why, of all the experiences in humanity, would begging carry what appears to be a singular penalty? And how would the determination (or verdict) be rendered so swiftly, especially if it's imposed at the decisive moment rather than with the first behavioral instance? It would have to be a special decree of karma, one that uniquely presents no delay or variance. Astonishing!

Personally, I don't think it could come at the moment of decision, at the mere thought of begging. Think of it, the intention is there to be acted upon, but at that point he has not yet begged, making him something less than a beggar. It doesn't say, "Near-beggars can't be choosers." So there's still time to turn back. O, if near-beggars only knew this, they'd turn back before it was too late!

But the moment for some, alas, does come! The cardboard sign is scrawled, the hand is outstretched. The sky suddenly darkens, distant thunder is heard, one's personal star falls into the pitch-black sea, and the brain mysteriously twists and cuts off whatever avenues of choice were once free and clear. It's as though a film covers the eyes. What darkness it must be to have absolutely no choice!

And how about this? Now, he cannot even choose not to be a beggar. Because beggars can't be choosers, the word can't being a contraction of the longer cannot, meaning something that is an absolute impossibility. Destiny will cut him no more breaks, no matter how much he begs. But, on a more cheerful note, perhaps there is only a dull realization, or no realization, of this fate, so that he never mourns it, being unconscious of any other life previous to that of begging. That would be the sweet elixir of forgetfulness, a gracious cloud!

But what about all the other day-to-day choices, which side of the street to beg on, whether to keep begging or go home, whether to go to the bathroom when he needs to, etc.? The choice to put on warm clothing if it's cold, or to strip down if it's cool? To sit in the sun or move to the shade? To eat, not to eat? To thank people or just grunt? These too would be choices, would they not? If he has no choice, thank heaven some force -- beneficent existence itself -- is guiding at least non-conscious actions!

The lesson here is, Whatever you do, friends, don't beg. Treasure your freedom as long as you can. Steal instead.