Our Shared Destiny

Knowing Your Destiny

Part 26 of 30

I graciously reach out my hand that we may join together, recognizing and honoring our shared destiny. If such is what you also choose. Being such a kindhearted soul -- that’s what people say about me, agree or not -- I’m always thinking, scheming, dreaming, imagining, plotting what we could do in this world if we were on the same page. The way it goes in my daydreams, brotherhood and sisterhood break forth like a beacon, with a clarion call to mutuality and camaraderie, love for one another, free grass, public bathing, nudity run rampant (but nice), and goodness. Like Woodstock, but listening to our own music on earbuds.

It seems like I had this drive several years ago, but my memory’s been fuzzy/crazy. Anything that’s out of mind for any real length of time (10-12 seconds) seems to go “poof” and disappear. The disadvantage of that is I’m always starting things that don’t go anywhere, but the biggest advantage is that when I later think of the same thing it’s totally new and fresh. When old people tell you they have memory problems, believe them. Or, as I always say, when old people tell you they have memory problems, believe them.

But it doesn’t matter to me if you’re old, young, or any of the other species of age. As part of my push to celebrate our shared destiny, anyone will do, warm bodies, I don’t care who. If you’re the smartest guy in town, great, sit over there. Or dumb as a post with relatives no one would want, you’re still good enough to be part of this magnificent push. I don’t know how we’re going to handle it, and I don’t know that I need to know. If it works out, great. If it doesn’t, that’s life.

At that point, say it’s a massive failure, we’ll doubtlessly fight it out for turf, then divide the spoils in our own little circles, and celebrate (apart, alas, not together) that whereas we tried and failed, it’s still better to have tried and failed than not to have tried at all. At least that’ll be my argument, hoping to save face, and, believe me, I’ll stick to it. One thing I hate is being wrong with all the guilt that goes with it.

Still, the future isn’t set. We could make it this time. We could try. I’m going to try, and I want you to try too. I don’t want any of us to fail and I never go into anything expecting to fail. All it takes is other people believing in it too, and believing in themselves, because that’s how destiny works. Apart, maybe nothing happens, that’s not surprising. But together, wow, the potential’s there, with hearts joined together, coming together in common cause with optimism, people knowing that yesterday may have been a mess but tomorrow’s not even here, it could be anything.

Look at how friendship works out. We fit together, we've come together, we've joined together. And now that we have, that’s a start. Destiny has to start somewhere, am I right? Friendship’s a great place to start! Then -- what a wild thought! -- like links of a chain, are you with me? Link joins to link, they snap together, they’re strong when they’re together and not easily broken. With you and me and the other guy and the other guy over there, and all those other guys, and those women, and that little group at the library, a study group, and groups everywhere, sports fans, the city orchestra, the oldest man in the Big City (who was profiled on the local news the other night, 103 and expected to die any minute), etc., etc., and people everywhere. Then -- yes, then -- we shall celebrate this great coming together, a destiny like none other!

This is our chance to do it. So let’s quit blowing it, OK? Could someone tell me what I just agreed to?

An Appliance Factory

 

Part 15 of 30

My Fragile Self-Esteem

It's painful to remember one of my early jobs, actually for a major manufacturing company, appliances. A long time ago someone invented the appliance, it caught on with the public, and naturally then they had to make them. And as far as I know they're still being produced to this very day. Along with the group activities meant for company pride and solidarity. Heave ho!

Yes, there was more to the factory that just assembly lines, warehouses, and stacks of parts. There were these team-working exercises -- varying in description -- that have stayed with me all these years. I bet I think of them every month or so. I'll be burning a little incense, the lights are dimmed or I have a candle, my hands are on my lap, my eyes closed, with a chunk of rope at the ready to tug on and maybe smack the wall. That alone refreshes my mind, I'm renewed, restored, rejuvenated and retired, since I usually fall asleep pretty quickly.

But we couldn't fall asleep on the job, because we always wanted our line or division to carry the day, and we won our share of gold stars. Which, if you won enough, you got a free cup of delicious, soothing coffee, so it was a big deal. It's been decades and I can still picture all these ropes being pulled around the company. The signal, a blast horn, sounded, like in a maritime harbor! The floor tilted and everyone clung to the rope, tugging with all our might, sometimes jerking the thing, which them was done in rhythm like in rowing (but pulling the rope) stroke, stroke, stroke, so satisfying the teamwork.

You can imagine the value. The teamwork took us out of our individual mind to a more exalted group mind, away from our own personal euphoria to something bigger than ourselves, a sense of exaltation, that all things were possible! We, each individual and the team as a whole, were bigger than we physically were. Each one, whether it was the tough guys up front or us weaklings down below, received something of beauty in the experience. Stroke, stroke, stroke!

Then there was a strange pause, a kind of hush all over the world, as we realized the team had achieved a climactic moment, the crest of the wave. We were urged on -- mentally not audibly -- and we pulled with all our might to put the team over the finish line and get our well-deserved cup of delicious coffee. They tilted the floor back in place and we went back to our work -- weakened physically but with an internal mental strength -- and achieved our quota of appliances boxed, shipped, purchased, and installed all around the country that very night.

Did it do any good for my self-esteem? I can’t say it didn’t, but it was brief. I'm average, not huge. It’s good to relieve pressure once in a while, ask anyone. But whether this kind of activity is good for a factory -- I know a lot of guys had a hard time looking their fellow guys in the eye for a while after. It’s like there’s a strange mental block, like we felt ashamed. And it's really not hard to churn out appliances without the group activities. Plus, I knew some of the foremen were embarrassed to force us to degrade ourselves like that.

Pajamas In Church -- Style Or Sacrilege?

Something happened in church today that for me and others started out terrible, but ended up not so bad. It was one of those moments where you're taken aback, and speaking for myself, even filled with revulsion, but then something extraordinary happens, and next thing you know you're a little more inspired. I'm glad it doesn't happen that often, though, because I'm not sure my poor heart could take it!

Here's what it was. The day started off normal. All the preliminaries. Then Pastor Wadd mounted the pulpit and was into a barn-burner sermon on "Modern Gomorrah Out-Sodoms Sodom." In case you don't know, his ministry specialty is combating sexual addictions. So at this point, as far as we knew, it was nothing out of the ordinary.

Then, without any warning, a couple of people came in the back door, a young man and a young woman, college-aged, and walked down the aisle and lounged right there on the floor of the platform. And if that wasn't bad enough -- the obvious disruption -- they were dressed in pajamas! Of course we know it's not unusual for people to wear pajamas in public today -- it's something of a fashion, a very bad fashion.

So there they were, looking up at the pastor like they were actually interested in his message, trying to suppress a sarcastic smile, according to my interpretation. I felt my blood pressure rise, I was so mad I thought I'd bust a vein. Pastor Wadd looked totally flummoxed, the people around me were aghast, and as for me, as I said, I was seething. My teeth were clenched so tight I might have done actual damage to a couple of molars.

OK, now something else was going on back by the door that I didn't know about. But the events, as reconstructed, went something like this. One of our oldest members -- an old deacon named Guy Miller, Deacon Miller -- was back there pulling off his pants, having worn his pajamas under them ... All I knew at the time was old Guy Miller comes walking down the aisle in his pajamas! And if you know how he walks, it's very slow and labored, one excruciating step after another. It was like the Via Dolorosa.

So there he goes -- Deacon Miller -- with his normal suit coat, and pajama bottoms, painfully walking the aisle toward the platform. The young couple are now also rapt, Pastor Wadd's looking on in slow motion, and the rest of the congregation, including me, have dropped our jaws. Finally, Guy Miller arrives at the platform, and the young college man reaches his hand to help him up the steps. Both of them, him and her, help the old deacon to the floor. We now have quite a scene, you'd have to agree!

Pastor cleared his throat, and looking out over us seemed to grant his seal of approval to the scene, probably thanks to the quick thinking of Deacon Miller, who taught us ... something ... I still haven't figured out exactly what.

My blood pressure dove back to its normal range, but I still don't entirely approve of everything that happened. Plus, I'm wondering why Guy had pajamas on under his pants. Wouldn't they have been riding up his legs?