Letter to a Friend

Hey,

I’ve been thinking about your troubles and they seem related to my previous troubles. The problem is success. Or rather, it’s not so much success as what we imagine success to be. Success for us is a good result followed by a suitable acknowledgement: an “A” in a class; a patient who thanks us for saving her life; a party to celebrate the legislation you just passed through Congress . . .. But what success is not, for us, is a good result followed by the assignment of more responsibility, particularly of jobs not suited to our skills (for me firing people and managing celebrity egos, for you reports about garbage incinerators and talking to the press about lobsters). Sure, that is a tacit acknowledgement that we succeeded. But it’s not the kind of acknowledgement we wanted.

It’s one of the many reasons why I retreated back into academia. In academia there are many beginnings and endings. The beginnings are angst-ridden moments of concern about whether the coming semester will bring success or failure. The endings are moments where success and failure are determined . . . even instructors are graded. And, most importantly, there is closure. In the life I used to lead and that you have just begun, successes and failures are often things beyond your control; the results to be experienced immediately and not dwelled upon. You must move on quickly because the next task was always there in the background, waiting for you to get back to it. In academia we are permitted to savor the successes or wallow in the failures because the results usually occur at the very end of term or in between terms.

As I discovered, you will either adjust to the endless series of successes and failures without break, or find another path. Adjusting does not mean giving up on the possibility of relishing success. Rather it means finding other ways to celebrate success. Instead of looking to others to stop the world for a few moments, you must stop the world yourself and remember to look back on all that you’ve accomplished. I have and you are climbing a mountain, the mountain of success. But as you will discover, this is a mountain without a summit, just a constant rise. Every once in awhile, take your eyes from that place where you keep expecting the top to be, and turn around to see how far you have climbed. Look out upon the world below from the vantage point of your successes, and find a moment now and again to celebrate yourself.

In Summer

Two adolescent boys are walking down the sidewalk carrying their battered skateboards. Their shirts are off and stuffed into the backs of their cargo shorts. One boy has auburn hair and pale skin, his curls riding atop sloping shoulders. The other has skin the color of walnut shells and dark hair, he is the shorter of the two. Each movement is made without haste--the languid crawl of July. I imagine they must be talking about ramps and jumps, or the girls from those classes they left weeks ago.

Now, out of view, I wondered how I looked at that same age—brown hair blonding in the acid bath of swimming pools and relentless sunshine, hazel eyes peering toward a future vague and imposing, so much less predictable than the awkward movements I made on my own skateboard.

Hot concrete, chlorine, and freckled shoulders: these are the trappings of summer. Those, and the whispered approach of autumn in the few leaves that dare to fall early from the tree.

Argument: Strohs v. Near-Flatville

Today's argument pits Strohs v. Near-Flatville

Auditus complains that Strohs don't get no respect from Mumm. But at least Mumm acknowledges and is indeed "fascinated" with Strohs' existence. Indeed, they "share" a university. As for Near-Flatville, the question is "where's that?"

Thirty years ago Near-Flatville had about the same number of inhabitants as Strohs. Today it's about 1/4th the population. While Strohs has had to grapple with two shopping areas (downtown and a strip on the edge of town) that have fallen on hard times, Near-Flatville's only shopping area was entirely replaced by a single Damn-Mart. Once Near-Flatville had two movie theatres (one with two screens, the other a small 1940s single screen - see image to the blog tiled "Home"), it now has none. Residents must drive to Mumm to see movies. And unlike Strohs, Mumm is not exactly next-door.

Politically, Strohs and Near-Flatville could not be more opposite. While Strohs is the "people's republic," Near-Flatville's candidates run on platforms like "I'm more conservative than the other guy" (with an emphasis on guy - women's rights have not yet arrived in Near-Flatville). The level of awareness in Near-Flatville is near-nil. While residents of the people's republic are deeply concerned about Iraq, global warming and corporate imperialism, residents of Near-Flatville are convinced that the end-times are near, that Bill Clinton is still having sex with interns and that John Kerry's second purple heart was undeserved.

So for all those residents of Strohs (i.e. Auditus) who suffer an inferiority complex because they don't live in a city that features the nation's 26th ranked bar, get over it. At least you're not oblivious.

Found Objects During Recent Bike Rides

1) Approaching harvester from ahead, approaching tractor-trailer from behind.

2) Coyote darting across the road from left to right, deer darting across the road from left to right in hot pursuit of the coyote.

Lessons: The bicyclist gives right of way given traffic situations not described in bicyclist, driver and wildlife manuals.