“How’s the shop?” seems a safe question, one businessman to another, and is usually appreciated.
“Oh, a little slow on Tuesdays, but we’re working through that.”
Relatable is the goal, but not always reached. Sometimes the effort to build common ground on an island of cluelessness is worse.
I hurt my eyes trying not to roll them when the forbidden Tree of Knowledge was compared to a prized record in my vinyl collection by a well-meaning door-to-door salesman for eternity.
The favor was returned, accidentally. Poor pastor Jim, floating around at a recent wedding, drifted across my sights.
“Pastor! How’s the flock?”
The conversation took a confusing turn.
“Fine, fine, expecting a new addition.”
I glanced around the spacious building, not sure if the topic was architectural or familial.
“…expecting it…this…to happen soon?”
“Oh yes, but they’re all booked up.”
“Oh?”
Still no clue…
“Yeah, Virginia Baptist is planning on inducing soon, but they are slammed at the moment.”
“Well, good luck.”
Still, no matter what, “How’s business” isn’t a great thing to ask your hospice colleagues, though.
Trust me. (And further jokes don’t lighten the mood. Ooops.)
But hey, as Stalin would say: Dark humor is like food–not everyone gets it.
Stephen
Speaking of Hospice and things we’d rather avoid, Stephen Levine’s Who Dies continues to echo across the years, so profound and graceful were his efforts to look at Death–and Life–fully.
He wrote about how terrifying, but eventually liberating, it would be to have one’s thoughts displayed on a sign worn on a hat.
It’s a point worth considering. Could one be virtuous? Thoughts are uncontrollable, but actions aren’t, and we most admire those who show fortitude in the face of opposition.
Put simpler: many of you have wanted to hit me in the face, but none of you have.
(Well, one girl did, but after we agreed on a place, time, helmets, mouth guards, and glove weight.
I always aim to please.
Ouch.)
I think another one of his points was that display of thought would remove pretense, and the division we feel from each other. I’m the only one who must feel inadequate, jealous, etc.
But we don’t have signs. We do talk, though. And write, and play music, and try to rummage around in what we think to convey it to what the other person thinks, and maybe that’s a good way to be, too.
Cities
What if we had dioramas, scale models, tiny cities on our hats instead? What would be in yours?
I’d have a little mosh pit of people, all slamming into each other and arguing about ideas while Elon Musk played heavy metal guitar. (That would be Twitter.)
I’d have office buildings, reasonable and unreasonable, skyscrapers built on sand, small houses under construction with the concrete setting up, the financial district would be on fire, armed guards would stand around the donut delivery trucks, children would fly whimsical kites in the park, and coffee billboards would be everywhere.
But the city would fade out into the fields and forests, and I’d remember where I am.
It’s hard to remember where we are on the internet, or face to face sometimes.
The sky brings me back.
It’s a dusty blue today, arching over the bluestone gravel. I stepped away from the computer and the line items, and brought the horses down the block an apple.
We stood there, in reality, crunching.
It’s good to remember.
-Josh