Happy Is as Happy Does...

So, I don't think I've mentioned that my recent college graduate got himself a full-time job peripherally related to his field of study less than a month after finishing classes. In this economy, we grown-ups know how big a deal this is - had to explain it to him, as they don't teach gratitude, appreciation or "whew" in college these days. I think he gets it, though...

He's always been the one I've worried about - a sensitive lad who I never understood and largely ignored during his formative years because I didn't understand him. He's never shown an ounce of ambition, other than aspiring to be a benevolent ruler of the world during a relatively brief phase he long ago outgrew. Prior and since, he's pretty much lived in his trash strewn cave with a pair of headsets on, gaming or surfing or playing one of his axes or video gaming - emerging to eat, iron pants and shirts (yeah, not sure what that's about), and meandering off to school or work.

He's worked part time since starting college - one of these grindingly reliable workers who had the good fortune to land a work-study data entry job which allowed him to utilize his 9,000 wpm error-free keyboard skills while only using .ooo374 percent of his grey matter...

Since he started preschool, it has been a daily ritual for me to ask him how his day had been. And since he started preschool, if he chose to respond at all, the answer has been along the lines of, "Okay," or "Hmmmm," or some unintelligible grunting noise. Some rituals exist for rituals' sake, you know. I've kept it up through his college years, and when he started working. I asked because I cared, and wanted him to know I cared. And I accepted his answer because, well, what the hell else was I going to do? Beat it out of him? I was a pretty shitty father, but even I know that's not the way to go. Only time will tell how badly I fucked him up - he won't admit it yet. He really does seem to be doing pretty well so far. In his own way... (He hates my elipses, so just threw a few in to get his goat.)

Oh, did I mention he is astronomically brilliant? No? Sorry. He's astronomically brilliant. For the longest time I worried that he would be the world's smartest person getting by in life by spitting on windshields and asking for quarters. I'm hoping/thinking I was way off on that one...

Anyway, he's been at his new job for a few weeks now, so, keeping the ritual alive, I ask him every evening how his day was. And every evening the answer has been along the lines of, "Okay," or "Hmmmm," or some unintelligible grunting noise. Life can be interesting that way, you know?

So I decided to step it up a notch the other evening, and asked, "But are you having fun?" To which the world's smartest kid, who like his father doesn't seem to much have fun, but who is thankfully not getting by in life by spitting on windshields and asking for quarters, answered, "If you're not having fun, maybe you should be doing some other kind of work." See? I told you. Smart kid, eh?

Of course, I was dumbstruck. Speechless. Shocked. Amazed. Confused. The whole idea of having fun at work and enjoying what I do for a living is pretty alien to me. I mean, I'm apparently not very happy anyway, something that I've only recently come to realize. And I've been working pretty steadily since I was about ten years old. And yes, I'm a grinder, too - vacation is an alien concept, and I rack up unused PTO the way most people collect pennies as pocket change. And its not like I've never had an enjoyable moment working, because of course I have. Why hell, I'd even go so far as to say that in four decades of working I've probably been excited to go to work at least, oh...maybe...twenty or thirty times. Maybe? Hmmm....

But let's not dwell on how sad it is to be me. Because really, it's not. I'm a slow starter, but I'm starting to understand that there might be some happiness in my future, possibly even while working. Maybe? But recently I've started figuring out at least a little bit how and where to find it - happiness, that is, outside of work for the most part. On the happiness count, I'm feeling pretty good about the going forward part of my life - have never been very adept at looking back and have no immediate plans at improving that skill set...

Rather, let's dwell on how excited I am that both of my kids have made it to adulthood remarkably well-balanced, given the rather useless influence I was on their lives. They are unencumbered by unwieldy relationships, unhealthy addictions, unplanned progeny, unwelcome criminal records. Woo hoo! We win!!!

And let's focus on the fact that they realize there is way more to life than work, but that, as they are possibly going to spend the majority of their waking hours for the next few decades working, they should at least be doing something they enjoy and which gives them some satisfaction. I can only imagine that they, two very sharp youngsters, came to this realization by growing up in a household with two parents who spent the majority of our waking hours working, and who for the most part seemed generally unhappy doing what we did. I guess when I think about it, I managed to convey something valuable to them despite my myriad parental shortcomings. I didn't have any way of teaching them how to be happy, because I've not yet quite figured it out even now. Instead, through an unintended but apparently effective exercise in negative reinforcement - by discouraging them from following in my footsteps, I perhaps taught them how to not be miserable. I suppose there are worse places to start out one's working life...

Knowing something and turning that knowledge into meaningful action are two entirely different things. I've long appreciated Thoreau's observation: "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them." To date, I have. Going forward, I won't. I'm hopeful my kids won't either. Very hopeful.

I love you, my darlings...

Ravishing the Monk

The monk toiled diligently in his cell, only occasionally glancing out his tiny window into the outside world. When she appeared in the courtyard, he didn’t notice her at first, so engrossed was he in his work. She brushed at his window, entreating him silently from beyond the glass to come away with her, dancing right up to the pane, then flitting away, dancing merrily about the yard, playing for his attention. Only slowly did he become aware of her, turning hesitantly from his ritual tasks, and began to focus on her. As if in a spell, he beheld her beauty, her effervescent white gossamer veils billowing to and fro, waxing and waning between solid and dream…

He had known her and of her from his youth, admired her from afar and quickened in her proximity from time to time. But never, in his early days, had he felt so deeply drawn to her– her otherness making her too alien to consider as anything more than an occasional curiosity, despite her obvious and inescapable beauty. Finally, as a young man serving in the King’s armies, they had shared an intermittent dalliance in the frigid mountains of a far away land. She had come to him then on clear crisp nights when the air was so chilled it pained one to breathe. She would have her way with him then, leaving him gasping, exhausted and confused, shivering naked in the thin mountain air as she disappeared into the rustling forests, leaving no sign of her passing, and no hint of whether she might some day return. So long ago…

Now she was back, suddenly, unbeckoned. But just as in those days so far past, he felt almost helpless against her spell. He tried, repeatedly, to ignore her enchantments, her silent entreaties beyond the glass. “Come away with me.” He could read her lips, almost smell the sweet crisp tang of her perfumed tresses. He would not. Could not. He had work to do, a new life now with meaning and responsibility and others relying on him. And he knew that no good could come of his falling back into her spell. He had, after more than two score years, managed to banish those sweet but too brief memories from his tortured mind. He had erected walls and gates and bars, dug deep moats, donned new armor and the accoutrements of his calling, found a certain if somewhat confining safety. And here she was, back again, threatening it all…

“Master, I must go,” he pleaded. “If I do not, I will surely go insane right here at my work table.” The Master, of course, didn’t understand. “We have work that must be done, and you are the one who must do it,” he replied sternly. And so the monk made his strongest effort to ignore her and the rest of the world outside his cell, and settle back into the routine that had become his refuge. But it was no use. She continued her silent torment, begging and pleading soundlessly for him to come back into the embrace he’d not shared in so many years. Finally, in desperation, he pleaded one last time. “Master, please release me. Only for the day. If I don’t go I will kill myself and be of no use to you or anyone else. Just a single day and night, and I will be past this madness and back to my old self. Otherwise, I will surely kill myself before the sun goes down.” The Master relented, shaking his head with a sardonic grin as he followed his acolyte’s fevered gaze to the tiny window, through which he saw absolutely nothing but swirling snow…

The monk had scarce stepped through the gate when she grasped his hand and whisked him away in that magical fashion he’d forgotten, with images and colors and castles and towns merely blurs, until suddenly, they were alone. They jostled back and forth only briefly, reacquainting themselves like the old lovers they were, and then she took him into her wholly and completely, gripping him like a vice and coaxing him onward – ever onward. He exerted himself until he was spent, the sweat running down his brow and back, slowly cooling in the chilled air, only to turn to steam again as she demanded more and more. He took her into his mouth, savored her sweet juices trickling down his fevered throat. She smiled in pleasure as he savored every inch of her, gurgled with delight as he coaxed her stream into a raging flood. For hours they went on, giving and taking, sparing nary a moment to rest. And then dusk approached, and she wrapped him fully in her embrace, gave him a firm and final squeeze, and as he gasped in rapture, she was gone…

He came to, as years ago, in darkness, with bright stars dancing tauntingly overhead. He lay on his back, naked in the snow, shriveled and shivering, but at a strange peace he’d not felt since those days long ago. He slowly got up, gathered his garments together, shook the powdered snow from them and eased them onto his body now ice crusted in frozen rivulets of sweat. He beat and rubbed himself and jumped up and down until the blood, which had too nearly ceased to flow, regained its current and sent needles of fire into his fingers and toes. Slowly he gathered his bearings, and began the long trek back to the abbey, where he’d promised to be by morning. And in the bleary corners of his mind, he recalled the day’s events, blending seamlessly with those from so long ago, and felt both exhilaration and exhaustion as his feet crunched through the trackless snow. He knew that sometime before he died, she would be back for him again. And he knew the next time she would kill him. And he longed for her return…