LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
A Life Unexamined...Is Like a Dirty Air Filter |
by Glen Pruitt |
I have a birthday during the month of May. The seventh of May, to be exact. And no, my mentioning of it here is not a ploy to get birthday cards or presents. Even I realize that this issue wont hit the stands until after my "big day". If I had wanted extra gifts, I would have written about my birthday in LAST months issue (hmmm, note to myself: mention birthday in April 1999 issue...) I share this information with you so that you understand my current frame of mind. Like many people, birthdays remind me that another year has passed. A birthday is a natural time to "reflect on ones life journey" (to quote some of the pop psychologists whose books line the shelves at the local bookstore). So the other day I tried to do simply that: to reflect on my life journey. I sat myself down in the easy chair in my living room. That was Mistake #1: Dont pick a spot thats too comfortable. Instead of looking into my soul, I ended up looking at the inside of my eyelids. Thats right... I fell asleep. I woke up an hour and a half later, no closer to enlightenment and with a bad case of "bed head" (or would that be "chair hair"?) So I tried it again, this time sitting at the kitchen table in a nice, old-fashioned, uncomfortable straight back chair. I got out a piece of notebook paper and started to make some lists: "Things That I Have Accomplished", "Things For Which I Am Grateful", "Things That I Regret", and "Dreams Yet To Come True". I closed my eyes and started looking back over my life... until my attention was drawn by a soft murmuring sound. "What in the world is that?" I thought to myself. I opened my eyes and slowly turned my head to the right. There it was... the refrigerator, its motor purring quietly as a contented cat. "Well, since my concentration has been disturbed by the refrigerator, maybe thats an omen. A sign that I should get something to eat!" That was Mistake #2: Dont let your stomach rule your mind (or, in the words of the Scriptures, "the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak"!) I fixed myself a Coca-Cola, then decided that I needed a little something to eat, too. Well, my refrigerator is not known for being the best-stocked one in town. Right now it boasts a half-used jar of spaghetti sauce, a squeeze bottle of Hersheys Chocolate Syrup, some raisins, assorted soft drinks, and some mayonnaise. So I was out the door and headed down the street to the Iguana Grill for some meatloaf and mashed potatoes, my lists lying forgotten on my kitchen table. "Third times the charm!", I thought the next day when I re-discovered those lists. Fortunately I was well-rested and well-fed, so I actually had a fighting chance to do it this time. So I started making my lists. "Things That I Have Accomplished"? I wrote "Starting these lists". "Things For Which I Am Grateful"? I wrote "Starting these lists". "Things That I Regret"? I wrote "That it took me three tries to start these lists". "Dreams Yet To Come True"? I wrote (yes, you guessed it) "FINISHING these lists"! I worked on the lists for a couple of hours, and was pleasantly surprised to see how they turned out. While I noted a few regrets, my lists for my accomplishments and my blessings were much, much longer. I have a job that allows me to use my skills and talents in very important work. I have two wonderful families: my biological family down in Maryland, and my created family here in Delaware, made up of supportive and nurturing friends. I am a part of an active faith community at Epworth United Methodist Church. I have sung on stage at Carnegie Hall. I finally learned how to swim (at age 30, swimming lessons having been the birthday present I gave myself that year). I was a member of a "Murder Mystery Acting Troupe" for eight years, and some of those people remain some of my dearest friends. For about ten years, I was a member of Mensa (a society for persons who score in the top two percent of a nationally recognized intelligence test). I was also a member of the Debby Boone Fan Club, which proves that you dont have to be stupid to like Debby Boone! I was feeling rather pleased with myself and my life, until I saw one of the things on my "Regrets" list. I regret not knowing more about automobiles. Despite being a guy-and a MensanI know very little about cars. My car and I have a very clearly defined relationship: I leave it alone, and it leaves me alone. As long as it keeps running, I will keep paying my monthly loan payment for it. As for what goes on under the hood, Im completely lost. Its not that I havent tried to learn, because I have. Im one of the few people in the world that has actually read the drivers manual that comes in the glove compartment of the car. Did you know that you should not adjust the tilt of your steering wheel while the car is in motion? No, you shouldntits in the book. However, thats about the extent of my knowledge. I realized my ignorance the other day as I was sitting in the local "Lube-O-Rama" (I changed the name to protect the innocent). I went in to have my cars oil changed... and to read the latest copy of "People" magazine in the waiting room. After changing my cars "vital fluids", the mechanic came in and talked with me. He told me about the work he had just finished, and showed me the air filter that he replaced on my car. At least I think it was an air filter. I mean, he said that it was. I simply nodded my head and made grunting noises at what I hoped was the appropriate moments. Finally the mechanic left. I looked across the waiting room towards an older gentleman who was also there. "You didnt understand a word that he said, did you?" he asked in a kind, grandfatherly voice. "Dont worry, none of us really do. And they want to keep it that way. Just look at that poster on the wall," he said, gesturing towards a diagram of the air-intake system of a car. "Doesnt that look just like the chart of the female reproductive system you saw in Sixth Grade Health Class?" I squinted my eyes, looked at the chart, and decided that there are just some things simply better left to the imagination. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 8, No. 4, May 8, 1998. |