A website that helps individuals dealing with grief and loss asked: Is there something you shared with your loved one that you still carry with you moving forward through grief?
For my sister it was our love of primetime television. The 90's we watched Martin, In Living Color, Def Comedy Jam and a slew of other TV shows that gave us memorable sketches, one-liners and inside jokes. My dad and I didn't have a whole lot in common, but one of my more consistent memories was he and I sitting on the stoop outside our duplex and talking about bits and pieces of his childhood; conversations I can scarcely recall. We'd also do a lot of people watching. My mom just liked having me around. A lot of our laughs came from watching old Looney Tunes shows with characters such as Yosemite Sam and Foghorn Leghorn (we would always see who did the best impressions). We also handled the grocery shopping together. We walk in and I'd take one end of the store grabbing the bread, milk, eggs, etc., while she took the other.
No long rant or point; Just felt like putting this one out there. Same question to anyone that reads this.
That moment you realize some of your friends are slowly becoming a thing you despise. In this case, greedy capitalist. It doesn't surprise me one bit. After all, greed is good. Especially in the black community, which can scarcely be called community frankly. (Disclaimer: This blog isn't on some pro black shit, or 'fuck them otha' niggas' shit, I'm just remarking on something I've observed over a stretch of time). How many of us work 12, 14, 18 hour days making money for some super rich asshole in the hope of one day becoming a super rich asshole, or at least a moderately rich asshole? How many of us have aspirations of becoming the next Bill Gates, or Jay Z or whoever the hell, and break our face and put on errs just so friends and family can tout us as such?...How many of us go to college or grad school, or pursue a career and life under the pressure of being 'the smart one', 'the talented one', 'the one that made it out' or 'never got in trouble?' That isn’t to say such accomplishments should be downplayed, dismissed or otherwise unappreciated.
Truth be told I am slightly afraid success. I was afraid of it academically, when it seemed the only thing my family had to say whenever they saw me was "When ya graduratin'", "You got a degree cuz, you can make dat money nah!" or something equally presumptuous. And I was afraid of it financially, with prosperity often breeding jealousy and with leeches coming out of the woodwork. I wouldn’t know who I could trust, especially among family. In their defense they were genuinely happy for me and my accomplishments, but I couldn't help feeling like little more than a circus monkey. A well-trained animal attraction that my parents wanted to parade about and brag on, saying all these wonderful things in public, and then telling me how stupid and lazy they thought I was behind closed doors.
It didn't help when my mother would make declaratives or requests in the form of inane questions, in that way southern black women have: "Don't you wanna take care of mommy when you start makin' money?" Money again. That's what it was all about after all. A job, a car, a house, wife, kids, and keeping the man off your back. All that good shit...forget doing what you love, no money in that. Forget the anxiety that walks hand in hand with the excitement of graduation (not too many of my people been to school, so I can’t blame them for not knowing what that’s like), forget the depression that starts to creep up, knowing this will be the last time you and some of the best friends you've ever had will be in the same room together...you 'bout go get that guap. Don't even trip about them student loans, you gon' be stackin' that bread. Just go get a piece of paper, get ready to devote your life to greed (yours or someone else's), and oh, try to ignore that the Bush administration wrecked the economy something fierce and there are very few dignified jobs left. Plus you live in the bible belt and you were born to a family of reprobates and jesus-freaks that hold on to their ignorance like Whitney when she's down to her last crack rock. So no mom, couldn't have taken care you.
Ok, back from that detour (this rant is turning out longer than I expected). I've never been real keen on money for money's sake. It's a tool, a resource meant to make life a little bit easier. You want food, or a place to stay, quid pro quo. Simple as that. That's all a job ever was to me when I was a kid, my parents left home, did whatever for about 8 or 9 hours respectively, and came back home, got paid friday. It seemed simple enough until I started college. As an undergrad in the early 2000s I was bombarded with all this blather about resumes and networking and marketing yourself. There was something very...impersonal about the whole process I guess. This was the beginning of what would become YEARS of cognitive dissonance in regards to seeking employment. Making myself presentable and sweating bullets, wondering if I said or did the wrong thing...this shit was like dating!
It took me very long time to reconcile with my parents invectives, to come to the realization that I was not lazy, I simply knew what I wanted. I didn't want a 9 to 5 that would consume my day, my life, my spirit. Punch in, do what I'm told, get ready to punch out, get dragged back for 5 more hours, punch out, go home, sleep for 4 hours and repeat. For what? To pay for an apartment I barely spend any time in? To live off processed foods and coffee 7 days a week? Being business minded, clean cut and coloring inside the lines has its upside, but me, I was and I AM just a guy who likes to draw and all I’ve wanted was to make my living doing that. But I am starting to realize that am an island...unless you look through a lens that has dollar signs etched all over it, to them you are blind. Virtually without worth. You are laughable. My roommate is one of the most awesome people in existence but listening to him talk about money and budgets every time we see each other is beginning to stick in my craw....
This thing really got away from me. It felt good to get so much of this off my chest but I don't think I'm anywhere near making my point. I'll touch on it later.
Just on the other side of my apartment complex there is a group of enterprising 8 year old girls. As I took out the trash they ran up on me and asked if I wanted to buy a cup of water. I had just come off a mildly frustrating painting session and didn’t feel like being bothered and so I offered to buy tomorrow provided they were outside. And to top it off, they're out there in this dreary overcast weather, nowhere near hot enough and my first thought was 'they are seriously wasting their time'. But as went back inside and shut the door it hit me like a steel chair, these girls are in the same boat as me; they’re offering a service, they have a product, and nobody is really of a mind to buy. Yet and still they out here hustlin' like a sonovabitch. I had to respect that. Seriously what kind of asshole would I be to deny them the experience of owning a service stand. Soooo not wanting to be that guy, I went out and bought a cup. Those smiles man.
Their parents were happy too. Clapping and cheering, telling me I made their kids' day. I don't care for capitalism in any form, but I'm not gonna sit there and discourage ANYONE from their goal. Buying that water didn't get me a job or a payday, it didn't get me a gallery opening or a girlfriend, but fuck if I didn't walk away feeling good about myself. Feeling...human.
I guess what I'm trying to say with this rant is that a little bit of encouragement and acknowledge of one's actions and efforts can go quite a ways for both parties. Keep on rockin' little rockers.
I hope they never stop protesting in Ferguson...I hope the violence escalates. I hope the body count rises and all this hate and murder bleeds into every surrounding state including this one. I hope every single southern state wipes itself off the map and when I hightail it to the north west I'll look in my rear view and laugh like a maniac...Any part of the world OOZING with this much STUPID deserves to be destroyed completely.
A comedian died tonight. Just found out Robin Williams is dead. 63 years old.
My dad was a year older. Both
died within a week after my birthday. There
is no correlation between the two, I just wanted to point out that lately my
birthday isn’t that great an event…who am I kidding, it never really was. When I was a child I at least got a cake and
a VERBAL happy birthday. Can’t even say
I got a card this year. But I digress.
Williams’ death was reported
as a suicide, as he had been grappling with depression. Anyone that manic and funny in his
performances, anyone who gives that much of themselves to their craft has to be
fighting more than a few demons. I’ve had
the same suspicions about my mom. Years
and years and years spent trying to be happy, trying to make herself
happy. Hard to do when you have a boorish
husband and spoiled, nerdy, self-absorbed son.
She’s been piling up losses for a while now, but that’s another
story.
I am now 32 years old, the
exact same age as Bruce Lee when he died.
I thought to myself, ‘what a good age,’ still in your physical prime;
handsome, strong, still able to something, anything, everything. Robin Williams, twice my age, accomplished
everything he set out for (and a lot of things he didn’t), and then some. Bruce Lee, arguably the greatest pure fighter
of his time, and one of the most revered martial artists of ALL time, at
32. One died unexpectedly, his best
years and work still ahead of him, the other a seasoned showman, possibly weary
of life, weary of the world around him and didn’t see anything more he could
do.
Bet you can figure out where
this one is going. No? I’ll spell it out for you. Yesterday (August 10th) was my
birthday. I wound up getting a fuck-ton
of face book posts wishing me happy birthday. I thought it was convenient more
than anything. For the well-wishers I
mean. If not for the reminder on their
timelines I doubt ANYONE would remember another human being’s birthday anymore
(just how I feel). I received a few
unexpected and cheery phone calls.
Hearing from them did make me smile a bit. Regardless of this, all that ran through my
head was that I was 32, still not enough done, not enough to say that I am be
wholly self sufficient. Not enough to say ‘this
shit fucking matters in the long run’.
Life will always be a zero sum game, one that even at my relatively
young age I am growing weary of participating in. Another year…of what? Worrying where my next meal is coming from?
Worrying if my work is good enough to build a solid career? Worrying if I’m going to have to break down
and get some shitty nine-to-fiver, or worse actually LIKE IT like everybody
else around me seems to do...
I was seriously contemplating taking ALL of my
blood pressure medication along with my dinner yesterday, and wound up deciding
against it. Then I hear about Robin
Williams…Along with that come thoughts of my dad on his deathbed, my mom in the
hospital, this kid I knew in the 7th grade that drowned and how my
neighbor came to me and delivered the news in tears, Kurt Cobain Chris Benoit,
and Yukio Mishima’s beautifully written short story Patriotism. All you accomplish, all you give…All I can
think is ‘I couldn’t go through with it,
but someone did.’ They ran their
race then decided not to run anymore, they’re decision and no one else’s, the
conscious decision to no longer exist. I
spend days, DAYS on end wondering if it could ever get that bad for me. Could I ever make that choice? It scares me.
In the fall of 2001 I was a
sophomore college. America was attacked by group of religious
fanatics and the face of the country had changed politically, economically, and
perhaps worst of all, spiritually. Lines
were being drawn as the world’s attention turned to our country and its newly
‘elected’ president. Spring semester
would find me in an introductory philosophy class with the opportunity to study
greats like Kant, Descartes, Socrates and so many others.
At one point the instructor began
a discussion involving the concept and nature of evil. We talked about forms of evil, where it comes
from (or potentially comes from), and how to truly define it. With much of the class being of one Christian
denomination or another, and mostly (if not all) black, a fair amount of the
discussion consisted of either one-way communication (teacher to student) or
one or two students professing the unfettered might of their god and his
goodness; “All I know is god take care of everything”. I didn’t know it then but statements like
these were a solid indication of the inability to reason hypothetically, especially
in the face of Epicurus’ legendary hypothesis.
Is God willing to
prevent evil, but not able?
Then he is not omnipotent.
Is he able, but not willing?
Then he is malevolent.
Is he both able and willing?
Then whence cometh evil?
Is he neither able nor willing?
Then why call him God?
I was
quick to point out that none of us had a sufficient answer to this, nor could my
fellow students articulate a reason for their belief (which isn’t to say I had
it all figured out my damn self). They
just believed. It was god. That was it for them. Throughout the discussion I maintained that
evil in and of itself is intrinsic to whatever was viewed as good. Each needs the other; if there’s a god and he
was the standard for good and the devil was the embodiment of evil, then
neither one could or would destroy the other.
They kept each other in business.
That was the gist of my argument anyway.
This earned me more than a few puzzled looks and grumbles. It also led me to make the acquaintance of a
couple of classmates, not necessarily freethinkers, but thinkers all the same. One of whom was a devout Christian who
tirelessly sought to bring me into the fold.
For
anonymity’s sake, we’ll call my friend “Jay”.
Jay was a pretty cool guy out of DC, a real low-key dude who loved golf
and hip hop. He made it abundantly clear
that he was committed to his ‘great commission’ of bringing others to the ‘light
of the cross.’ Strangely it was this
eagerness that prevented me from slamming the door in his face flat out. That
plus I don’t like being a dick. And thus
was the first of many days where we sat and studied the scripture.
Very
interesting conversations ensued, enlightening debates that served us both well
intellectually. I even attended a few
services just to see what all his excitement was about (that and the weekends
could get pretty boring and it was good to have someone to hang with). That
entire time I couldn’t help thinking I was something of a pet project. Perhaps
I was to be his first actual convert.
With each session Jay and I would constantly come to a stalemate, with
him professing his love for ‘the word’ and how he perceived it to work in his life,
while I despite not having read the book nearly enough to point out it’s many
atrocities, simply countered with sheer common sense. The conversation that comes to mind most
often is the one we had over the book of Job.
The story where god and satan make a wager to see how long an innocent
man keep going after receiving one divine screwjob after another, including but
not limited to his slaves, animals, and children being killed (Job 1:13-19).
At that time my knowledge of history,
philosophy and science could have been measured as very little, but it turned
out to be enough in defending my position.
I raised questions, offered counter arguments and didn’t hesitate to
throw out a handful of zingers that were oozing with blasphemy. “I can tell that you don’t respect this”, Jay
once responded. And why should I? I loved the guy to death but did he really think
I would give him a pass? “This book has
the answer to EVERYTHING." What? “We were made from the earth; he took a pile
of dirt and made it something glorious” Huh? ‘Do what I say or burn’… See where I’m going
with this?
Try as
my dear friend might his efforts for conversion proved futile. And it’s not like I didn’t approach this with
an open mind or heart; I chewed on for weeks, came at it from almost every
angle I could at the time, it was just wooden nickels to me. All the same, I understand why he got such a
kick out of it. If the salesman’s got the right rap, seems like a pretty sweet
deal, and it’s “new and hip”, who wouldn’t snag a one way ticket out of
reality.
Sometimes I see joke memes that remark that beating a child when they "act up" teaches them respect, though from what I've seen the outcome is appears to run more along the lines of fear and numerous forms of psyschological and emotional anguish.
I don't have children and I don't want any, but I don't have to be a parent to know that striking a child for any reason DOES NOT help. YES it happens and yes there are 'results'. But do these results provide a lasting lesson that shapes the child for the better, or is it just an immediate solution to the natural childlike behavior that parents sometimes find inconvenient?
I think you can discipline a kid without putting your hands on them and that they can turn out to be pretty swell. Beating your kids doesn't solve behavioral problems and it damn sure isn't funny or cute, and to grow up in a culture that views it in such a manner is, to put it mildly, particularly disturbing.
I'll be brief....What I really loved about my last girlfriend, Leah, was that not only could she make me laugh, but she had a way of making me feel like everything was going to be ok. I always felt like that way of think was delusional, especially when my mother would say it, but not her. With her it was some kind of believable, palpable even. Regardless of my shit job at the time, and making just enough to be broke, I felt like I would be fine. That’s probably why I miss her so much. Because I don’t feel like it’s going to be fine…I feel like it’s worse than ever. Way worse. I’m scared. That’s all I was ever taught to be. I was never “prepared” for life. Just told what would happen if I didn’t do this, or say that or act this way or dress that way. Go to school, graduate, get a job…it was supposed to be that simple. If you were an EDUCATED black man the sky was the limit. The Bush administration killed that noise. I’ve spent my entire adulthood playing it safe and I have nothing to show but a mountain of debt and developing heart condition. Starting to think it’s better I jump off the cliff, at least I know the ground is coming sooner or later.
Over the past year, I've given a speech around the country called, "The Ultimate Question." It can be viewed on YouTube by clicking HERE.
At the close of that speech, I read a letter to the audience...a letter of encouragement. So many people have responded to it that I've posted it below. Enjoy it. Forward it. Change or customize it for those in your own circle who might benefit. And ultimately, be encouraged by it. -Seth
____
You learn a lot about people when you declare that you are not going to live your life by their rules. And many in this room know well the consequences of doing something so shocking as to be an individual: a singular voice, an often inquisitive voice, with its own tenor, its own style, its own song, its own message.
We live in a world where conformity is comfort, and we all know well how comfortable people can become. So many voices are merely an echo…a hand-me-down from a previous generation, and the generation before, and the generation before. Breaking the cycle is unthinkable, and why would they ever consider it, as the cloak they inherited feels so warm and safe.
Everyone around them looks like them, walks like them, talks like them. Everyone…except for you.
They nod in agreement. You raise an eyebrow of doubt. They just know the answer. You just know that the answer raises many more questions. They take security in staying on the path. You feel compelled to break out and carve a path of your own.
But this is not what was expected of you. They laid out the guidelines for a proper person to live, and they would make sure that you turned out right, no matter what. So what the hell happened?
At this very moment, mothers and fathers carry embarrassment and shame that they failed as a parent, because you left the straight and narrow, because you were co-opted and corrupted, because you re-wrote the playbook in a language that they consider to be foreign...confusing…ugly.
You had two choices. You could keep the peace and line up with the others. Or you could walk at your own pace in your own direction for your own reasons and accept the consequences and rewards that come with being your own person.
The fallout has been significant. These days, when they look at you, they only see what they think you should have been, what you could have been, if only you had done it their way. They speak the words of love, but just barely, and by lacing "love" with distance and disdain, they cheapen the word. In fact, every time they look at you and say “I love you,” you get a bitter taste, like you've just been schmoozed by a politician whose only real concern is changing your vote.
Yes, they love you. But the full package, the 100 percent, the unfiltered love is kept on reserve until you straighten up, fit in, conform and stop making waves. Not until you start acting…normal.
For just a moment, let’s take a look at normal.
Normal is a husband and wife, married per the bible, in a church and under God, condemning non-heterosexuals for ignoring and even desecrating the lawful and ordained marital union that they now enjoy…after two divorces.
It’s a mother telling a daughter that sex is dirty. That her body is dirty. That sexual desire is harmful lust. And that she is cursed by the fall of Eve in the garden, a by-product of sin, designed to gain her worth from a future husband who, according to the book of Genesis and the design of God, will rule over her.
It’s a teacher frightening a 6-year-old child with torture in a fiery Hell and a devil lurking in the dark with designs on its very soul.
It’s refusing to purchase a new car without first test-driving 15 vehicles from six different car lots, checking the vehicle history, payments, insurance, safety record, resale value and consumer ratings…but accepting the bible as fact without even knowing who wrote the book of Genesis.
It’s a church communion ritual where the men, women and children symbolically eat flesh and drink blood.
It’s thanking God for food grown and prepared by human hands. It’s giving God the glory for providing the new house that came with a 30 year mortgage. It’s praying for safety after buckling your seatbelt, locking your doors and loading your handgun. It’s praying for healing…after you call 911. It’s Sunday school songs, a bible on the nightstand, a check in the offering plate, an evangelist on the television, a Jesus fish on your car and a t-shirt that reads, “Seven days without Jesus makes one weak.”
It’s a prison disguised to look like a mansion. And you’re not going to live like that.
You’ve read the books and seen the history and learned the science and realized that the world is much, much grander that most people ever imagine. You finally found your own voice, and you’re going to speak in it. You’ve had the epiphany that you don’t owe it to the rest of the world to keep them happy. You owe it to you to create happiness for yourself. And even though, wherever and whenever you can, you say the words and take the actions that build bridges and soften the sharp edges and demonstrate a love for people and a desire for a better world, you aren’t a sheep to be led, an echo to be repeated, a cautionary tale, a bad example, a freak, a pervert…shameful…broken…ugly.
You’re not ugly. You’re beautiful.
You figured out what so many billions of others have missed. That this life is too precious to spend in someone else’s shadow. That when others judge everyone and everything that is different, they only indict your own shallow heart and cheat themselves out of amazing depth, breadth, color, culture and humanity out there that’s so much more wonderful than the tiny rooms people lock themselves into, and the narrow tunnels they walk. That believing in things without evidence isn’t a virtue, but something to be pitied. That sexuality isn’t shameful, but something to be celebrated. That the condemnation of what is wrong, even when it’s called sacred, is the obligation of any moral creature. That your hopes, dreams, desires, loves, pursuits and passions belong to you and you alone. That you have stepped out of the crowd. To stand forward. To stand out. To stand your ground.
To know that, even though you occupy a tiny speck upon a tiny speck inside this vast universe, and even though you don’t believe your father is a divine king and your mission is written in a magic book and you have an eternal mansion in the heavens, your life is wonderful and amazing and precious and so much more satisfying.
Is that kind of life easy? Nah. Is it popular? Maybe not. But be encouraged, my friends, because inside this 13.7 billion year old universe, there has never been anyone exactly like you, and there never will again. You’re simply living a life that honestly reflects that fact. And while others laugh at you because you’re different, you can laugh at them…because they’re all the same.
There are some that believe success is the end result of suffering. That suffering is a gift, handed down from some unseen and benevolent master. I would ask these individuals to carefully re-examine the words “suffering” and “benevolent”. Suffering is not a virtue, nor is success always its end result. Those who would extol it as such and claim their success is the result sufferance serve to promote complacency and passivity and I for one find this insufferable.
I choose instead to endure. I am not, nor have ever been (and safe to say will never be) a praying man but were I such, it is doubtful that I would be the type to “give thanks” for the suffering that I encounter in what is unquestionably a difficult life. I would however, as a great man once suggested, pray for the strength to endure that life.
While I am aware that the words ‘suffer’ and ‘endure’ share very much the same meaning, as with any arranging and usage of words, the true implication of my statement lies in its context. For me, to endure is to be active amidst the opposition, to stand when forced to kneel, to speak when silence is insisted, to be ready once the offense has exhausted itself in the effort to overrun your barricades.
To endure is to stand immovable, to bend without breaking, to accept the flow of current without being confined, diverging when the necessity and/or opportunity arises. Not to be trampled, not to be battered, not to be stagnant. Suffering not a gift, it is not the parent of success, and it is nothing to be thankful for. Endurance is a choice, one that can be made without needing gods to beg or thank. A choice that can result in the strength, knowledge, wisdom and courage that comes from knowing YOU have done this and that you can do it again.
--Ryan Scales
June 2014
"We are unique in that we create ourselves" --Han (Shih Kien), Enter the Dragon, 1973
If I get a chance to travel to a foreign country I might just disappear as soon as I get off the plane…
I was just thinking that it takes too much out of you to make a life here…of course the same can be said of any place in the world, but here everything is structured to keep you pinned down…and so many of us just happily bend over recieve it, even rationalize it…I wish I had better words…We were supposed to be the generation that raged against the machine, not did routine maintence, buffed and waxed it.
I wish I were joking. but if my savings weren’t so low and I had the balls, I would’ve hopped on a plain to europe or brazil and took my chances by now. :/
In her own way my mom was sort of a microcosm for religion. She would talk a big game, make a lot of promises, but when it was time to deliver it was like ‘better luck next time champ’.
