Insidious Adaptation

Me, me, me.... The guy hit the girl. She stole from him. The dog bit the boy. He wrote a self-indulgent blog post. All phrases, very true, very real, and whatever follows, deserves to happen. However, what if instead of just the punchline of the story is presented, we hear a little more about the beginning? What if instead we take into context the entirety of the situation prior to making any judgements on jumping to the end? For the first phrase, let us look at the entire dynamics of the relationship of the guy and girl. Do they argue a lot, are they in a relationship, do they know each other at all, what were they doing for this thing to happen? Looking not just in what the man did because that one seems to have presented itself already, but in what she did too. After all, though abuse happens both ways, there is typically some situation, some underlying thing that needs to be understood to get the entire picture. "Are you justifying abuse?" An emotionally-d...

One surprisingly-sunny, late-winter day, as my daughter was figuring out her footing on the edge of a sidewalk, down hill, my apprehensions laid in my will aiding her to stay upright. As she continued to place one awkward foot in front of the other, something shiny caught my eye. I looked past her as she stepped down to safety and made my approach, as though it was placed right here, for me. "Hey, what's this?" A rhetorical question, for as I made my approach and the dim silver shimmer informed me that is in fact currency, a significant currently at that. The mind's ability to determine things quickly, on display here as I discounted the possibility of a penny or nickel, even a quarter was too small, maybe a fifty-cent piece? No, not that either, for it was a little smaller than that. "Ah, it's a silver dollar!" I exclaim to my careless daughter and a wife who was too far ahead to take note of what she might have assumed another piece of garbage I...

The topic was open for discussion, I figured I would weigh in. I felt safe enough to present my case, what I had seen and what had rolled around in my head justifying my need to say something. W.-Why  A.-Am I.-I T.-Talking?  An acronym I had seen once on a business meeting room where "serious" meetings were held. I am a counselor, we have no need to, W.A.I.T. for we are in the business of talking, making inferences, spewing our selves and perceptions out to filter the chunks of verbal vomit. Here, in this lesser-sophisticated office setting there is currently a debate going on between a boss and her employee. Luckily, she does not see this difference in rank, she sees a person with a differing opinion, one that she doesn't agree with, yet one she will oblige. For that last part I am grateful, for we all want a stage some of the time. "Damnit Becky, why are you so stupid when things don't go your way..." "Look, I am just saying that wh...

There I was, giving a presentation to a group of hyper-masculine males, more macho than I. By "hyper-masculine" I actually mean, fragile, but fronting. Not yet strong enough or knowledgeable enough to get in touch with their emotions nor safe enough to express them. Putting up walls is what keeps men safe, alive, protected, for if we all just, "let it all hang out," what would be left to hide from? After all, if all people knew all things about me, then they might.... wait. There isn't a thing you could tell me that I don't already know about myself. I know my glimpse of thoughts, my obsession, my sickest fantasies. I know the thoughts that can slip into a mind listening to another talk and allowing the grazing on "better" pastures, disconnecting from conversation. I know that when it comes to poor behaviors often demonized by society are ones that I find myself regularly thinking. When a person in authority gets "caught" for somethin...

Possibly worth more dead, than alive. Selfishly we wouldn’t want to think that, but it could be true. Our value after all, is assessed by the waves we create which in our life. You might just be a producing a mundane trickle, in death could trigger a tide. Change is only done by those who take the chance, doing something authentic. Like a wave pulls water from other areas by it's natural force, people get drawn in, consumed.   I was struggling this morning in getting to the gym, for the gym takes energy, energy I could not find within myself. Nothing, “wrong” or, some large dramatic stance against going, I simply did not have the energy to do so. My physical self could move and lift and I would assume that familiarity would have brought me to my feet if I would have felt it would have been needed , but it wasn’t . Instead, I laid on the couch and just thought. As my eyes closed and I entered the grey area between awake and sleep, An image came to mind. I imagined...

The allotment given at the end of a two week’s work cannot possibly sum up that which has already passed. After all, the time is done, passed, spent like a few dollars on something to drink, no matter if I spill the thing. There is this lingering promise that exists from an employer and my bank account, for maybe they are both in on some kind of conspiracy. Maybe the bank is also in cahoots with the gas, electric, and insurance companies as well. What if there is no money being traded, the electronic, “transfers” are nothing more than to appease me, when between the large conglomerates they exchange my time. The insurance company for my vehicle alone gets most of my Monday, Tuesday goes towards the cable bill and the grocery store. Wednesday, well that one is dedicated to day care, along with a little bit of Thursday. Then the glorious Friday where the value of hours past 3PM should be double, well, that one I reserve for a personal purchase or two, some kind of incentive to keep me m...

As my hands hold the stack of papers, making sure not to squeeze too hard, not to put creases into the otherwise perfect stack of story, I cannot help but judge my work as, "lacking." Obviously, there is always more one can do when they are in the submission process, there is always another way to do something, another article to find, something else that can be done, for the act of submission is not admission of perfection, but actually that there is need for more.  Acknowledging the overpowering force at times is difficult to a prideful man.  Submission of another kind, the kind where we bow our heads, admit we are powerless to a person, place, thing, God himself, now this is the admittance that we are not in control, that we are imperfect to the utmost meaning of the word, that we recognize the need. Submission has this tendency to be depicted as such a discounting thing as though submitting makes you a lesser version, like an action going backwards. Instead of gr...