I've been feeling human lately. I guess it's because I've been confronted with mortality some lately, with some health suspicions. Hopefully it'll all turn out relatively minor. That being said, I still have new feelings about life, death, health and happiness. Sometimes, when I don't have answers, I go to the root. By root, I mean to the definitions, to the book, to the dictionary. I remember when i was around twenty, I was trying to come to grips with racism. so i looked up a bunch of words, and nothing really was helping. then, I looked up the word prejudice. It referred me to the root of the words...to pre-judge. and without a literature lesson on prejudice, that was when I developed my understanding of the dangers of pre judging. I still do pre judge all the time. only, I make sure not to do it in a very serious or in a hateful or harmful way. Nevertheless, my point tonight is feeling a sense of one's own mortality. Here's dictionary.com on mortality: the state or condition of being subject to death; mortal character, nature, or existence. Not a lot of help huh? so I guess I need to think on. But for now, here is my resolve: life is good. money doesn't count. cars, houses, watches, golf clubs...they're all just things. Humans are collectors of things, it's our job. If I live in a grass hut in the jungle, my whole life, I'm a collector of bones and sticks and things to use for bowls and utensils. I appreciate good rocks for throwing at pray, and I appreciate good water holes. I collect these things, because my position in life requires it. I can't live without them. If i'm a hobo living on the street in New York City, I collect bottles for cash, cash I collect for cigarettes, booze and drugs. I collect boxes and slightly worn shoes and clothes. If i'm a banker, I collect people's debt and monetary assets. If I'm a poet, I collect verbs, nouns, adverbs, pronouns, ideas, thoughts and tempo. If I'm a musician, I collect notes and chords and licks and instruments and maybe tour dates too. And on and on, you get my drift. But what's the bottom line to this? What is the common characteristic of all these positions in life? Humanity. That's right, say it with me..huuu-man-ahh-tee. We are all humans or human collectors. We collect pieces from other humans. We collect thoughts and ideas and philosophies and we make them part of us.
I am a 162 pound, six foot collection of all that I have seen, smelled, felt, touched, tasted and heard. Do we steal? Maybe some, and maybe it's not thievery, but just someone has perfected a thought or an idea that we run with, and make it our own, make it part of us. Friends will tend to dress alike, talk alike, and have similar opinions on things. That is us. That is human. And I, like all of you out there, am a working piece of human art. The brush strokes began the day some pretty nurse wrapped us in a blanket and put us in our mothers' and fathers arms. From potty training to learning to talk and eat with a fork, we have collected these things that make us up. Yes, I'm describing learning too. But learning seems to be a bit caged, a little forced. Who we as humans have become, on our dying beds is a complex, elaborate collection of all we have seen, all we have experienced. If I don't take the side of one of my racist friends, i still have collected from that friend an experience that will go on to help define my moralistic composite. I am a work of art.
In the end, when we're lying on the slab, toe tagged and chest cracked open, being prepared for our own funeral, it's just meat. Thats not who we were. That's the canvass. But the paint is in what we felt, what we preached, what we learned, how we were. Think of the last time you visited a grave. Did you tell the tombstone that they were strong when they were alive? No, we say we miss YOU. We miss your love for baseball, miss the passion for our kids we'd had. We say we miss hearing your voice, and miss your optimism or cynicism. We miss the smile, which is a complex discussion for another day. Smiles are, after all, totally original. When I go to see my Pop in the mausoleum, I know I miss our conversations and his love for baseball and football, and his love for Mom and the girls. I miss how he used to make me feel, how he treated me, and i miss how he made me feel like noone on this earth ever made me feel before he died, or ever has since.
Collectors we may be, but what's important is what you can take with you. I don't know whats on the other side of life...death, heaven, hell. But what I do know is that when I'm remembered, I'll be remembered for me, as a son, a father, a lover of baseball, beer, discussions and my quasi cynic/optimist personality defect. Its the pieces I've collected along the way that have made me this person. If I'd collected nothing along my path, there wouldn't be much to remember or miss. So what's important to me when I die is that I'm known for what I believe in, what I did, how I lived and loved. And it's not so much about what I take with me, but what I leave behind. I always hope I'm making memories with my daughters and my friends, so that when I'm gone, they'll say "remember when Daddy did this....?" "Remember when Joe did this...?" Thats our legacy. That's who we are, who we were. We can't take golf clubs, houses or cars with us. And we won't be remembered for those things. And if we are, those memories will be shallow, worthless memories, that will easily fade when tested by time.
I'm not here to tell you what I'm about. If you're reading this, you know the answers. And in the end, that's all I want.
I seriously doubt the end is near for me, but was just thinking about my own mortality and wanted to write down some thoughts on the subject. And in closing, i would like you all to remember that its about who you are, not what you have, in the end. Memories fade, but the finest, defining memories will never be gone. So, Live Big.
I am a 162 pound, six foot collection of all that I have seen, smelled, felt, touched, tasted and heard. Do we steal? Maybe some, and maybe it's not thievery, but just someone has perfected a thought or an idea that we run with, and make it our own, make it part of us. Friends will tend to dress alike, talk alike, and have similar opinions on things. That is us. That is human. And I, like all of you out there, am a working piece of human art. The brush strokes began the day some pretty nurse wrapped us in a blanket and put us in our mothers' and fathers arms. From potty training to learning to talk and eat with a fork, we have collected these things that make us up. Yes, I'm describing learning too. But learning seems to be a bit caged, a little forced. Who we as humans have become, on our dying beds is a complex, elaborate collection of all we have seen, all we have experienced. If I don't take the side of one of my racist friends, i still have collected from that friend an experience that will go on to help define my moralistic composite. I am a work of art.
In the end, when we're lying on the slab, toe tagged and chest cracked open, being prepared for our own funeral, it's just meat. Thats not who we were. That's the canvass. But the paint is in what we felt, what we preached, what we learned, how we were. Think of the last time you visited a grave. Did you tell the tombstone that they were strong when they were alive? No, we say we miss YOU. We miss your love for baseball, miss the passion for our kids we'd had. We say we miss hearing your voice, and miss your optimism or cynicism. We miss the smile, which is a complex discussion for another day. Smiles are, after all, totally original. When I go to see my Pop in the mausoleum, I know I miss our conversations and his love for baseball and football, and his love for Mom and the girls. I miss how he used to make me feel, how he treated me, and i miss how he made me feel like noone on this earth ever made me feel before he died, or ever has since.
Collectors we may be, but what's important is what you can take with you. I don't know whats on the other side of life...death, heaven, hell. But what I do know is that when I'm remembered, I'll be remembered for me, as a son, a father, a lover of baseball, beer, discussions and my quasi cynic/optimist personality defect. Its the pieces I've collected along the way that have made me this person. If I'd collected nothing along my path, there wouldn't be much to remember or miss. So what's important to me when I die is that I'm known for what I believe in, what I did, how I lived and loved. And it's not so much about what I take with me, but what I leave behind. I always hope I'm making memories with my daughters and my friends, so that when I'm gone, they'll say "remember when Daddy did this....?" "Remember when Joe did this...?" Thats our legacy. That's who we are, who we were. We can't take golf clubs, houses or cars with us. And we won't be remembered for those things. And if we are, those memories will be shallow, worthless memories, that will easily fade when tested by time.
I'm not here to tell you what I'm about. If you're reading this, you know the answers. And in the end, that's all I want.
I seriously doubt the end is near for me, but was just thinking about my own mortality and wanted to write down some thoughts on the subject. And in closing, i would like you all to remember that its about who you are, not what you have, in the end. Memories fade, but the finest, defining memories will never be gone. So, Live Big.
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