The Olympics

I guess it’s only natural to feel proud of/for/with your country when the Olympics begin. We watch sports we forgot were sports, we root for people we’ve never met as though they were our sons and daughters. We forget that we have ever been divided by race, religion, or sexual preference. We laugh together, we hope for each other, we love, again. It’s like Christmas (without all the suicides) and I wish we could achieve this greatness; the epitome of humanity at its best; always, instead of relegating unity to certain times of the year/years.

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Life may be a bitch, but…

…I tend to think that’s exactly what makes it so fun.

I alternately love/hate my life, as does most of the population. It’s up; it’s down; it’s beautiful; it’s loathsome; it’s fatal; it’s vivacious; it’s serene; it’s complicated. It’s amazing; all of it; really. A lot of people take life for granted. They want things to be easier, but then, when things are easier, those same people can never be content with their own complacency and settle, eventually, for seeking out the excitement that makes up the innate tug-of-war that is human existence. The give-and-take measures us, just as our love, our knowledge, our hope, and our generosity, do.

They think that theirs are the only lives that mean anything and, for their tiny scope and little bitty parcel of World, that is true. In the grand measure of things, however, we all fall miserably short of what really matters. It’s onlytruly relevant, if it’s relevant to you?

Well, pardon my French(ish), but, who the fuck are YOU? Who, for that matter, the fuck am I??

If I don’t know you, I don’t want to hear your life story in the checkout aisle and I assume the same, in the reverse. Nonetheless, I will grin like the cheschire cat at your kid, just to let him/her know that grownups can be okay, every now and again. Just to let them know that they matter. 

Most people don’t care about other peoples’ kids. Other peoples’ kids are other peoples’ problems, and all that jazz. First of all, they’re NOT problems; period. Second of all; too many people don’t care about their own kids, and it’s our job, as role models, in general, to always remain positive influences in the lives of others; children and adults, alike. My livelihood is to teach other peoples’ kids, and I can’t imagine anything more rewarding. Just as, with my own daughter, life is hard and crazy and spectacular; every day with those kids, presents challenges I never dreamed would occur, spontaneous little outbursts of crazy, and hardships aplenty.

There are things that jolt you, things that wake you from the dreamland of your boring every-day, to pull you into the absolute perfect balance of our lives. They may not be my kids, technically, but they are my kids, in every other way. Each day is full of stupid, mundane, little nerve-racking annoyances and, at the end of every single day, I sit at home with my one daughter and my boring television, or book, or chess game against the computer and think; What a great/terrible/crazy/awesome day, that was. All of the little things melt away, like a bad dream, and only the good of the day remains, in the smells on my shirt, in the smile on my face, and in the purity of my heart, kept young, forever, like the mythical Peter Pan, who also surrounded himself with the only love that counts. The love of your children.

Thanks, for reading. Sorry, I’ve been such a slacker.

-J-