The Uncommon Man

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I’ve been reading, lately, about the common man, the 99% of the population that make up the social milieu and wondering what exactly common men have in common. I’m guessing these folks (well, us folks) are mostly of middle-of-the-road social and economic status, probably have limited educational accomplishment, likely adhere to some sort of religious beliefs and most certainly rely on a social network of other individuals of more-or less like mind. We’re the everyday working stiffs who execute our often-uninteresting daily toils in the hope there lies ahead a future of personal economic progress which will provide and secure leisurely retirement.
The uncommon man on the other hand is the intellectual or man of action who drives the public narrative. Maintaining his superior status in a democratic society requires he keep a finger on the pulse of the populace. When the common man begins to lose his sense of hope in a favorable future the uncommon man, in order to maintain his status, must placate the masses by providing a positive vision that a favorable future lies in wait. To maintain societal stability, keep the masses striving for more and better, the uncommon man paints a picture of prosperity near at hand, the good life awaiting those who sustain the necessary drive to be successful.
The philosopher Eric Hoffer thought an uneasy, socially and economically threatened populace of common men who, perhaps, had lost the dream of upward mobility have the potential to produce mass movements that have in the past and will likely in the future dramatically affect the course of history.
Given the state of our world, these days, it seems to me, what we need to do is seek out an uncommon man of superior artistic ability.

Mythical Thinking

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I’ve been trying to understand, lately, what exactly perpetuates the fairly widespread ideas of conspiracy theory surfacing these days in the political sphere. It occurs to me that perhaps many of us are being visited in our thinking by a deep-seeded primal intuition: that appearance and reality are intertwined.
The problem with such thinking is that appearances change; what appeared to be one thing one day takes on different meaning at another time in another context. For mythic believers, a rigidity develops. The idea that once an ‘appearance’ is defined and locked in and what is thought to be the case must be the case, any sort of subtle change in or redefinition of what appeared to be the case can only be thought of in terms of conspiracy. Someone or something must be manipulating Truth.
I suppose one who engages in mythical thinking does realize a richly imaginative existence, one that can be shared with other like-minded conspiracy theorists, of which, it appears, there are many. One would hope, in the interests of a healthier society, reality will make an appearance at some point.


An Impractical Dreamer

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In the winter of his eighteenth year this young man fell madly in love (well, it was a serious crush anyway). The object of his unrequited affection was a demure sweet young lady who turned the young man, usually easygoing and affable, into a tongue-tied moron (or so he thought and was in fact true).

The episode was simply reflective of the young man’s nature. He conjured imaginings of romantic scenarios; of heroic stances he might take. He lived in a world of fictional narratives reinforced by the heroic storylines he regularly indulged: good triumphs, tragedy is overcome.

It would seem in retrospect such an imaginative reality would soon be repressed but it was maintained far longer than it might have been by avoiding unpleasant confrontation, keeping a distance from uncertain challenges and living in an (overly) protective home environment. As a college student our young dreamer immersed himself in studies of an impersonal nature, solitary endeavors not requiring excessive personal connections. He had friends of course. College life teems with unassuming young people of an accepting nature, all thriving in an essentially responsibility free environment.

Eventually, over time, even an impractical dreamer will have to face harsh realities. The awakening for our young man came with the threat posed by the draft lottery and the likelihood of involuntary military service. Basic training was eye opening. The young man found himself verbally assaulted. Name calling the likes of which he had never previously encountered (but guessed often referred to perverse sexual acts) was common.

Military service didn’t cure the young man, didn’t redirect him toward a more functional pragmatism. Even now as he passes middle age the man finds himself entertaining flights of fancy. He has somehow been able to navigate through life being sufficiently useful as not to be a particular burden on society, you know, has basically paid his own way.

It’s good to know, I guess, that sometimes life provides a path for those who need to live in an alternative reality.

Mosquito as Collective

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A recent camping trip has me reconsidering the nature of Mosquito. It’s natural, I suppose, to see the insects as existing in swarms of creatures genetically engineered to pursue the blood needed to reproduce. But I have become inclined to now see the insect not as individuals but as a single organism working to attack and acquire the essence of their Being.

A Supreme Mosquito directs through a common mind, drones to the front lines to distract the blood source while the more capable move in from behind to withdraw the coveted substance.

It seems pretty clear to me that Mosquito thrives as a collective intelligence.

Is Professional Tennis a Healthy Endeavor?

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Lately I’ve been viewing a series of programs about the lives of professional tennis players. The athletes that achieve elite status in the tennis world have usually been recognized as prodigies at an early age, as having unique hand to eye skills and an exceptionally strong drive to excel. In the interest of improving, competing with the best, the sport for these folks becomes of singular importance often taking them on an emotional roller coaster as their successes and failures on the court mount up.


Since in each tournament, sometimes involving nearly 100 players to begin, everyone other than the eventual winner will lose, the psychological impact of losing can be devastating for these hard-working athletes causing them to question whether they belong, hence the need for an entourage of supporters encouraging, reassuring them to continue that they have the potential to rebound from defeat. Most will experience the highs of winning but the emotional and physical intensity will eventually take its toll. Few players are able to maintain a career at the elite level for more than a few years.


As the spotlight dims, I guess the considerable monetary payback most of these players have realized will help them ease into a more conventional life, but I wonder how difficult it might be to find fulfillment after living such a high intensity reality.

Remembrances

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When I was seven years old my family moved from a small house in town near the railroad tracks to another small house in the country, notable for its proliferation of mouse droppings and cold winter drafts. Though a bit strapped financially, my father, always thinking of family first, acquired a small black and white television set. Undeterred by the fuzzy picture my siblings and I sat mesmerized as Pinky Lee, an androgenous little man in suit and bowler hat thrilled us with his antics and old cartoons.

I became friends at this time with Keith, a year younger, who lived on the neighboring farm. We spent happy hours in the farms’ large barn swinging from ropes into the loose hay in the hayloft. Keith’s mother, the very model of maternal care, would make us small afternoon lunches that we would take up onto one or another of the farm’s outbuildings to enjoy. Other days were spent on the shore of the lake just beyond the cow pasture, building forts from downed tree limbs, enacting various imagined scenarios.

All of the adults in our lives were caring and dependable, assuring these times were carefree and allowing us the freedom to enjoy our youthful naivete. One wonders, now, if the rich imaginative life we enjoyed then makes up in any way for our delayed ability to assume responsibility.

Children

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I’ve been thinking lately about what it means to produce children, why one would choose, in the first place, to assume the responsibility for creating one. I guess the animal instinct to procreate is a compelling motive (more so for some than others) and a need for the imagined stability of family must be a strong driver.

Once the child begins to grow, responsible parents will do what they can to instill moral and spiritual values as they understand them; will do their best to shelter their progeny from negative peer influences and impose rules they feel will lead to responsible behavior. The child, however, subject to myriad peer influences will respond as any fit animal would weighing options and quickly learning where maximal benefit lies. The parents will soon find themselves on the sidelines, no longer raising and directing, but watching and hoping for the best.

As the child develops into an independent entity, parents will see in it little resemblance to the being they imagined they birthed.

Mental Changes

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Experiencing, as I am, the mental changes of aging, I’m finding certain positives occurring. Although being unable to remember what I had for dinner two hours after eating can be annoying, the advantages of ‘forgetting’ an unappealing event or appointment, accepted as excusable, has its advantages. On the downside, along with the short-term memory loss comes the inability to keep up with conversational topic switches, as when talk of a fishing trip abruptly segues to local politics.

All in all, I guess one must cheerfully accept the inevitable decline aging presents and stay upbeat. One’s longevity likely depends on it.

Playing it Safe

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I’ve been thinking lately how one might exercise a desire to build a safe and insular world for oneself. By cultivating relationships one can dominate and carefully avoiding social interactions one might suppose would threaten discomfort, one might find an ideal peacefulness. One would suppose such an organized life to be an anxiety free one where there is no need for any sort of stoic discipline to ward off unpredictable negatives. I’m sure there are those who would say such a construct would be devoid of richness, of the thrills and excitement that uncertainty promises, but a well-grounded, intelligent and thoughtful individual would surely realize a contentment that supersedes adventurism.

The pitfalls of playing it safe.

When You Die You WILL Meet God

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Driving down the highway the other day I saw a billboard that informed me that when I die, I will meet God.

I got to thinking about just how that conversation might go. I suppose the gist of it would concern how deserving I was; whether I was of sufficient character to join the heavenly host, whether my behaviors during my biological existence made me eligible for other-worldly benefits.

Would I be asked, I wonder, if my behaviors were reasonably upstanding, my thoughts of a benevolent if not pristine nature. Of course God, I assume, would have the answers to those questions and was playing a bit of a game with me to determine how I might spin the narrative, but, in honesty I would have to respond that in my opinion my good behaviors at least balanced the bad, evaluated on the basis of intent to contribute, on the one hand, or exploit, on the other, my fellow man.

So, if God scores on a curve, I guess my odds of reaching the great beyond aren’t too bad.