Learning the Hard Way

POLITE is the shy, middle child who sits at the awkward extra chair at the dining table, timidly accepting leftovers, with a gracious smile on her face, after everyone has had their fill. She defers to others and places their needs ahead of her own at all times, and because she does not know when it is the right time to yield, so she does it all the time. Her bitch of a sister, IMPOLITE, also sits at the same table. She is never hateful, rude, or disrespectful, but knows when it is her turn. She does not defer, but yields when it is the kind thing to do. She sits on the comfy chair, at the center of the dining table, and if you try to take her turkey leg, she will destroy you.

In Defense of Phoning it In Last Saturday, after working over 80 hours, I dragged myself to the grocery store for some ice cream and potato chips. As I stood in line for my purchase, I began to observe some of the polished women at the check-out, many of them characterizing our town that boasted to have the second-lowest crime rate in the country, with one of the highest median incomes. Their homes likely had perfectly landscaped lawns, dazzling Christmas decorations for the holidays, $50,000 minivans in the garage, and fabulous homemade meals, served over a beautifully decorated table, seven days a week. Their children often went to the finest schools, excelled in sports, all while they advanced in their own impressive careers. They did it all, tried their best at all times, and achieved excellence in many of life’s categories.  They were stylish, impressive, and exhausted. Yoda once said, “Do. Or do not. There is no try.” This is a mantra that seems to be seeping fr...

The Refusal Mitch A flightless bird chirped incessantly in the darkened room, shattering the peaceful silence. Mitch lay motionless in his bed, trying to orient himself and understand what kind of creature could be making such an invasive noise. It took more than the customary heartbeats to determine that the sound was not a confused, morning lark, but his Android whose alarm was now chirping with increasing urgency. Mitch groaned as he heaved his body over the side of the bed, reaching for his cell phone, before making his way to the bathroom to take a hot shower.  Moving his fingers ever so slightly as he gazed towards the ceiling, he calculated how many hours it would be before his day would be over and he could sit in a Jacuzzi sipping a glass of bourbon. He sighed heavily, flipping through the messages on his phone, as he waited for the water to warm.   He already had four texts regarding his trip to Arizona this morning. He tossed the phone onto a folded ...