I recently wrote a friend a letter--- not email. I wrote a real letter that involves paper with words on it that you have to sit down with a pen, organize your thoughts and write in complete sentences. That is the same method that was used to write the US Constitution, the Bill of Rights and the instruction book for your toaster.
My friend was feeling blue so I pointed out to him that our lives consist of ordinary moments, not big events, so smile, your life is not so bad. Get perspective.
Mr. Pharaoh gives you more mud and demands better bricks but doesn’t give you anymore straw. At five o’clock you are on the interstate where there are hundreds of people fleeing their task masters. You turn on the radio and some talking mouth says the president is getting shafted by his own party and Tiger Woods just stepped out of a sex rehabilitation clinic. Smile. Your life is not so bad.
You take your wife out to a good restaurant, the Le Snob, to put your marriage on the lift and get an estimate for repairs. She says there was a time you took her out for no reason at all. You say yes and that was before she helped you acquire a mortgage and before the kids orthodontist became a draft on your bank account.
Kids. Now is a good time to shift all blame to the children.
After some discussion you both agree it was the kids—teenagers that gave you that nervous tick in your right eye. Then after more discussion you assure each other that you are both great and loving parents. You exhale and motion for the check. The Valet brings your truck around.
Trucks are a bright spot in life. A man needs a truck with a nice cab to carry his CD collection and a box full of nuts and bolts that can never be thrown away and probably will never be used. A truck is a man’s holy sanctuary; he and God can kick back, curse Pharaoh and listen to CD’s.
A truck is better than a shed for a man. A shed is attached to the property of the house and lawyers know that women actually own the house and the land.
The truck lets you put distance between you and chores. While in a truck you always sing perfect harmony with the Beatles or Johnny River’s “Midnight Special”. You belt out the words “LET THE MIDNIGHT SPECIAL---SHINE A EVERLOVIN’ LIGHT ON MEEE!” and no one says, “Please, use your Inside Voice. Thank you.”
There is no better balm for the soul than singing—be it Amazing Grace or Mustang Sally. You know that all you need is love, old dogs, children and watermelon wine. Music tells us that it is ok to be singing in the rain and it’s great to take your Chevy to the levy and cross a bridge over troubled water and see Winchester Cathedral and find Rocky Raccoon in his room reading Gideon’s bible--- it’s all happy trails to you! See? You feel better already.
Keys lying in a candy dish by the door, the feel of a dog brushing against your leg as you go to leave the house are all part of the journey of life. Distance is not what it’s about.
So look up, Champ-- see the positive and the Red Sea will part, you will leave Egypt behind and there will be no rehab fees.
Someone you know needs a lift? Write them a letter---on paper. Go on, you can do it.
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