I adorn my head with a weathered visor, worn to a dull green after four years of sweat and sunshine. My dogs wait by the door, doe-eyed as they watch me place my thermos on the ground and sit to tie my shoes. They know it will be nightfall when I return, for Winter Pines is calling, and just as only you can prevent forest fires, only I can wash the dirt and glass clumps out of the wheel wells of golf carts.
The sun is always shining as I walk outside, with pure white clouds dotting an even purer blue sky. As I venture out onto the sidewalk, however, my gaze turns to the golf course, where dense black clouds perpetually hover, billowing and unfurling their reaches across the length of the course. While this is actually a good sign, because golfers will flee when spritzed with a drop of rain (which allows me leave early), for the purpose of this essay, the foreboding weather represents the disdain I feel toward my part-time job: cleaning up after golfers.
This occupation is marred by a multitude of misconceptions, beginning with golfers’ confusion as to whether or not we are a grocery store. For the record, we are not, so it is not ok to leave your cart in the parking lot. While this is wholly unacceptable, it is understandable, for a very low percentage of these carts are without traces of alcohol. Few carts overall are missing this key ingredient to a fun day on the course, which is why when people ask me if I play golf, I say, “No, I’m underage.” Golfers understand, though others often show puzzlement. I get similar looks when asking girls to go on the course with me. It’s as if there’s something wrong with asking someone if they want to “play a round.” After such an exchange, the girl in question often opts to just hit balls instead. Unfortunately, this has nothing to do with golf.
The propensity of golfers to drink has other implications on the course as well. For one thing, it makes can collecting a fairly reasonable prospect, for the purpose of selling them to a recycling plant—that is, until you realize that more than one can is needed to earn a single cent. In spite of this upfront detraction, our 73-year-old ranger Ralph has been collecting them for the past 15 years. He scours the receptacles that are scattered around the course, collecting his exchangeable goods with the dream of amassing enough to purchase a new truck. After hunting and gathering illustrious aluminum for so many long and rusty years, I’m happy to say that he can now afford any truck in the 2009 Tonka lineup.
Some of the biggest contributors to the recycling plant are a group of regulars at the course, whose idea of a perfect Saturday is playing 18 holes in the morning, then sitting around in the afternoon trying to forget it. They are undoubtedly the inspiration for my favorite saying: “You can lead a golfer to the course, but you can’t make him not drink.”
They and other golfers’ prolific beverage consumption often cause them to forget about the remaining contents of their cans when they leave. While their livers thank them for such mishaps, I do not. This is because Ralph dumps the beer into the nearest trash-bag, where it re-ferments, this time not with beechwood, but with stale hotdog buns and cigarette butts. This amalgam generates the most foul, pungent smell on the entire course (if you ignore the mass unearthing of fertilizer that happens when it rains). We eventually deposit each of these soggy sacks of trash in a dumpster at the end of the parking lot, where they truly age to perfection. Not only do the residents of neighboring homes complain when we leave the top off of this rectangular cesspool, but the consuming stench even has garbage men holding their noses when they come to collect it.
Worst of all, I put myself in this situation. I should’ve known not to take this job, for I live with a golfer, and have been able to study his behavior carefully. Early in his time in college I helped him move out of his apartment, and in the throes of packing, a quick perusal of his bedroom closet revealed several empty cans of ill repute. “JEFF!” I had yelled, confronting him on his unacceptable habit, “You don’t recycle?!”
Monday, September 22, 2008
To Improve Life
A non-religious person might assume that to those who are affiliated with an organized faith, nothing is more important than their belief in a God or deities. While this is certainly an essential part, it is the good work that God inspires in people that truly matters: a person’s dedication to others is the true measure of the strength of his or her faith. Those who choose not to embrace spirituality in their lives may deprive themselves from this important ideal to live by, that all humans are equals on this earth, and that by caring for one another as such, we may be truly happy.
Together, and only together, we can combine our efforts to improve life on earth, and the first step is to promote kinship with those who live as we do. By this, I don’t mean people who share the same heritage, or act as we do, but everyone: humans. If we were to treat others in the same way that we would treat our family, our friends, and ourselves, we would all realize how easy it is to be good to all people, and how simple it is to appreciate all human life.
John Lennon’s song “Imagine” is celebrated as a secular example of this ideal, though its concepts do not stand steadfast when questioned. The song begins with Lennon’s preliminary address: “Imagine there’s no Heaven/It’s easy if you try/No hell below us/Above us only sky.” He means that if our lives on earth are all that we have, we would see the inherent value of our time here, and would all learn to live together. However, it’s my opinion that the masses would not act this way in this situation, but would rather be even more self-centered than they are currently. The majority of people would feel that since their entire existence is as short as it is, they wouldn’t let anyone stand in their way from enjoying life in their own way. Consider this frame of mind, and then step back for a moment. If this were reality, wouldn’t we wish for the presence of a God to bring meaning to our lives? Wouldn’t we want there to be a Heaven for us to aspire to, so that those that are selfish would be selfish in doing acts of good, in the name of the Lord?
As Lennon continues, “Imagine all the people/Living for today” (Lennon). I feel that that is precisely the problem; people will be overly concerned with the brevity of their lives, and will focus entirely on short-term pleasures. Later in the song, he suggests that peace may be found another way: “Imagine there’s no countries [. . .] And no religion too (Lennon).” Simply put, he envisioned a world without any reason for division. Despite the war and destruction that religious conflicts have caused, though, I believe that the hope, goodness, and strength attributed to faith on this earth have made a much greater impact.
Through the lens of religion or not, we must all see that as humans on this earth, we are all brothers and sisters. We have the strength to overcome various obstacles in our lives, and can overlook certain problems; we need to use these abilities to see past the insignificant differences that we each have, which we have mistakenly ingrained in ourselves as being important. Chiefly, we must embrace our capability to accept, to understand, and to forgive. If we all dedicate ourselves to each other, being generous with our time on this earth, sharing the talents we are blessed with, and giving the treasure that we possess, life will improve. We need to distance ourselves with material things that we perceive as being important, for when we do so to improve the life of another human being, it is undoubtedly worthwhile. When we are able to give to others, we are truly blessed.
Our lives are full of choices, yet so many of our decisions are insignificant. Were we to dedicate a mere fraction of our ability to giving to others, we would all live in a much better place. Some have opinions about what needs to change for such goodness to take place, but I feel that this power is already inside of us, waiting for us to reach it with the help of our God. We must see ourselves in each other, choosing to help those in need as if we were reaching out to a loved one. If we were born into a horrible situation, as so many people in the world experience, wouldn’t we yearn to be helped? Wouldn’t we grasp for hope as if scrambling for the few morsels of food on our plate, unsure of when the next portion will come? Imagine that our lives are judged, and that being selfless and generous is not just the key to living a fulfilling life, but that it will lead our Lord and Creator to grant us an everlasting life with Him. I can.
Together, and only together, we can combine our efforts to improve life on earth, and the first step is to promote kinship with those who live as we do. By this, I don’t mean people who share the same heritage, or act as we do, but everyone: humans. If we were to treat others in the same way that we would treat our family, our friends, and ourselves, we would all realize how easy it is to be good to all people, and how simple it is to appreciate all human life.
John Lennon’s song “Imagine” is celebrated as a secular example of this ideal, though its concepts do not stand steadfast when questioned. The song begins with Lennon’s preliminary address: “Imagine there’s no Heaven/It’s easy if you try/No hell below us/Above us only sky.” He means that if our lives on earth are all that we have, we would see the inherent value of our time here, and would all learn to live together. However, it’s my opinion that the masses would not act this way in this situation, but would rather be even more self-centered than they are currently. The majority of people would feel that since their entire existence is as short as it is, they wouldn’t let anyone stand in their way from enjoying life in their own way. Consider this frame of mind, and then step back for a moment. If this were reality, wouldn’t we wish for the presence of a God to bring meaning to our lives? Wouldn’t we want there to be a Heaven for us to aspire to, so that those that are selfish would be selfish in doing acts of good, in the name of the Lord?
As Lennon continues, “Imagine all the people/Living for today” (Lennon). I feel that that is precisely the problem; people will be overly concerned with the brevity of their lives, and will focus entirely on short-term pleasures. Later in the song, he suggests that peace may be found another way: “Imagine there’s no countries [. . .] And no religion too (Lennon).” Simply put, he envisioned a world without any reason for division. Despite the war and destruction that religious conflicts have caused, though, I believe that the hope, goodness, and strength attributed to faith on this earth have made a much greater impact.
Through the lens of religion or not, we must all see that as humans on this earth, we are all brothers and sisters. We have the strength to overcome various obstacles in our lives, and can overlook certain problems; we need to use these abilities to see past the insignificant differences that we each have, which we have mistakenly ingrained in ourselves as being important. Chiefly, we must embrace our capability to accept, to understand, and to forgive. If we all dedicate ourselves to each other, being generous with our time on this earth, sharing the talents we are blessed with, and giving the treasure that we possess, life will improve. We need to distance ourselves with material things that we perceive as being important, for when we do so to improve the life of another human being, it is undoubtedly worthwhile. When we are able to give to others, we are truly blessed.
Our lives are full of choices, yet so many of our decisions are insignificant. Were we to dedicate a mere fraction of our ability to giving to others, we would all live in a much better place. Some have opinions about what needs to change for such goodness to take place, but I feel that this power is already inside of us, waiting for us to reach it with the help of our God. We must see ourselves in each other, choosing to help those in need as if we were reaching out to a loved one. If we were born into a horrible situation, as so many people in the world experience, wouldn’t we yearn to be helped? Wouldn’t we grasp for hope as if scrambling for the few morsels of food on our plate, unsure of when the next portion will come? Imagine that our lives are judged, and that being selfless and generous is not just the key to living a fulfilling life, but that it will lead our Lord and Creator to grant us an everlasting life with Him. I can.
An Entire Team of Me
Every morning they knock the dirt from their grass-stained cleats. The sun hangs low in the sky, draping shadows across the field as the men march to the center of the chalk-lined turf. Their socks moisten as they track through the dew-laden grass, each untouched blade glistening with light. The shrill sound of a whistle pierces the air, getting all to line up for stretches and drills, to awaken muscles that lay sleeping the previous night. This is what goes on inside me, for I am a football team. I may not offer the appearance of a single player, much less an entire squad, but it’s true. At any given time I am one of them; which one, however, all depends on whether life finds me on offense or defense. When the ball is in my control, I can be confident, the traveler, the comedian, or the writer; when I’m under attack, I can be worrisome, the sugar-coater, the introvert, or even the writer again, because he can really be both.
My inner traveler insists I explore the world’s grandeur at every opportunity. He is bold and trusting, which is necessary, for he lacks understanding of foreign languages. He’s the one that convinces me I must go overseas during spring break, rather than spend it at home, and that I should shun the Burger Kings of France and instead let seasoned snails slither down my throat. That instance was kind of a shame, though, that I didn’t eat at my first choice of place; I was really set on trying a Junior Louis XIV. The traveler seeks to experience the romanticism of traversing unexplored land, of unfurling weathered maps on the earthen floor of a tent. He wants to hold down the edges with a rusted lantern that protects a flickering flame, reading pages by the soft glow. With modern travel, however, he also enjoys the sight of boundless hills that appear through a thick airplane window, beyond the misty guise of clouds as he makes a skyward approach.
The introvert has few words for others, as he prefers to remain in the backdrop of the world as much as he can. His personal credo is that it is better to not speak and be presumed dumb than to open one’s mouth and remove all doubt. These tendencies were learned with the help of my brother, who, when growing up, would have either a snide remark or dirty look to most everything I’d say. While his nastiness has diminished, my words are still closely managed, so as to prevent something regrettable from slipping through my lips.
The sugar-coater doesn’t want to make anyone angry, so what he will often do—as the name suggests—is offer news that is slightly misinterpreted to favor whomever he’s telling it to. This is to prevent any immediate backlash, and is usually in regards to his estimated time of arrival by car. This backfires when the person gets upset about being ready significantly earlier than when he actually gets there.
My worrisome self is overly cautious. He is unpleasant to be around, for he is always concerned with others’ interpretation of him. In order to manage this, he considers what others might think of him and his actions to too great an extent, making him stay quiet; this keeps him from being an acceptable person anyway. He worries, debates himself over useless matters, and wastes entirely too much time to doing so. Often times, he over-thinks a particularly bad fumble or interception in life, trying to make sense of what went wrong. This only makes things worse. If nothing else, he needs to learn that it’s infinitely better to move on than to dwell on negativity.
The confident part of me is who I wish would remain dominant. He is aware that the world is here for us to be good to one another, and that when we are all sharing with one another our time on earth, the talents that God has given us, and the treasure that we have, all will be well. He knows that we must get what we can from our lives, appreciating them, for we never know when they may dramatically change or end. Full of generosity, kindness, and love for all people, he understands that we are in control of our own happiness, and that it is up to ourselves to create meaning in our lives. Unfortunately, he isn’t demanding enough to take control of my body full-time. It’s just his personality.
The comedian will go to any length to conjure his art for others. I like to phrase it like that, because it’s usually just a thinly veiled method of being insulting. The comedian knows that to craft the perfect bit of humor requires wit, intelligence, and a disregard for common taste. He has a physiological need to turn everything into a joke, so few words will pass through his ears without a response, whether his comments are funny to more or less than one person. As enjoyable as he may be to some, to others, he can easily be the most aggravating.
The writer is the most fluidly adaptable of all, in that he may embody the feelings associated with any personality. Utilizing the experiences of each one, he dissects and deciphers what is usable to him. He is the one most in tune with words, though since he prefers isolation, he speaks through his fingers more than his mouth. He enjoys turning a good phrase, creating vivid descriptions, and capturing emotion and feeling on the page.
In time, the players tire, and regardless of the score, they all trudge off the field together. Under illuminating towers of light, the men move on, while patches of dirt and upturned grass flash in and out of their shadows. They arrive at their lockers and untie their cleats, some with bandaged fingers, and others with bound wrists. The players will ache as they lie in bed, but in the morning they’ll be back, ready to overcome a new day’s challenges. This mental game inside me can quite often be a physical one.
My inner traveler insists I explore the world’s grandeur at every opportunity. He is bold and trusting, which is necessary, for he lacks understanding of foreign languages. He’s the one that convinces me I must go overseas during spring break, rather than spend it at home, and that I should shun the Burger Kings of France and instead let seasoned snails slither down my throat. That instance was kind of a shame, though, that I didn’t eat at my first choice of place; I was really set on trying a Junior Louis XIV. The traveler seeks to experience the romanticism of traversing unexplored land, of unfurling weathered maps on the earthen floor of a tent. He wants to hold down the edges with a rusted lantern that protects a flickering flame, reading pages by the soft glow. With modern travel, however, he also enjoys the sight of boundless hills that appear through a thick airplane window, beyond the misty guise of clouds as he makes a skyward approach.
The introvert has few words for others, as he prefers to remain in the backdrop of the world as much as he can. His personal credo is that it is better to not speak and be presumed dumb than to open one’s mouth and remove all doubt. These tendencies were learned with the help of my brother, who, when growing up, would have either a snide remark or dirty look to most everything I’d say. While his nastiness has diminished, my words are still closely managed, so as to prevent something regrettable from slipping through my lips.
The sugar-coater doesn’t want to make anyone angry, so what he will often do—as the name suggests—is offer news that is slightly misinterpreted to favor whomever he’s telling it to. This is to prevent any immediate backlash, and is usually in regards to his estimated time of arrival by car. This backfires when the person gets upset about being ready significantly earlier than when he actually gets there.
My worrisome self is overly cautious. He is unpleasant to be around, for he is always concerned with others’ interpretation of him. In order to manage this, he considers what others might think of him and his actions to too great an extent, making him stay quiet; this keeps him from being an acceptable person anyway. He worries, debates himself over useless matters, and wastes entirely too much time to doing so. Often times, he over-thinks a particularly bad fumble or interception in life, trying to make sense of what went wrong. This only makes things worse. If nothing else, he needs to learn that it’s infinitely better to move on than to dwell on negativity.
The confident part of me is who I wish would remain dominant. He is aware that the world is here for us to be good to one another, and that when we are all sharing with one another our time on earth, the talents that God has given us, and the treasure that we have, all will be well. He knows that we must get what we can from our lives, appreciating them, for we never know when they may dramatically change or end. Full of generosity, kindness, and love for all people, he understands that we are in control of our own happiness, and that it is up to ourselves to create meaning in our lives. Unfortunately, he isn’t demanding enough to take control of my body full-time. It’s just his personality.
The comedian will go to any length to conjure his art for others. I like to phrase it like that, because it’s usually just a thinly veiled method of being insulting. The comedian knows that to craft the perfect bit of humor requires wit, intelligence, and a disregard for common taste. He has a physiological need to turn everything into a joke, so few words will pass through his ears without a response, whether his comments are funny to more or less than one person. As enjoyable as he may be to some, to others, he can easily be the most aggravating.
The writer is the most fluidly adaptable of all, in that he may embody the feelings associated with any personality. Utilizing the experiences of each one, he dissects and deciphers what is usable to him. He is the one most in tune with words, though since he prefers isolation, he speaks through his fingers more than his mouth. He enjoys turning a good phrase, creating vivid descriptions, and capturing emotion and feeling on the page.
In time, the players tire, and regardless of the score, they all trudge off the field together. Under illuminating towers of light, the men move on, while patches of dirt and upturned grass flash in and out of their shadows. They arrive at their lockers and untie their cleats, some with bandaged fingers, and others with bound wrists. The players will ache as they lie in bed, but in the morning they’ll be back, ready to overcome a new day’s challenges. This mental game inside me can quite often be a physical one.
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