What A Phamtastic Life!

Girls are looking for confidence, but not the kind that people seem to think of.

They’re looking for subconscious triggers of confidence that there’s absolutely no way you can fake, e.g., being tall. Girls see a tall guy and automatically assume he’s confident, whether he actually is or isn’t. Also, girls look at a guy that’s very attractive/handsome, and assume that’s he’s confident, because, hey, why shouldn’t he be?

So the catch is that in order to be perceived as “confident”, you actually have to be perceived as attractive, first. Girls decide how “confident” they think you are before you ever even say a word to them.

So really, the whole “confidence” thing is true, but not in the way people mean it. It’s really quite similar to the whole Malcolm Gladwell speech about spaghetti sauce (summary: spaghetti sauce makers kept asking people about their spaghetti sauce in an attempt to improve it… “do you want it spicier? chunkier? smoother” and people kept giving answers. turns out, the general public had no idea what they really wanted. some spaghetti maker eventually said “fuck it” and made it in a way that was pretty much the opposite of what people said that they wanted, and it was a huge success).

Girls are the same way. They think they want confidence, and they say they want confidence, but what they really want is good looks.

I want to share something else. I have seen so much death in my short life. I have had to do procedures called “Infant Trauma Surveys” which required us to image every single bone in a babies body. The purpose of these exams were to determine whether or not the child was being abused. The parents of these children were often told that their child was being checked out for growth defects. My coworkers and I knew even before we started imaging whether or not the child was a victim of abuse. The babies that were abused never cried as we took them away from their parents. Their eyes didn’t dart around the room looking for something to play with. They would lie down in any position we wanted without any effort from us. They would just lie there, too afraid to do anything. We always started from the head and worked our way down. The machine we used for these procedures would allow us to instantly see the radiographic image. I have always had a love for children so I would always volunteer to help hold them still for the procedure. This eight month boy gave me no resistance at all.

The x-ray machine would hum as it came to life and beep when the image was ready.

beep Normal skull. We positioned the baby for the next exam.

beep Normal cervical spine. We positioned the baby for the next exam.

beep The chest. Four broken ribs. Three ribs that had healed from previous fractures. My fingers gripped the baby tighter. I felt a pool ball in my throat. “Baby…” We positioned him for the next study.

beep Normal abdomen. Next position.

beep Pelvis. Poorly healed fracture of the right hip. I realize that my nails are digging into the poor kids arms. “Baby… baby…”

We found two more fractures on that child. His arm and part of his leg. During this exam, the parents are waiting in the waiting room. We would always tell them they had to wait out there due to “radiation safety” even though they could have worn lead gowns like the rest of us. If we had a positive exam, we were to alert the hospital social worker and escort the parents and the child to a private room for the “results”. I escorted this family to the private room. I told the parents that the results of their test would be reported to them soon. It was time for me to hand them their child and walk away. Time for the social worker to take over. Time for me to move on to my next patient.

I hesitated for what felt like a century. I looked at this boy’s father. I looked at the mother. The child’s hand grasped my name badge as I handed him to his parents. My teeth were so tightly held together that my jaw was sore. I said nothing.

I don’t know what happens next during the social work process. There are protocols. There are rules to follow. Does the child get taken away right away? I don’t know. I have heard that some parents get to hold onto the baby a few more days. I have heard some parents lose the child immediately.

A week later my coworker told me that for some reason the parents of that boy got to keep him. He also told me that the baby had been killed because he had been thrown against a wall.

Thrown against a wall.

His father was the main abuser.

His father is in prison.

Writing this down has been very difficult. I am twenty-four years old. I saw the first death of my career in 2008. Since then, I have seen hundreds more. Many people commenting on my posts have said things about how terrible people are. These stories are going to shake many people’s faith in humanity. However, all of these stories have only reinforced my belief that life is beautiful. Humanity is fallen and lost, but life is beautiful. Every touch from a loved one makes up for the pain our lives. Every cool breeze on a hot day should be cherished. Go tell your friends how important they are to you. Go eat your favorite food.

Every good moment in your life needs to be cherished to make up for the bad.

When I was taking that little eight-month old boy back to the waiting room to grab his parents, I stopped in the hallway. I held that child against my chest. I gave him all of the love and peace I could. I whispered to that child,

“Life is beautiful.”

… A very dear friend of mine recently took her own life. She was 23 years old. 

People who consider death as an alternative to life are lost, plain and simple. They no longer have a grasp on who they are. Whether that was caused by trauma or a lack thereof (trauma is very healthy in small doses), it doesn’t matter - being lost is being lost. Again, very basic terminology. I apologize. But the good thing is that there is no need to feel overwhelmed by what’s “wrong” with you! If you’re considering death or distancing from other human beings, you’ve only got to rediscover who you are. That’s easier said than done, but listen for a moment and you might gather some useful information. 

Anything can be “packaged” nicely. Words, feelings, thoughts. Everything can seem so clear to you one day and so convoluted the next. If you remain true to yourself, and never allow anything to matter more than your own identity (simply put, never acquiesce yourself to another concept’s manifest), things are a lot easier to take in and handle within the wonderful muscle that is the brain. Nothing is too hard to handle…not with enough time. 

You have the power to deny yourself that time. It’s easy to want that. It’s easy to do, too. Humans are fragile and finite. But there are infinite possibilities in existence at any given time, for happiness, for love, for hatred and despair. If you’re considering putting an end to your time, consider that you could do anything if you put your mind to it. You’ve settled on death, so why can’t you settle on life? Hmm? 

Try loving everyone regardless of their flaws. Do not allow their flaws to put a hamper on your “meaning”. When you finally accept yourself and find your identity, if it’s been replaced with something easier to handle (i.e.; someone deserving of death) or cope with via a single, final decision rather than effort and time, when you finally accept yourself everything will come naturally. I promise. 

I didn’t have the opportunity to say any of this to her before it was too late. If I can help anyone with this rather candid topic, I’ve done some good. And that feels nice to me.

“Basically it’s all in how you disagree.

There’s no such thing as two people perfect for each other, and how you approach the friction is what either strengthens or eats away at a relationship. This isn’t about being “nice” or “not yelling” - some people are very happy with each other but during tough moments kinda blow up. Believe it or not that’s not necessarily a bad thing in and of itself, just as people who speak calmly and quietly are not always happy.

What’s poisonous is contempt and resentment. When you disagree, do you discuss the issue or the person? Is it, “I want sushi, but you want pizza” or is it, “You always want sushi, I never get pizza.” 

Subtle difference, but those little things are so much more important than most people realize. The latter phrase shows the person is the problem, uses absolute always/never language which pushes the other away, shows that someone is “keeping score” and thus not letting go of negative feelings (resentment), and a sense of blaming the partner for “causing” the pain and disregard for the partner’s desires (contempt).

Once the problem is your partner rather than the situation/issue/disagreement/etc then you’re on the road to unhappiness no matter how you slice it.

In my case this is all knowledge gained in hindsight. It took my divorce for me to see this, and see that I was contributing just as much bullshit as she was, and that nobody is really to blame. You can only change yourself, and I look forward to not making the same mistakes next time around, and finding a partner mature enough to match my newfound emotional wisdom.”

“Just about every time I see someone I stop. I kind of got out of the habit in the last couple of years, moved to a big city and all that, my girlfriend wasn’t too stoked on the practice. Then some shit happened to me that changed me and I am back to offering rides habitually. If you would indulge me, it is long story and has almost nothing to do with hitch hiking other than happening on a road.

This past year I have had 3 instances of car trouble. A blow out on a freeway, a bunch of blown fuses and an out of gas situation. All of them were while driving other people’s cars which, for some reason, makes it worse on an emotional level. It makes it worse on a practical level as well, what with the fact that I carry things like a jack and extra fuses in my car, and know enough not to park, facing downhill, on a steep incline with less than a gallon of fuel.

Anyway, each of these times this shit happened I was DISGUSTED with how people would not bother to help me. I spent hours on the side of the freeway waiting, watching roadside assistance vehicles blow past me, for AAA to show. The 4 gas stations I asked for a gas can at told me that they couldn’t loan them out “for my safety” but I could buy a really shitty 1-gallon one with no cap for $15. It was enough, each time, to make you say shit like “this country is going to hell in a handbasket.”

But you know who came to my rescue all three times? Immigrants. Mexican immigrants. None of them spoke a lick of the language. But one of those dudes had a profound affect on me.

He was the guy that stopped to help me with a blow out with his whole family of 6 in tow. I was on the side of the road for close to 4 hours. Big jeep, blown rear tire, had a spare but no jack. I had signs in the windows of the car, big signs that said NEED A JACK and offered money. No dice. Right as I am about to give up and just hitch out there a van pulls over and dude bounds out. He sizes the situation up and calls for his youngest daughter who speaks english. He conveys through her that he has a jack but it is too small for the Jeep so we will need to brace it. He produces a saw from the van and cuts a log out of a downed tree on the side of the road. We rolled it over, put his jack on top, and bam, in business. I start taking the wheel off and, if you can believe it, I broke his tire iron. It was one of those collapsible ones and I wasn’t careful and I snapped the head I needed clean off. Fuck.

No worries, he runs to the van, gives it to his wife and she is gone in a flash, down the road to buy a tire iron. She is back in 15 minutes, we finish the job with a little sweat and cussing (stupid log was starting to give), and I am a very happy man. We are both filthy and sweaty. The wife produces a large water jug for us to wash our hands in. I tried to put a 20 in the man’s hand but he wouldn’t take it so I instead gave it to his wife as quietly as I could. I thanked them up one side and down the other. I asked the little girl where they lived, thinking maybe I could send them a gift for being so awesome. She says they live in Mexico. They are here so mommy and daddy can pick peaches for the next few weeks. After that they are going to pick cherries then go back home. She asks if I have had lunch and when I told her no she gave me a tamale from their cooler, the best fucking tamale I have ever had.

So, to clarify, a family that is undoubtedly poorer than you, me, and just about everyone else on that stretch of road, working on a seasonal basis where time is money, took an hour or two out of their day to help some strange dude on the side of the road when people in tow trucks were just passing me by. Wow…

But we aren’t done yet. I thank them again and walk back to my car and open the foil on the tamale cause I am starving at this point and what do I find inside? My fucking $20 bill! I whirl around and run up to the van and the guy rolls his window down. He sees the $20 in my hand and just shaking his head no like he won’t take it. All I can think to say is “Por Favor, Por Favor, Por Favor” with my hands out. Dude just smiles, shakes his head and, with what looked like great concentration, tried his hardest to speak to me in English:

“Today you…. tomorrow me.”

Rolled up his window, drove away, his daughter waving to me in the rear view. I sat in my car eating the best fucking tamale of all time and I just cried. Like a little girl. It has been a rough year and nothing has broke my way. This was so out of left field I just couldn’t deal.

In the 5 months since I have changed a couple of tires, given a few rides to gas stations and, once, went 50 miles out of my way to get a girl to an airport. I won’t accept money. Every time I tell them the same thing when we are through:

“Today you…. tomorrow me.”

tl;dr: long rambling story about how the kindness of strangers, particularly folks from south of the border, forced me to be more helpful on the road and in life in general. I am sure it won’t be as meaningful to anyone else but it was seriously the highlight of my 2010.”

“My parents died when I was a kid; after my mom died, I went to live with my grandmother. Six months later she died. I spent a significant portion of high school living in the back of my mother’s Pinto.

In college, I worked at multiple jobs to pay off my mom’s debts because no one told me I didn’t have to. Eventually I fled the States. I lived in Paris for a while, working at menial jobs. I met a girl I loved profoundly; we married, and within a year she died.

I came back to the States broken and broke, dejected, feeling totally alone. Heartsick does not describe what I was. I went back to school for reasons I won’t get into here.

Please understand: up to that point, I felt as though my entire life had been swallowed by sorrow, guilt, depression, loneliness. It was as though I were being punished for crimes I’d committed in an earlier life. Or as though I was suffering so that others wouldn’t have to. That was the kind of irrationality I was experiencing.

At the end of the school year I’d be homeless. You haven’t eaten in half a day? Try a week and a half. I was collecting bottles so I could buy plain pasta (couldn’t afford ramen). I was digging bagels from the student union garbage.

Anyway, one day, I was walking to school, and in the midst of my dejection I saw some tulips. Purple, yellow, red, white. And I thought of how pretty they were. And of how, simply by thinking that thought, I had done something that hadn’t hurt anyone. And I had the epiphany that I could fill myself with things that I liked that didn’t hurt anyone. Sunsets. The feel of a breeze on my face. 

And in that moment, my life changed. Like the ancient mariner, it was as though whatever curse under which I’d been living my entire life was broken. Around that time, a woman came up to me in the law school library and introduced herself to me. It took me more than a year to speak to her again. But when I did, we began dating. We’ve been together ever since. We have 2 children I adore and a job that lets me try to do the right thing every single day.

You want to know why it would be bad to commit suicide? Because no matter how hard you tried, if you loved life and wanted to live forever, you would fail. Because no matter what, you will die one day. Because once you die you will be dead forever. And because no matter how much you think you know, you don’t know what will happen before then.

If I had died back then, and seriously I’d considered it, I would have missed the overwhelming joy that even now brings tears to my eyes at the memory of when I first heard my son’s heartbeat. I would have missed his hugging me and telling me he loved me. I would’ve missed every day getting to be his dad.

I would’ve missed my beautiful little girl, who comes running to me, after her bath, as naked as the day she was born, giggling hysterically while my wife gives chase.

I would’ve missed my wife, who is the best person I’ve ever met. Who has stayed with me through good and bad for now almost 20 years.

I would’ve missed computers, which I love. I would’ve missed getting game-winning hits in softball, which I’ve played at a competitively high level for all of my adult life. I would’ve missed comic books and good computer games and the occasional good movie.

I would’ve missed being able to help people on my job. Here’s a story: I only can reveal so much. But a woman had her children taken from her by CPS improperly. She had to move out of her house, was barred from seeing the children, and, because the children were placed with her mother, couldn’t even see her own mom. She was utterly isolated from her family, due to a CPS mistake. But all the evidence indicated that she was a great mother. This past December, I was able to get them returned to her. It brought me incredible happiness to imagine her reading the decision and getting her children back right before Christmas. I couldn’t have done that if I’d given up.

I could not have imagined this life.

See, there are all these things you can experience before you die, in the very few years you have left. So if you’re going to die, anyway, and there’s nothing you can do about it, you might as well stick around to see what changes.

You can get a job. A menial job, sure. But I’ve had those. They don’t kill you. You can find a place to live temporarily. Shelters aren’t the best, but they’re a start. I’ve lived in worse. Food pantries can offer you food. 

And once you’ve stabilized your life, friends will come. Volunteer, go back to school, once you start working. Take things one step at a time and stop misleading yourself that the past is a mirror of the future.

All these difficulties don’t have to last. 

I am proof they don’t have to last. I also am proof that life can change in an instant. But you have to be around to see it.

TLDR: You’ll be dead a long time, so you might as well stick around a while to see what happens.”

“I would speak to you of cool breezes.

You may or may not wish to listen to me, since I am 43 years old and have never. Sex, kiss, date, cuddle, whatever a human might want from another human, slap a ‘never’ on it and that is me. Taking my advice might not be a great idea. But I have learned some things.

Sometimes on a warm day, a cool breeze will come along. It just happens. Or it doesn’t happen. There is no schedule for it, no specific reason, nothing I can do to cause it. It feels awfully nice when it does happen. I don’t deserve it, or not deserve it. I can’t earn it.

All I can do is be out there doing whatever I am doing, and enjoy it when it comes along. That is not to suggest you should be passive, not at all. Exactly the opposite. But you should allow life to happen. 

You want to stop feeling. You can do that. I did. It can be done. But there is no way—none, zero, no way at all ever—to stop feeling the bad parts without also stopping feeling the good. You do not get to choose that, it cannot be done. If you numb the bad, you numb the glorious. 

Have you ever met a girl you thought was pretty nice, but you just didn’t feel that way about her? I don’t think you can just decide to love her, whoever she was. You could decide to think of her as charitably as you can but you can’t feel what you don’t feel. And neither can they. Love is a cool breeze. You can’t decide whether to feel it, all you can do is decide what to do about it if you do feel it. 

You know you will probably never find someone for you. Tempting, isn’t it? To have that final answer, to stop enduring the misery of hope. You are sure. It is nice to be sure. It is nice to have that out of the way and not have to wonder and hope, dream and want, need and yearn. Yearn! What a word. But there it is. Yearning. Sounds like a goddamn sonnet but that is the word for it. 

You don’t know a goddamn thing. I am sorry, but the bad news is you probably will find someone. You can try being as repulsive as possible and some girl might like you anyhow, people are crazy like that. Stop trying to be sure, and learn to endure uncertainty. Being sure is like riding a flat rollercoaster. Whee.

The bad news is you have hope. Hope’s the rope that keeps you tied in knots—the torture never stops. Even when you find her, and she likes you and she can’t help it and she gets all silly and wants to have your babies and everything, you will still have to hope. It never ever ends. You will hope every day she still loves you. You will hope she isn’t bored with you. You will hope the tests come back negative. You will hope she forgives you. It never, ever ends. Well, until you are dead, and there is time enough for that later I assure you.

There is no solution to hope and uncertainty. All you can do is be who you are and hope like hell. You are not a strategy, you are not an attempt. You are you, and now let’s see what happens. 

I still hope. And I will never stop. Failure has no meaning, as I am not attempting to succeed. I am that I am. Who I am does not depend on circumstance or events. I hope, I want, I dream. No matter what, I damn well hope. If I fall from the 87th floor of a building I will hope on the way down. I am hurt, I am disappointed, I am ashamed and miserable and alone. But I will never give up hope. That pain is mine, and I welcome it. I yearn. 

I wish you many cool breezes.”