Insane Earthlings

Mom told me the story so often that I am not sure what is actual memory versus images etched into my mind by her vivid description of the events. I struggled, just now, whether to use the word event, because there is nothing extraordinary about the scene that I am about to describe. I’m sure that this is a scene that plays out regularly in households with young children. Except, there is one oddity to my story that I still don’t know how to explain. When I was a toddler, my father worked second shift as a photojournalist for one of the two regional newspapers. Like most homes with kids, ours was a busy place each morning. I was the youngest, so my siblings would get themselves ready for school. Mom would be busy packing lunches, preparing and serving breakfast, and generally making sure that everyone got off to a good start for the day. I guess that Dad was sleeping as this all took place. He worked until midnight and then would watch the rest of Johnny Carson before...

I once knew the world in which I lived. I also tried not to allow myself to be complacent. But I must have fallen asleep. Complacency is like a sneaky narcotic. You can’t even remember when you first tasted it even after you are deeply addicted to it. Complacency and conformity enjoy the company of one another. The numbing effect of complacency allows your soul to tolerate conformity. And conformity is like a whirlpool trying to suck us downward. When things get busy and tough, it is near impossible to not just give up. It begins to feel that the easiest thing to do is the best thing to do. Conformity disguises itself as safety. But it will eventually reveal its true nature and leave you shaken to your core that you allowed it to happen. The universe will always sound out a giant wake up call that either destroys you or shakes you and wakes you into action. For too long, I have been stuck between the temptation to just fall back into complacency or finding the...