This post is a re-release of one that was so popular, it deserved to be given another 15 minutes of fame. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
A Day of Reckoning
Across the bridge and into the heart of Ocean Isle I charged, my kung fu fighting cane on the passenger seat beside me, my jaw set like a bayonet, my face, had there been anyone around to see it, was a study in fearsome intensity.
Today would be a day of reckoning.
Half a mile, half a mile, half a mile onward, as the poem goes, into the Valley of Juice Bars, Beachwear, and Outlandish Hair Highlights, I rode.
Life's Absurdities
I'd come to the dunes of Ocean Isle, at the edge of the Atlantic, where the veil separating this world and the next is thinnest because in recent weeks, the Universe had messed with me at unprecedented levels of heinous anxiety and emotional weasel-osity.
There’s no justification for the emotional excesses I regularly experience. Mood disorders don't make sense. My limbic system is simply out of whack and acts out in ridiculous ways at the most inconvenient times. It was time for me to kick some Universal ass.
It wasn’t the first time I’d resorted to insurrection, and I’ll continue to do it whenever I've had more than I can bear. I was at the breaking point; I was mad as hell and wasn’t going to take it anymore.
Please don't start questioning me. I'm aware that my AA sponsors wouldn't condone my behavior, and my Buddhist teachers would advise me to return to the middle way.
Despite the objections of my AA sponsor and Buddhist teachers, I can’t remain idle while emotional storms rage around me without a compelling reason to justify them. Sometimes a man must stand up and make his voice heard.
Best Laid Plans
As we crossed the Intracoastal Waterway, my eyes scanned the area near the pier for parking spaces. There were none. I hoped to find an available spot near Drift Coffee Cafe, but that was a bust, too.
It was the final week before the new school term, and a month of late summer thunderstorms had just ended. It seemed the entire population of three states had descended on the beach this weekend.
I stopped at Sharky’s Restaurant and parked near a construction site. It was only a quarter-mile walk to board one of those 10-passenger golf carts that tour the island. The cart would get me to the fishing pier, and the dunes were only half a mile onward from there.
The golf cart rushed recklessly into the thick of Ocean Isle at about 5 miles an hour. It wasn’t exactly conducive to the attack I had in mind. The slow ride was draining my anger and increasing my frustration. I tried to envision the cart as a Viking longboat lined with war shields and warriors hanging off the sides, waving long swords while a booming drum drove us into a battle frenzy.
I stood, gripping the back of the seat in front of me, waving my walking cane in concert with the imagined Vikings waving their broadswords. This helped to fan the simmering coals of my fierce intent. I attracted alarmed looks from my fellow passengers and a few gawkers riding rented bikes along the walkways. Why didn’t I think of that?
The cart paused at the kids’ play area to let a mother and her two children get off before continuing to the pier. The driver mentioned that Netflix was filming a family-oriented movie in the area, and some shops were closed to accommodate filming. However, I cared nothing for ice cream or taffy. I was on a mission and had no time for frivolity.
The Subtle Tricks of Fate
But the ice cream shop at the fishing pier was open, and since I was there anyway, I bought a double-scoop of vanilla bean to soothe my simmering anger. The ocean breeze quickly melted the ice cream, leaving my hands a sticky mess as I walked to the memorial dunes. I rinsed my hands in the sea and realized my day had not gone as planned.
Somehow, something had changed. My anger had dissipated. I came here to kick ass, but now... I would have been satisfied to give someone a piece of my mind, and yet there was a rub there too, namely, who would hear my rant, and who would care?
I arrived armed for cosmic confrontation, fury intact, and kung fu cane at the ready, but the beach had other plans. She worked her subtle magic, forcing me to deal with a lack of parking space, and then taunted me with vanilla bean ice cream and ocean breezes, causing me to feel like my own worst enemy. By the time I arrived at the dunes, my anger had evaporated, and I was left standing on the shore, asking myself, 'What's the point of it all? Why bother?'
Don’t try to convince me there’s a lesson in all this. Don’t leave comments telling me it's a lovely meditation on how our internal storms can be calmed by the most ordinary moments, or how the very act of seeking confrontation can lead us instead to unexpected peace. I'm not in the mood.
Tomorrow will be a brighter day. I will be happier tomorrow; I always am. Tomorrow's magic is the strongest magic of all. Tomorrow gives Love its power. And fortunately, tomorrow is just a day away.