The Discovery of Loose Change (and other good things) Ch. 18

Something I think about is the way we argue. I wonder why, as in, what for?
I think about the way we fight or the way we bitch about nonsense or unimportant things that somehow take priority in our lives. We bitch and we moan. We complain. We fight and we go back and forth and we beat the so-called dead horse.
Why?
Does any of this really help?

I am a fan of yelling though. I admit it. Not the kind of yelling that causes pain; although there are times when I’ve resorted to yelling and screaming and yes, I assumed that I was justified. Maybe I was justified (sometimes).
I’ve resorted to name calling and, absolutely, there are times when I hit below the belt.
To me, this was a justified response to another unfair or unsettling feature in my life.

I’ve been guilty of road rage. I’ve cursed at people in traffic. I’ve cursed at the television more than once. I’ve cursed at the fridge for being empty of anything satisfying. I’ve cursed people who no longer exist in my life. And I’ve cursed people who do exist yet they were nothing more than a target or an otherwise notable item of collateral damage.
I have projected my troubles onto other people. There’s a word for all of this. It’s called honesty.

I know what it means to be frustrated. I know what it means to be yelled at too. While I say this with honesty, it has taken me years to evolve to the point where I can speak honestly about The Old Man without believing that my honesty is disrespectful to his memory.
I am my Father’s son . . .
Like anyone else, my Father had his own dilemmas.
He wasn’t perfect by any means.
No, my Old Man was human.
Just like your old man is and/or was human. Guess what?
Humans are crazy people. We all have our “own thing” going on.
We all have something that makes us imperfect, which is actually perfect because the fact that we have flaws and we have defects means that we are very basic creatures with basic little lives and we live in a very basic little world, which basically means that we are all a work in progress.
Oh, and yes – I’ve been known to yell at work too.
But I digress.

The Old Man was not so patient with me. And sure, The Old Man yelled a lot. No, this did not help our relationship.
We both had our own perspective and our own version of the truth. We had our own opinions and, to be clear, we both had our own reasons why we couldn’t get along. 
I say this with growth because it has taken me years to speak this way. However, with all of our back and forth bullshit and the arguments and the battle to have the last word, the truth is, I know that we loved each other.

I know that we wanted to get along. There were so many other things that The Old Man and I would have done together. I know this and while I know The Old Man has been gone from this earth for a long time now – I know that he knows this too.
I know that my Father was proud of me. He was frustrated. Yes, he wanted to see me reach my best potential. At the same time; I was too far gone and too deep into something that was both killing me and my ability to be a better person. This was a struggle for me.
I say this because my Old Man never saw me become a man.
He never saw what I became. While I can say this to you with a heavy heart, I am grateful to know that my Father saw me sober, cleaned up, drug-free and not slouching, nodding and not high by any means.

It’s amazing – the man in me
Or, the adult in us.
It’s amazing how we get when we can’t control a person, place or thing.
What do we do?
We yell. That’s what we do.
Maybe some people turn inward. Maybe some people isolate.
But life is truly subjective and yelling – maybe yelling is only relative.

I’ve watched people yell at things throughout my entire life.
To what avail?
I have witnessed people at elevators with their minds in a rush and because of this, they push the elevator’s call button again and again, as if their incessant pushing of the button will make the mechanical gears and the electrical signals move faster; thus, this will bring the elevator to their floor at a faster pace.
But no . . .
This is untrue, to say the least. But we see people do this all the time
I’ve done this too. Haven’t you?
We yell when we can’t control something yet we are most out of control whenever we try to control something that is beyond our control –
so . . .
No wonder why everyone is so stressed out.
I am too.

I yell out of fear. I’ve yelled out of anger. I’ve yelled on behalf of my insecurity and sure, I’ve yelled enough to last me a lifetime. But wait . . .
Didn’t I just mention that I am a fan of yelling?
Well, I am.
Here’s why . . .

I took a hike up the side of a mountain once. I was alone. I was heavy and overweight. I was tired. I was depressed to say the least. I was working at a job that I had outgrown and I wanted more for myself. I say that I wanted more yet I had no vision for my future, which meant that I was unsure what my future would look like.
I could not see anything that went beyond a life of more of the same.
However, as I climbed the elevation and moved up the side of the small mountain, I allowed my body to sweat.
I allowed my muscles to work. It was hot and the morning was thick and humid.
This was summertime and during the middle of a heatwave.

I climbed the side and allowed the elevation to strain my muscles. I put everything into this hike.
I did this as if it were a mission; as if my might was strong enough to step my foot down and break holes in the mountain beneath me.

By the time I reached the first overlook, I took to the small cliff and allowed myself the moment to look out at the scenery.
I was panting heavily. I was sweating profusely. I was physically tired.
But at the same time, I had a heart filled with rage. I had a mind full of resentment and fear.
I had a spirit that was kept hostage for way too long and at the same time, I never allowed myself the voice to scream.
And so – I screamed.
It was early in the morning on a weekday. The sun had just completed its rise and there was no one else in sight. I looked out from the cliff and then I allowed myself the right to scream and yell and to rant and to carry on.

My physical strength was improving. I was losing weight and I was making headway. But at the same time, I was weak and frustrated that I was not “better” than I was.
I was so hard on myself.
I needed more. I needed to scream and shout. To be honest, I don’t even know who or what I was screaming about.
I only know that I allowed myself the right to stand at the side of a cliff and shout as loud as I could.

I finished my task and expelled the demons, so to speak. Then I began my walk down the mountain.
I felt a sense of both relief and accomplishment. Meanwhile, I passed another hiker on the trail. He smiled and said hello.
I smiled and said the same.
As I passed him, the hiker told me, “I get it!”
I assume he heard me screaming. Or maybe he noticed there were tears in my eyes or that I was recently crying – and then, putting two and two together, he knew it was me who was screaming from the cliff.
He got it.

I think we all get this. I think we all need to scream and shout every once in a while.
I think that screaming into the air is perfect because the wind is a cushion that absorbs the emotion which allows us to remove the rage or the angst in our hearts.
No one gets hurt this way . . .
The open air allows the words to disappear into the emptiness of the breeze.
No one was hurt by what I did. No feelings were harmed during this exercise. No one was insulted and the winds; well – they know how to keep a secret.
So, no one will ever know about my rant or what I was screaming about.
No, that’s a subject that will stay between the mountain and myself.

Not even the other hiker knows what I was screaming about – he just heard me screaming. From what he said, the hiker looked at me with an understanding nod and said, “I get it.”
So do I . . .

I don’t want to fight anymore. There are only so many fights that are worth having; such as the fight to save our own life on a daily basis, the fight to reach our goals and to surpass our limitations, and the fight to find love, to keep it, and to hold it, and to enjoy the rest of our days, for life or longer – by any means necessary.