Satisfaction VS Happiness

A Current Misunderstanding.

I've noticed that we're a society who is bent on being Happy. Every  day we are confronted with advertisements, slogans and random people who want us to find happiness, like it is some elusive prey animal. If happiness was an animal it would be a bird of some sort. Fast and fleeting, hard to find, hard to catch. There would be very few pictures of this bird, its genus species would read, Emoticus Happifleeticus. Few if any pictures of this bird would exist and its migration pattern would be random at best. Now, I am not saying that I am not a happy person. On the contrary I am extremely satisfied and happy with life.

But still the problem remains. We are a people obsessed to finding happiness, however we miss the more important notion of satisfaction. What I mean by this differentiation in terms is this: Happiness is when you find twenty dollars in your jeans from the wash, or when your favorite _________ team is going to the playoffs, or when you receive a letter/ E-Mail from an old friend with good news, etc. Satisfaction on the other hand is something that you work toward and achieve in life. To often we hear of people having a midlife crises, or being unhappy with their life and this falls into what we have been led to believe by the media for years, that we are supposed to be happy. Movies like The Pursuit of Happyness, lead you to think, "Oh if I work hard, I will be happy". This is not so. No one ever said that life was going to be happy. In fact our ancestors knew that life was hard and filled with small joys. Now there seems to be a google of products that claim to solve your problems, all screaming in unison BUY ME.

Now I think I should make some distinctions for the sake of the reader. I am not saying that products or capitalism is bad, I am saying that the amount of advertisements and products that we have that are useless crap, a waste of money, is a problem. Second, I am also not saying in any way, shape or form that depression is not a real disease. It is. It can lead people to become disillusioned with life and destroy it.
What I am saying though, is that if we as a society stop trying to find happiness, and instead work on being satisfied, then we will be a happier society as a byproduct. To become satisfied, you have to realize that unhappiness in life and envy, are drawn from the same emotion, which is dissatisfaction. It's not hard to see why. Every single commercial on TV, from diet pills, to work out machines, to make-up and clothing commercials tell us to be dissatisfied with our current thread, weight, furniture...etc, and to buy more. This is the root of our over consumerism. I urge you instead, to take all of that with a grain of salt. Maybe turn off the TV for a start. Second, look at your life, and decided what you want. Start with basics and move up from there.
Too many times people don't feel empowered in their own lives. This is the key, this is why we are the U.S.,
We have the opportunity, if you work for it, to achieve anything we want. That is what made this country great to begin with. We still have that power, now more than ever. Use it. Use it well. Take back your own life.
I promise you, you will be satisfied in the end.

Coffee and Accidents

Two weeks ago, this morning,
I went over the handle bars of my bike.
I was precariously gripping a cup of iced coffee, and riding too fast.

It was really a combination of factors though. My lack of sleep, the lack of brakes on my bike, which led
to a spectacular accident.
The kind that if you see it from the outside, you laugh and then feel bad and laugh again.

Afterward, I lay on the ground for awhile, checking my limbs for breaks and blood.
I some how got away with only road rash, scratches and a bruised ego.

This morning, however, was different. In finding the fault of my accident in my cup of coffee, leading to a general loss of control and therefore, being the root cause behind it all, I packed coffee in a thermos this morning.
And as I went to pour my first cup, which still was hot enough to cook pork in, the lid on the thermos failed, showering my left hand in scalding, thick black Brazilian coffee.

My left hand is now bandaged, with 1st degree burns, which I stopped from moving deeper.
They wanted to go to my bone, the way I imagine touching lava would be. No flesh left, just bleached bones in
molten earth.

Besides these early morning follies, my first days of work have been good. The students are bright eyed and burning to learn my trade.
But I need to find away to stem this tide of dawn patrol accidents.

I have decided that the gods don't want me to bring coffee to work anymore. This is a disappointing setback.

Some Questions That Deserve Attention

from an Independent to the rest of America

Do you know something I don't?
Can you survive without clean water and clean air ?
Do you know that environmental ethics TRANSCEND political parties, religious denomination and race?
Are you tired of our country dividing itself along lines no one can see?
Are you tired of political debate and nonsense filling our airwaves and brains?
Or are you ready to argue more, to the last breath?
Can you please grow the fuck up and stop asking for our president's birth certificate? Yes, I hated GWB, but I never brought up the fact that his family did business with the Nazis. Don't believe me? Bushs and Nazis you say? Google 1942, Trading with the Enemy Act, and Brown Brother's/Harriman, you might be disappointed with the principle of each. But can you please look past our current president's skin and see that he is trying to help?

Can we please demand that our politicians take action and be accountable for their actions? I learned that in kindergarten, I think they need a refresher.

Are you tired of watching our sons and daughters coming home in black plastic bags?
Are you tired of both sides of the aisle blaming the each other for mistakes, or failings of moral conscious, and then doing the same damn thing and saying it's different?
Or do you like listening to this bullshit and calling it politics?
Do you think if we keep dividing ourselves, that this won't end in bloodshed?
Have you forgotten the lessons of 1861? Are you willing to let history repeat?

Do you really think that this way of life can continue?
Do you really think that we aren't killing this planet? Do you think about, I mean really think, what happens to that bottled water, plastic bag, or any of the thousands of pieces of trash and micro trash that are produced by our consumerist culture?
I know what happens to them, and unfortunately, so will our great grandchildren.
Have you ever read the Bible or the Torah or the Qu'ran and realized that the God of Abraham and Moses demands us to act as stewards for the Earth and for all of his creation?
Do you know what God says he will do if we fail? It is not forgiveness he offers but destruction. 

Have you ever looked out on a group of people, knowing none, and realized the beauty of the ONE HUMAN FAMILY? That any judgment you pass is internal, of your own creation, derived from your own hang-ups.

Are you tired of argument for the sake of it? Or are you ready to argue more without thinking about compromise?

Do you know why Teddy Roosevelt was a great man? Do you know why he is immortalized at Mt. Rushmore? Did you know he helped create the national parks system, the greatest example of democracy in action in the world?

Do you know what happens to your food before you eat it? Do you think about the cows, chickens and other souls we have dominated to make our food? It's not their sacrifice I deplore, it is our own wastefulness and our treatment of them before they die. You are what you eat, so what are we?

Do you fear, as I do, having to answer to your children and grandchildren why bats were important or unique, or why people looked at coral reefs?  Why the Great White Bear of the North was allow to die out? Or what trees were and why we needed them to be whole?
Did you ever think that this is not our planet, and to believe so is selfish, short sighted and beyond reproach,
Do you know this is actually our children's planet? We've borrowed from them and we will have to give it back.

Do you want to give them a wasteland, full of trash, toxic chemicals and lost dreams?
Have you ever seen a wasteland? If not, go to a landfill and marvel at our great society and its trash.

To be honest, I don't care if you believe in Global Warming or not. Frankly, I am tired of people using it as a way to determine one's political leaning and sentiments.
Even if it is not happening, is it such a bad idea to look for other energy sources? Or is it too hard to see that the thick black exhaust of a semi rolling down the highway isn't good to breath?
Did you know that London Fog was not fog but smog? Have you ever not been able to breath, because the air was so polluted or picked and coughed black bits from your lungs and nose after walking around a polluted city?

Have you realized that this little outpost called Earth is the only one we have and if we don't protect and cherish it, we're dead? Do you think Science or  God can save us from ourselves? 
Did you know the planet won't die? Planets are bigger and better than that. Don't you think Gaia will shake us off like a flea when she is tired of our abuse? Don't believe me? One word, Katrina.

Are you tired of fossil fuels? Have you ever thought that if only we could stop buying foreign oil we could  pull out of the middle east and leave those countries in the dust, where we found them?
Did you know that dependence on foreign oil is a national security liability?
Don't believe me? Then ask why Japan attacked Pearl Harbor.  They woke a sleeping giant, (who had cut off their oil in previous years in trade embargoes).

Really though, I need to know.
Do you know something I don't, about living without clean air or clean water?
Do you want to do something about all this?
Or are you going to let the greatest moment our generation has to effect this planet slip past?

For those who disagree, or feel we can keep arguing and pushing this to the side, know just this:

How far do you think we can be pushed before we hit back?
Remember, we were born of the same spirit, raised to believe in fighting to our last sinew for our rights and our world. We love peace and deplore war, and want our country to be better and by proxy, Our World, but do not see this as weakness or passivity, instead, know it as strength.
If you do not believe me, then you will be in the fire instead of watching it burn.

Elder Brother

I took a picture of a stranger,
many years ago, as he stood outside of Grand Central Station.

With smoke pouring back over his shoulders,
parted by a felt hat upon his head.
Like a rock in the river of the sidewalk. I never saw his face.
It was looking up at the marble and iron of that great city, watching it age in the winter air.
Without knowing his name, I know that we were the same kin.
Or I can only hope.

The odd thing is, I only thought of him, and his picture, listening to news today.
I heard a talking head, claim that we were headed for the same fate that plagues Greece today.
Behind him, video of rioters
fighting armored police ran on a loop.
The talking head and the video were juxtaposed just so
with his monotone voice, and continuous images of fighting in the streets,
forced the viewer's eyes to hear  him and see only violence,
fire, street lights and brutality.

Why I thought of that picture, and its subject are only clear to me now.
His stance, like a stone parting the sea of people, represents to me
standing alone at the end.
The only way to not fear the future, is know the past.
And try, try, try to glean its lessons.

Don't think of it as waiting, but as living ready.

It's Gonna Rain

When Jack first saw the dead man, his instinct was to spit and stare. The man was naked, save for a chrome-plated 1911 Colt pistol clutched in his right hand. His body was sagging into the moss, his back leaning against a downed tree. His clothes were folded neatly  it besides him. Most of the top of his skull was missing: what the bullet hadn't taken with it, scavengers had in the night. Jack exhaled slowly, his breath hung in the thin morning air. The swamp around him was quiet and cold. He shifted his rifle by its butt and knelt beside the man. The man's skin was a gray and pallid like a stormy dawn. Jack pulled a leather pouch of shag tobacco from his pocket and started to roll himself a cigarette. 

        "You want one?" He motioned toward the man. "Don't smoke, huh? Good for you keeping healthy and all." Jack lit his cigarette and clenched it in his teeth. He grabbed the man's pants. He patted them for a wallet and pulled a brown leather billfold from the back right pocket. Flipping through it quickly, Jack fought the urge to look for an ID. There was no money in it. He stuffed the wallet back into the pants pocket, folded them neatly and replaced them on the log. He reached for the pistol. It was locked in the man's grip. Jack pried the index finger off the trigger, caught a whiff of the man's smell and tumbled backward. Sticks broke and the thicket opened. Paul Barnwell, stepped into the clearing ten feet to Jack's left.  He was shorter than Jack, with blond hair and features looking ten years younger than his actual age of 25 . 

      "Jesus." Paul coughed out, staring at the dead man.  "Thought we were supposed to meet down by the river." Paul said as he stepped toward Jack and put his hand out. 

    "I got hung up here" Jack took it and stood up. He dusted moss off his pants. The two men were still for a minute, save for their eyes scouring the dead. 

    " Well, fuck....We got to get somebody out here about this" Paul said, breaking the silence of the marsh. 

    " Can't" Jack flicked his cigarette out and after glancing at again, walked over, picked it up and pocketed the roach. "You know we're poaching out here, we'll have a lot of explaining to do, and we're trespassing this far east." Jack made eye contact with Paul and then looked back at the dead man. "You ever seen him before?"

    Paul shook his head. Jack handed him the bag of tobacco and matches. Paul rolled himself a cigarette,

   "We can't just leave him out here." Paul said, licking the glue of the cigarette paper. "I mean, I wouldn't want to be left out here, I'm sure he had family". 

   "We can, and we will. If he wanted to be found, why do it way out here, why not just in his bathtub" Jack grabbed the bag of tobacco from Paul and started rolling up another cigarette. "And, I want that gun." and after saying so, he walked over to the dead man, dramatically took a breath and knelt beside him. He began where he left off, prying the fingers off the grip. The pinky finger was clenched tight around the grip. The skin was clammy and slick. Jack looked down at the man's shriveled penis, coughed out his breath and refused to take one in. Finally the gun came free, its weight surprised Jack and it puzzled him why someone would bring a full clip to shoot themselves. Then again, he thought, maybe some people don't have beginner's luck. He popped the clip from the gun and ejected the chambered round. 

    "Put it back. Now." Paul said quietly. " Put it back where it was. When we get back, I'm gonna tell somebody." He took a step toward Jack. "Give it to me. I'm gonna put it back." He stood with his hand out and took a drag on his cigarette. 

    " And get us arrested for some pussy who couldn't hack it so he took the easy way out, no. Fuck that." Jack slid the clip back into the gun and chambered a round. The gun wasn't pointed at Paul, but the intention was clear. 

    "I'm just saying man. We need to tell somebody abo......"

     "And I'm just saying that if you keep talking like that, I'm gonna put a bullet through your face. I say we leave him. If you really want, you can bury him where he fell, but nothing more." Jack tucked the gun into his belt.  "Looks good don't it?" He smiled. Paul spit and flicked out the cherry from his cigarette, pocketing the roach before speaking. 

    " Well we've got some hunting to do." He looked up at the morning sky, dark with clouds like ghosts. 

                "It's gonna rain soon."

In Country

Authors note: These short vignettes are based on my experiences traveling in the Antipodes in 2007. These three are from Australia. Any comments are welcome.  --W.R. Preston

Laksa

The soup is spicy and too hot, but I eat it anyways. Slurping up the noodles and meat, I am trying to absorb any of the heat, something to take the chill away. It’s the coldest winter since 1971, and the wettest. The news anchor last night was clear on that. Everyone keeps talking about the drought. It’s been on ten years. I don’t believe them. It’s rained every day here and I doubt I will ever feel at home. Every few slurps of soup I cough and gag, having sucked a noodle into my windpipe. The spices of the soup are too much. I am sweating, despite the cold. Being from the tropics, I expected this place to be warmer. A country the size of the United States, the interior, one vast goddamn desert, and I’ve come during a break in the ten year drought. I eat this soup everyday. Not diverging for anything else. The coconut broth is thick and it reminds me of my mother and duck egg rice wrapped in banana leaves.

Establish a routine, meet people around you, and be open to new things. These are ways to avoid culture shock. Everyone around me are exchange students as well, however, they are from Asia. They don’t see me as Asian. My half Scottish, half Chinese blood looks like neither from the outside. But this soup keeps me coming back. I want to conquer it, eat the whole bowl, and not break a sweat. But there is always too much, and another class to go to before I reach the bottom. Later, in class, my beard reeks and my shirt is speckled with the broth. After two weeks of eating it everyday. I break routine, and go somewhere else. The next day I come back, and the restaurant is under construction. It doesn’t reopen before I leave country. Seven months later, in Thailand, I try to find the soup, asking local guides if they know of it. They stare blankly, telling me to pronounce it better; I can’t. It’s as if it never existed.

Lost Luggage

I step off the plane, still drunk and spun. Too many sleeping pills on the fourteen-hour flight. We drank the free wine, got cut off (not a first in my airline travel experiences) and moved onto Canadian whiskey fresh from the duty free. Not much else to do on long flights with strangers. Drink, ponder smoking a cigarette in the bathroom and drink more to remember the absurdity of smoking on a plane. I imagine the whole metal tube burning and can see it. The sleeping pills make me hallucinate. Nothing I can’t handle, but too much misinformation for me to trust my watch or my eyes. More whiskey, more sleep crammed in chairs designed for crash test dummies.

I don’t remember customs, only waiting for my luggage to come down the shiny metal ramp. Like snake skin it undulates, moving bags around but none are mine. I am too twisted for anger to come. I make my way to baggage services and find a long line. I wait. After an hour, my hangover is starting to come, but the pills aren’t gone yet. My eyes sting and the conversations around me are painful. At the counter, the woman takes my information down. Her smile looks overworked. She offers me a lost luggage kit, complete with toothbrush, underwear and shampoo. I turn her down. Give it to the next guy, I say. This isn’t going to solve anything. I need a cigarette.

Outside, I light up. I stand outside the bus, slowly inhaling and taking the cold air into my lungs between drags. On the bus I sit down in the only seat left. I know I stink of cigarettes, but can’t care. I brush the strange looks from other students off and keep my sunglasses on. The girl I sit next has reddish hair, fair skin and is cute. Her voice is a little rough, but I like that. She asks if I smoke. I say yes, waiting for her condemnation of my unhealthy habit, or a complaint about the smell. It doesn’t come. She bums one and we step outside.

“I didn’t want to smoke alone, with everyone in there watching” she says, motioning toward the bus while her toe snubs out her finished smoke. The pills have worn off and I'm left feeling shipwrecked between time zones. The sunlight is clean and acrid. Her luggage is also lost. I bum her one more, making up for lost time in the air. The first few matches go out quick. She smiles and cups my hands as I light hers. Her fingers linger for a moment too long and obvious while she takes a drag. It’s these times, I know the ending at the beginning.

The Old Woman

When I get on the bus, I’m already late. Its crowded and I stand for the first few minutes, keeping balance through the hills and stops. The news lately hasn’t been good. Scotland’s airport was unsuccessfully firebombed. The culprits are dead, one burned to death, but here in Australia, they’ve taken an Indian doctor into custody. His cell phone sim-card was somehow involved. After a few weeks, and much complaining by the Indian government, he was released and shipped home. Sentiments here are cold. He should have been kept and falsely imprisoned. His race and religion were keeping him in jail. I don’t know how to feel about it. But this morning changes my mind. Another passenger steps off at the next stop. He glares at me and hops off the bus. In America, he’d be called a blue collared worker. His open seat is next to an old woman, she sees I’m going for it and puts her bag in the seat. It’s the last seat on the bus. Being American, self righteous and willing to offend for my own comfort, I step up and ask to sit down. She stares at me, seeing only my ambiguous race, my dark skin and almond shaped eyes, and says no.

“I won’t sit next to a lebo” she says loudly. I blink like a turtle and pacify the urge to throw her bag to the floor and take the seat. Several men on the bus are staring, waiting for this arab-looking man, with a thick beard, to make his next move. I fight through several emotions, moving from anger to shock and awe to a deep-seated rage and find myself still standing, gawking. My mind settles into a complacent understanding. I get off at the next stop, six from my intended destination. I smoke a cigarette and drink a cup of coffee, trying to calm my anger. It doesn’t work. I catch the next bus back to my house, smoke a bowl on the balcony and let my confusion pass. It doesn’t.