So here's how it went down:
I'm on a Delta Song flight from JFK to SFO. The plane is mostly packed. I'm towards the rear. Although it's around dinner time, the lights are dimmed, and most of the passengers are asleep.
"After a long, hard day," Sunitha says with a breathy sigh, "there's nothing I like better than to down a good cold one."
She picks up a bottle of Negra Modelo and tosses it back expertly.
Whenever a person goes through a traumatic social experience, that person will make judgments that overcompensate in the opposite direction. The person's judgments will swing like a pendulum, from one side to the other, before finally settling on a more moderate stance. This is a natural defense mechanism, innate in us all. It is inevitable and even necessary for our recovery from traumatic social experiences, provided we swing back eventually.
"Damn, I can't remember what he said, but I remember it was something important."
Laura gave me the Raised Eyebrow. "You can't remember? That was like, only ten minutes ago!"
I sighed. "I know, I know…"
I've noticed that what we expect out of life has a lot to do with how happy we are.
Take my friend Maria, for instance. She's an idealist. She expects a lot out of herself and a lot out of life. When life doesn't meet her expectations, she doesn't understand why and becomes unhappy.
I notice that the snails come out onto the cement right after it rains. I'm not sure why; maybe the wet mud is too slippery for them. Or maybe they like the feel of the cold, hard cement on their tushies once in a while.
Whatever the reason, I couldn't help watching one of them the other day. It inched along without a care in the world, leaving behind a shiny sliver of slime. And it made me wonder: wouldn't it be great to be a snail?
NOTE: This is a humor article and not a serious resource on how to deal with paranoia. If you're looking for real information, you can find some at Wikipedia, Schizophrenia.com, MindDisorders.com, or Mental Health Care. Take care.
Today's self-help topic: Dealing with Paranoia.
It's not everyday that you hear a grown man in the bathroom say (I really heard someone say this):
"Please go outside. I cannot make pee pee while you stand there."
"Ohmigosh I think I'm going to have a breakdown."
"You'll be fine."
"No, I won't. I'm old now."
"Old?! You're only 25!"
"Right! I'm 25! Tweeenty-fiiive! I've lived a quarter of a century now, and it's all downhill from here."
Even though he lay flat on his back and blood bubbled from his nose, I couldn't help feel that he deserved it. The ring of spectators apparently felt the same way too, since no one came forward to help him.
What else would you expect in a New York City subway at rush hour?
I was 3,000 miles away when it happened. So I can't truly understand how my fellow New Yorkers felt, can I?
My friends tell me how they're constantly nervous, anxious, and depressed to the point of crying. They tell me of the languishing dust and stagnant smell of the dead. They tell me about the relentless rumors of bomb scares and (unfortunately now somewhat justified) bioterrorist attacks.
They tell me all that, and how am I to really understand all the way here in California?
Weekly random rambles, musings & writings of Mike Lee in San Francisco, CA