David McElroy

making sense of a dysfunctional culture

Life as misunderstood stranger feels like walking through a fog

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I was walking out of Walmart Friday night into the 44-degree night air — one of our coldest recently — and I saw a well-dressed and attractive woman, about 30, walking toward the door with her arms folded tightly to her body.

“You look really cold,” I said sympathetically.

“Yeah, I am,” she said and then added in a playful but seductive tone. “Did you want to keep me warm?”

Then she realized what she had just said to a stranger and she looked stricken.

“I am so sorry,” she stammered. “I don’t know why I said that. I just….”

And she suddenly took off for the inside of the store to avoid explaining herself further. It was amusing, but I could feel her embarrassment at having said something vaguely suggestive to a man who she didn’t know — and who she couldn’t possibly explain herself to.

Though I laughed inside, it left me thinking — yet again — how little we understand each other. And it made me think again that living among strangers we don’t understand is like constantly walking through a thick fog.

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Don’t believe angry words and deception from a wounded heart

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I didn’t believe Mark when he told me he was through waiting for Ruth, but he believed it enough to write a song about it.

He sent me a copy of the demo seven years ago. It was a good start for what could have been a popular country song, because it was filled with the angst of saying goodbye to someone who had caused grief and confusion. It expressed feelings that everyone has experienced at some point.

The verses were full of anger and hurt. He was putting his love for Ruth in a hole and burying it. He was done with her “silly games” and her “selfish needs.” And the chorus ended with, “You’re not gonna break my heart; I’m sayin’ goodbye.”

Mark and Ruth went their separate ways. Each one of them made decisions based on the assumption that things were over for good. Each had his or her own reasons. To protect each of them, I won’t say more than that here.

Mark lives a thousand miles away now, but I had dinner with him this week when he came to town. It turns out I was right not to believe his wounded heart when he swore he was finished with Ruth.

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‘The moment we begin to seek love, love begins to seek us and save us’

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   “What is the world’s greatest lie?” the little boy asks.
   The old man replies, “It’s this: that at a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what’s happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate. That’s the world’s greatest lie.”
   — Paulo Coelho, “The Alchemist”

The beginning of a new year is a good time for me to re-read Paulo Coelho’s powerful novel, “The Alchemist.” Although the lessons are taught through the narrative of young Santiago, the book isn’t as much traditional literature as it as a reminder of things which I’ve always known are true.

When I was a young man, my thoughts at the beginning of a year were about what I was going to cause to happen in the next year. As I experienced more of life, it became easier to believe I was just waiting to see what life would bring to me — as though fate controlled everything and I was merely along for the ride.

On this New Year’s Eve, my thoughts are more like those I experienced in my younger years. I’m looking toward what I am going to cause to happen. I’m looking toward my dreams — the big ones and the small ones — and I’m letting Coelho remind me that, “It’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.”

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