Musing

[written and published from south Calgary, near Fish Creek Park]

4C/38F, overcast, showers likely; lone Mallard male paddles across the lagoon while Gusta wonders about her swim skills only to watch him fly away, no doubt to distract us from noticing his nesting mate

my youngest daughter Krista visited yesterday; we introduced her fella to his first leg of lamb before heading out to a movie . . visit quality is never determined by the amount of time spent, but by the quality of the hug at the beginning and hug at the end

meet someone, anyone, with an open mind in your head, palms open to shaking their hand, arms open for a hug . . imagine, just imagine, how you might make someone else feel to say nothing of what you do for you . . . just try it; every time I meet someone new I have the eager anticipation of a curious five-year old, the patience of a fifty-five year old, the energy of a seventeen-year old; a 3-way approach; what happens for you when you meet someone new? . . are your palms sweaty, are you anxious . . nervous?

any given week I probably encounter people in these ways on the phone, by email or in passing in a large group; most of us encounter countless people every day, every week - they are in line with us at the grocery store, they are across a counter or in the next lane of traffic or the next call in or out; strangers nearly all . . some will stop to say ‘hey, lets get acquainted’ while most pass on by as we do – never connecting, never exploring each other, never knowing the depth of each other, never knowing if there was potential for knowing yet another person, and knowing them well - what do I know of them?

someone challenged me the other day - at first it sounded like a taunt I've heard before; it was a woman I've never met writing to tell me the reason I am having trouble finding a suitable partner is because I was not associating with the right people, that I was some kind of scoundrel and, yes, she used the term 'womanizer'; I've had that kind of commentary before but I've rarely had it from anyone who knows me particularly well; that could simply mean that my friends are kind and withhold such comments . . on the other hand it might be because they know a more complete view of me; the burr under my saddle this morning is not an issue of any one person seeing me, my comments, my writing or my motives any particular way - that is up to anyone to choose their view based on a particular vantage point

I have (don’t all writers?) a 3-way split personality; on one hand the ego-driven desire to be praised, admired, adored, respected for our skill cobbling word sets together; on another hand, the desire to be a fly on the wall . . anonymous to those I might write about, anonymous in a crowd, better than a fly on the wall – to just be the wall; on a third hand, the self-doubting pile of mush succumbing to the cowardly critic who offers nothing new, the critic who fails to argue an alternated point of view, the critic who flings dirt when nothing dirtier is available to fling

at different moments I love this 3-way thing, or I hate it; I remember reading about and watching interviews of highly successful writers (Peter Newman comes to mind) who became reclusive when they got a bad review - confidence deflated by the skewer of one or two naysayer voices without considering that others didn’t, 6 billion people said nothing, most did not care, but because one person spewed bile, that 3-way monkey appeared on his (my) back

I know how I feel . . but often wonder about others; sometimes it is someone who reads this daily column saying ‘hi, I would like to meet you’, sometimes it is someone I encounter along the way who says they read musings . . or they have read something else I’ve published – they want to say hi, they want to connect - we have not met, not shared a handshake . . we have talked so briefly it is hard to say we have talked much at all

they might be on-the-money or way off on another tangent, but we never really know until we meet and explore someone but whether or not we ever do, . .

impressions have been formed; the most significant people in my life did not appear that way when I first met them, but looking back there was ... in each instance ... a spectacular impression of some kind in the beginning - like 'the' great golf shot that keeps us coming back for more, I pay attention to those impressions and find them unforgettable

some people fit us like a very soft kid glove, some like a catcher's mitt, some like a Glad garbage bag; far more important than finding 'the' person who could be all things to me and I all things to her, I am interested in meeting someone who thrills the curious five-year old AND the curious fifty five-year old AND, perhaps also thrills the seventeen-year old


Mark Kolke
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