My friend Greg has the greatest concept of the afterlife. There's no heaven or hell; there's a barbecue. When we die, we hang out on someone's deck and exchange stories about our latest adventures -- recounting the beautiful, the stupid and the crazy about our most recent life. A series of doors surrounds the perimeter. Friends consistently come and go, more stories are recounted and hilarity ensues. Those of us present can view, comment, and sometimes even weigh-in on different situations through a series of big screen televisions. "Dude, did you see what Mike just did?! ...what a jack-ass!"
So imagine the predicament in which I found myself last week when one of my asshole buddies opened my proverbial door, screamed "Catch!" and threw me this moneyball: (...because I know shit like this is not merely happenstance.) Scene-- my latest and greatest romantic interest had disappeared. The disappearance coincided with some pretty suspect timing and once again I was left pondering the question, "Why do 40 year olds act like 19 year olds?" I deleted his number from my phone and started forward. A month passed.
Last week as I was running from account to account, I looked down to see that I had a "missed call" from Moneyball out of the blue (yes, I memorized his number...and his birthday too). This shocks me, but due to the fact that the light I was at turned green, I could do nothing more than process until I arrived at my next destination. By that point, I had a text. The first line read, "I saw you called..." ...no, I didn't call you, bitch. I'm a Leo, I have a lot of pride, and I would NEVER call you.... So I checked my phone...and to my horror confirmed that yes, I had indeed dialed his number about an hour and a half earlier. ...Apparently, while debating the merits of the song "Moondance" with a friend from Chicago via text, I had somehow left my phone unlocked, chucked it in my purse and -- on it's own -- it located a number from approximately a month earlier and decided to call it. ..."Catch!" ...of all the gin joints in all the mother-fucking world....
A lot had to align correctly for that remote possibility to become reality. I learned from all my years watching Oprah, that when the universe gives you a sign -- a tap, if you will -- you should listen. Because the next sign will be a shove. And then a brick to the head. And then a brick wall falling down on you. And it certainly wasn't out of the realm of possibilities that my" brick wall" could come in the form of me being drunk in a public place months from now, still angry, screaming at him about what an asshole he was in front of important clients, and then vomiting on his shoes. So I returned the phone call.
I was hoping for closure, but I didn't really get it. Instead, a couple of cutting comments were placed upon me and I quickly ended the scenario. Once I hung up, I received a follow up text further explaining some suspect behavior. Again, information not particularly helpful to me. It took a few days to process, but after a while it occurred to me that the phone call ...had nothing to do with me. He needed an outlet and I happened to be there. I was a stand-in -- the lighting tech who is called onstage so that the main actor can run the scene until his co-star arrives. The light tech stands there, out of her element, very ready to leave...but she's a team player and realizes this is what the eccentric actor needs in the moment. So for the greater good, she takes one for the team. ...it's part of her contract.
As a lawyer, I've studied contracts (and not to brag, but I even got an "A" in the class). I understand that the pay-off may sometimes be greater for one party than another. I understand that the value of the agreement may not be readily apparent to some. But overall, I do believe in the bargaining process. And in the game of life, I believe in soul contracts: agreements made long before I decided to arrive on the planet about what I would contribute to my fellow players. For some, I've agreed to be a bitch. For others, a doormat. And sometimes, merely the lighting technician. This is fine, because part of this contract includes other's contributions to my own development. It might not pay off right away -- maybe not this decade. Maybe not even this lifetime. Hell, it might not involve those associated with the originally agreement - "If you just do this for John, the next round is on me." Some people call this karma. Some people think it's sacrilegious. And some think it's crazy. But I know for myself, I can stomach this reality a lot more than sitting with the fact that I chose to devote much time and attention to someone who turned out to be very selfish.
A final thought to my friend at the barbecue -- when I get back, I am sooo gonna kick your ass.
So imagine the predicament in which I found myself last week when one of my asshole buddies opened my proverbial door, screamed "Catch!" and threw me this moneyball: (...because I know shit like this is not merely happenstance.) Scene-- my latest and greatest romantic interest had disappeared. The disappearance coincided with some pretty suspect timing and once again I was left pondering the question, "Why do 40 year olds act like 19 year olds?" I deleted his number from my phone and started forward. A month passed.
Last week as I was running from account to account, I looked down to see that I had a "missed call" from Moneyball out of the blue (yes, I memorized his number...and his birthday too). This shocks me, but due to the fact that the light I was at turned green, I could do nothing more than process until I arrived at my next destination. By that point, I had a text. The first line read, "I saw you called..." ...no, I didn't call you, bitch. I'm a Leo, I have a lot of pride, and I would NEVER call you.... So I checked my phone...and to my horror confirmed that yes, I had indeed dialed his number about an hour and a half earlier. ...Apparently, while debating the merits of the song "Moondance" with a friend from Chicago via text, I had somehow left my phone unlocked, chucked it in my purse and -- on it's own -- it located a number from approximately a month earlier and decided to call it. ..."Catch!" ...of all the gin joints in all the mother-fucking world....
A lot had to align correctly for that remote possibility to become reality. I learned from all my years watching Oprah, that when the universe gives you a sign -- a tap, if you will -- you should listen. Because the next sign will be a shove. And then a brick to the head. And then a brick wall falling down on you. And it certainly wasn't out of the realm of possibilities that my" brick wall" could come in the form of me being drunk in a public place months from now, still angry, screaming at him about what an asshole he was in front of important clients, and then vomiting on his shoes. So I returned the phone call.
I was hoping for closure, but I didn't really get it. Instead, a couple of cutting comments were placed upon me and I quickly ended the scenario. Once I hung up, I received a follow up text further explaining some suspect behavior. Again, information not particularly helpful to me. It took a few days to process, but after a while it occurred to me that the phone call ...had nothing to do with me. He needed an outlet and I happened to be there. I was a stand-in -- the lighting tech who is called onstage so that the main actor can run the scene until his co-star arrives. The light tech stands there, out of her element, very ready to leave...but she's a team player and realizes this is what the eccentric actor needs in the moment. So for the greater good, she takes one for the team. ...it's part of her contract.
As a lawyer, I've studied contracts (and not to brag, but I even got an "A" in the class). I understand that the pay-off may sometimes be greater for one party than another. I understand that the value of the agreement may not be readily apparent to some. But overall, I do believe in the bargaining process. And in the game of life, I believe in soul contracts: agreements made long before I decided to arrive on the planet about what I would contribute to my fellow players. For some, I've agreed to be a bitch. For others, a doormat. And sometimes, merely the lighting technician. This is fine, because part of this contract includes other's contributions to my own development. It might not pay off right away -- maybe not this decade. Maybe not even this lifetime. Hell, it might not involve those associated with the originally agreement - "If you just do this for John, the next round is on me." Some people call this karma. Some people think it's sacrilegious. And some think it's crazy. But I know for myself, I can stomach this reality a lot more than sitting with the fact that I chose to devote much time and attention to someone who turned out to be very selfish.
A final thought to my friend at the barbecue -- when I get back, I am sooo gonna kick your ass.
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