Michael: Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Black and gold beetle
On its back slowly winding
Away its time here.


The Masai tribesman stood out as he walked down the quiet neighborhood street in Volcan. Our meeting was of a couple of vagrants wandering through a country that wasn’t our own. He was a Kenyan runner and we were middle aged Americans heading toward the organic market at the Catholic church.

He talked to us about his accomplishments and how difficult it was to make a living as an athlete here. He had missed a meeting with a woman who has
helped him out in the past and was now hungry after his long morning run.
We helped, but we didn’t feel clean about it.

Am I envious because people take him seriously and would only laugh at me and thank me for my comical performance of showing my portfolio highlighting my athletic prowess if I did as he did? Maybe. Yet we all are, or have been dreamers. A few of those we know, for reasons both named and mysterious, succeed. Many of us keep at it through various levels of success and satisfaction. But why should some of us expect to have our palms greased when asking for it, while others, striving with just as much heart and vigor, are denied?

I understand dreams. I have a difficult time with that form of expected entitlement. I haven’t been wronged. He hasn’t been wronged. Most of us often labor, some for all our lives, at jobs or careers that are not even remotely close to our childhood re-enactment of that Super Bowl pass, or
perfect World Series game, half court buzzer beater…That doesn’t mean I’m spiteful and want to hold everyone back, but it also doesn’t make me want to give out my money to a healthy young man just because he hasn’t made it as a pro and has his hand out.