These strange earth creatures called humans have some self-sabotaging ways. None is stranger than the amount of their short lives they devote to unanswerable questions and impossible expectations.
With chagrin I confess to you that I am one of these strange earth creatures called humans. I further confess that I am guilty of wasting many hours wrestling with unanswerable questions and creating impossible expectations.
One reason I admired my late friend, Hoyle Picklesimer, was that he at least deleted from his mind one of those questions. I mean the one that is so difficult it is like a bow-legged man trying to catch a greasy pig in a round ditch. It is probably one of the first questions we ask when we first arrive on the Big Blue Pearl and look around at all the giants standing over us saying “kitchy kitchy koo.” Speaking of unanswerable questions, what in the world do people mean when they tickle you under the chin and say, “Kitchy kitchy koo?” As a baby I remember wondering, “Is that my name? Am I Chinese?”
The daddy of all questions actually precedes wondering about the meaning of “kitchy kitchy koo,” and that is, “What am I doing here? Am I here to do great things? If so, why can’t I change my own diaper? Why can’t I walk and talk? Why can’t I fly like those birds outside my window instead of lying here waiting for someone to bring me a bottle?”
I asked Hoyle if he had ever wondered about these fundamental questions of budding humanoids flung into life on Planet Earth. He said, “No, I never have.”
I was shocked. My mind was flooded with disbelief and admiration. Disbelief because those questions had pounded my brain since cribhood. Admiration that I had actually found one man who refused to waste his tiny life span wrestling with the big, greasy, muscle-bound mysteries of life.
I relentlessly kidded Hoyle when I had my rare chances to sit and talk with him. I loved to kid him like a chicken hawk loves to swoop down on a plump young pullet waddling around the barnyard. So I said, “Well, Hoyle, you don’t have to wonder about that because it has been revealed to me what your purpose is. You were put here so I would have somebody to play with.”
Hoyle took a long sip of his coffee and answered, “I will say one thing: I have certainly fulfilled my calling.”
When his health broke and we both knew his time was limited I asked, “Would you come back as my Guardian Angel and hit me upside the head every time I start wasting my time trying to answer questions I have no business asking?” He said, “Yeah, but if I am going to have to hang around you that close you are simply going to have to learn to pick and sing a little bit better.” Every time I ever engaged Hoyle in a battle of wits, he always got in the last good lick.
I have not learned to pick and sing any better so Hoyle has not showed up to help me. I am still wrestling with those big, sweaty, greasy muscle-bound mysteries.
I also continue to afflict myself with impossible expectations. Like thinking I can change people. I have lived over half a century and had to stick dynamite in both ears to change any of my habitual patterns. To see any of my self-improvements you would need a floodlight and a large magnifying glass. Yet, I still wise off to people about what they ought to do.
I am now practicing guitar six hours a day and taking singing lessons in the hope that Hoyle will take over my hard head and break me from wrestling with these big monster mysteries. He did it while living a very creative life as a design engineer so there is surely hope for me.
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