I have been a lot of people in my life.
That isn’t to say that I have multiple personality disorder.
You might ask, why even mention this? Let me explain why.
My possible lack of mental integrity is a persistent rumor that has followed me around for decades, in part because I am stupid enough to try to explain myself to others.
Stupid or hopeful. I don’t know the difference, really.
So here it is, the truth: I see multiple points of view at once. I think sideways. I always have. I could tell you stories from my childhood, of various coping mechanisms I used, to deal with the unlikely fate that resided within my skull. But none of this makes me insane. It makes me an artist, possibly a good leader, and an utterly female female.
Or maybe it just makes me Shaun Murphy from The Good Doctor.
Perhaps then it isn’t a surprise that my favorite novel is The Wizard of Oz. Or that I adored the Narnia series. I understood that sometimes the world doesn’t want to recognize the unusual, but that doesn’t mean the unusual is evil or bad or unloveable.
Instead, it means that the unusual is beautiful and unique. I now embrace this truth.
Therefore, thus… all of this makes me wonder: why do people hate so much?
Concession: I admit it.
You can’t expect to win an argument without a concession. So here you go.
I really dislike some people. There were a couple of mean girls growing up who had more anger in them then the Good Lord ever gave room for. There was my former mentor and first boss in the profession that I chose as my formal education, who belittled me and backed me into a corner (literally) before he sexually assaulted me.
All those people, with reasons for me to hate them, and yet—if God were to build an ark and ask Noah to fill it up, all that ridiculously illogical non-science of my religious childhood. Still… if it were even possible and happening… still… still… yes. Yes, I would forgive them and their loved ones and tell them to climb up the ramp to salvation.
So, yeah. I don’t get hate or vendettas or anything that would make you project injury upon someone you’d just met, who never did you any personal harm.
And even then, I mean… seriously. There are people out there in the digital world who need to hear this message. An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.
Love and let live.
But please, listen to me when I say from the heart: lay off the pot.
Or at least, the current manifestation of marijuana now available through dispensaries.
Do I know what I am talking about? Yes. Refer to first comment and believe me, please.
I used to have a drug dealer; I swear it is true. She rolled my joints and put them in a lacquered case (which I bought on 4th Avenue in Tucson, and hid from my church-going father and rigid-as-a-rod cop brother, in the black underwear of my dresser). Then we would light up a bong and talk about elephants. It was lovely.
I became her client back in 2000 because I was recently divorced, and I desperately needed to lose weight so that I could get back “on the market.” The marijuana was an afterthought, to help me come down from the speed.
But the pot made me paranoid, and ultimately I made some bad choices that I will regret for the rest of my life. I will accept my own portion of mistake, but no more than that.
Love is the only truth that will save any of us. Mote it be, amen, good luck.
But trust me on the pot. Mellow and occasional might be okay, but big-time and daily can seriously mess with your head.