We have all done this right; you drive up to a place or you walk into a place or you throw a look at someone and just feel or look or feel like you look better than usual and you wish it was all happening in slow motion with the appropriate song playing in the background (mine would be Hollywood Forever Cemetery by Father John Misty). Well that is how my morning was this morning. After a record shattering 7 hours of sleep my son and I rode our bikes to his school to drop him off and as we strode onto those school grounds I wished I had a slow motion machine. We felt pretty awesome and looked even better!
Last night a long sober friend and I were talking about how to stay sober and he said he has a zero tolerance policy in letting his fantasies and obsessions get a foothold and I was thinking how nice it must be to have such confidence. Now given, he has a lot of years behind him and has earned that confidence, but I have made the mistake of getting cocky during my attempts to stop drinking and as a result I have been knocked down and kicked hard, so needless to say I am a little gun shy and stray away from phrases like “zero tolerance policy” when it comes to my sobriety, though I know and appreciate what he means. The only certainty I am willing to proclaim is that I haven’t had a drink in going on 7 days now and am feeling great about it. Now, if I had a slow motion machine and I could slow those moments of frustration or anxiety down and I could watch the words, cursed, leave my mouth and simply grab them and stick them in my pocket along with whatever crisis I am in the middle of and step back in my slow motion and asses the situation then I may have more confidence, but alas, I don’t have a machine like that. All I have is this body and this brain and a fear that is keeping me healthy right now.
On my way to go fishing this morning I passed a bad wreck on the road. 5 or 6 cars had already stopped and were trying to help and I thought about stopping as well, but all I have is a cell phone to offer and there were plenty in use all around the scene. A white sedan and been hit by a large truck, the results of which looked dire. As I slowly rolled past I could see, through the people milling around, the passenger, an older gentleman, rubbing the shoulder of the driver, whom I assume is/was his wife. I don’t know the results of that wreck but it makes me wonder about motions: turning a wheel, riding a bike, opening a bottle. All of these motions have consequences and slow motion machines don’t exist in reality, so it is up to the us, the machines of this reality, to think carefully before we make them.