Nothing green can stay

After many walks in my neighborhood, I've decided that there are two types of people that inhabit it. There are the friendly, albeit usually somewhat shy, people that say hi and smile and comment about how cute my dog is.

Then there are those that watch me with hawks' eyes and throw a fit if your dog sets foot in their yard, even if it was only a foot off the sidewalk. (For the record, I'm sure these people have reason to be wary, because I've seen dog owners who have retractable leashes and let their dogs run all over people's yards. These people also often do not clean up after their dogs. I am not one of these people. My leash is not retractable and I have poopy bags attached to the leash. I consider myself a very courteous dog owner.)

I met one of the second types of people tonight. I was walking by and saw this middle-aged lady outside, and she seemed to be pleasant enough. As I was almost past her property, I paused long enough to read a text message I had gotten. She began walking toward me and in a most amicable way told me I could keep walking. I looked up and smiled; I must say I was a bit confused at so obvious a statement. I think she sensed my confusion and clarified that I could continue down the block to the park and that I was not welcome on her property.

I already knew there were people like this, but I was a bit stunned at the audacity of this woman. I informed her, in matched amicability, that the sidewalk was public property. With a smile on her face, she pointed out that my dog was not on the sidewalk, but was in fact standing on her grass. I looked down, past the bag of poop that I was holding which symbolized my courteousness, and realized that she was right--my dog had two paws in her grass. I simply shrugged.

She then began telling me that she spent a lot of money on her grass. I congratulated her on this. Since she was sharing, I felt compelled to share how much money I spend on my dog, which is really very little. I don't think she liked this, and so I took my first step towards the rest of my walk. She thanked me for going on my way. I informed her in the nicest way I could that she needed to get a life, and she replied that she had one.

I couldn't help but smile as I walked away and thought to myself how all the grass will be brown in a couple weeks. I wonder what she'll live for then.

Life as Story

I'm reading Don Miller's latest book, "A Million Miles in a Thousand Years", and liking it. The book has two plots that run concurrently--one about trying to write a movie about his life (which isn't over), and the other about his actual life (which isn't over). Both plots hinge on the elements of a successful story.

You can't help but read this book without thinking of your life as narrative, without thinking about the story you're creating and whether it's worth telling or listening to. Viewing life in this way turns everything upside down it seems. As Miller points out, humanity has a natural inclination to pursue comfort and stability. And these are not bad, inherently evil things...but they do make for a pretty boring story. Good stories involve risk, (or if I may borrow from my previous post, vulnerability).

I think that men, more than anything else, want their lives to make for a good story (women too?). I'm sure I'm not the only guy to think about what my eulogy might say. We want our lives to mean something, to be filled with good story, to last longer than we ourselves do. Like good stories, we want to be remembered. At our funeral, we want to picque our grandchildren's and great-grandchildren's interest--not bore them. And yet, it strikes me that what we spend the great majority of our time pursuing is the stuff that makes for a yawner.

Yes, it strikes me that what I spend the great majority of my time pursuing is the stuff that makes for a yawner.