When did that sheer, unbridled, ecstatic joy that we got as children when we were playing turn into our leisure time activities becoming difficult, arduous and imbued with the most unsavory of human emotions and behaviors? To put it simply, when did the fun stuff cease to be fun? When did the things that we are supposed to be doing for relaxation and pleasure become as arduous, if not more so, as work. It seems to me that the lines between work and leisure are becoming far more blurred, less like a weekend on the lake and more like time on the clock.
Perhaps this isn't all that new. Perhaps I'm just seeing things more clearly, and there are lots of reasons that might be the case. That is certainly not outside of the realm of possibility, but as I look back on my life, this does seem to be new. I started showing dogs at the age of 30 and I started doing drag at the age of 47. It's not like I was pushed into child beauty pageants at the age of 5, or thrust into competitive sports (I was not, and my ability to throw a ball will attest to that fact).
Let's face it, life, for the most part, is competitive. We compete against others for the good job. We sit in line outside all night waiting for the best tickets to the game. For Christ's sake, we will stand out overnight in the sub-zero weather outside the Wal-Mart doors to be the first inside the day after Thanksgiving so we can be the first motherfuckers to have that coolest new video game console or that piece of crap ginormous flat screen television. Side note: this last day-after Thanksgiving, I actually did go to my first door-buster sale. Home Depot had these 40,000 btu patio heaters for $99 (ridonkulously low price) and I wanted two. There I was, out on a crisp late autumn morning with a few dozen or so other folks at 5:45 am for a 6:00 opening. I was up toward the front, but thankfully people were far more well-behaved than the news footage you see every year of some poor unlucky chump who gets mauled to death or near-death by a stampeding crowd. That said, there was still a rather noxious frenzy to get in the door, and I won't lie, I was in spirit of the moment. I didn't step over anybody to get to the display where the heaters were, but I also didn't saunter leisurely over there either.
I got the last 2 heaters, and being so lost in the feeling of triumphant smugness, I was really a bit of an ass to the next person that came looking. It was likely not noticeable to him or would it have been to anybody but me, but when I told him that I got the last two, I was feeling so superior to this guy, that on the inside I secretly hated myself a little. His crime that was that he was either not so invested in getting the damned crap and was taking his time and moving at his usual, relaxed comfortable pace, or he was just a little slower than me for a myriad of reasons. Rather than either just stating simply that I believed they were all gone, offering to help him look to see if there were more or offer him one of mine, I just rolled my cart away in a smug and self-righteous manner. Served him right, I thought, you have to be fast and early.
I am digressing as I try to make this point, which is really to ask why this pervasive, me-over-you, claw your way to the top, early bird gets the worm mentality has now weaseled its way into our leisure time. More specifically, am I right in my observation, and if I am, than why I am only seeing it now? Perhaps it is being less than a year from seeing my half-century mark on the planet. Maybe it is living most of my adult life dealing with more than one serious health challenge. Last year, at the age of 48, I had officially lived half of my life with HIV. There are perhaps a few thousand of those like me who have survived for so long. It could be that my experience as of late of facing Hepatitis C, and a treatment that is in the short term (that term being 48-72 weeks) is far worse than the disease is coloring my perception. Maybe it's a little bit about losing my spouse (satirical ironic tone, for the record). I haven't experienced the loss of a child, but I imagine that is probably the only loss that is more traumatic. I can never replace Ken. I used to be furious about that. Now I have a resignation about it, but not one you see when somebody gives up, it's more the one you see when people finally reconcile a life-altering loss. Maybe the societal values have always been this way. If they have, then I have lived most of my life in blissful ignorance or a glass bubble.
After Ken died, all that I found fun lost it luster. I didn't care if I ever went to another dog show much less won at one. I didn't really care about anything, other than my small circle of trusted friends and my dogs. Thank God for the dogs, they were my connection to the "real" world. That I had to get out of bed at least twice a day and feed them was more motivating than any personal needs. These creatures also gave me unconditional love, the real true unconditional love. It didn't matter to them how healthy, pretty, sexy, skinny, smart I was or how much money I had. They just loved me because I was me, and for the most part, I love them in the same manner. Other animals are far superior to humans when it comes to having the ability to love unconditionally.
It's funny, when one of the dogs do something that really pisses me off, my response has pretty much taken a 180 from how I used to respond. Rather than being angry and blowing my top (as was typical of me in the past), I usually (immediately) get that gentle reminder that they didn't do it to piss me off, and they didn't know that what they did was wrong. I have come to realize that pretty much every time, it's my fault. I'm their guardian. They are 100% reliant on me. I am supposed to protect them. Additionally, if something material is valuable to me, it needs to be out of reach. Maybe they are bored and not getting enough attention from me. Pretty much always, I can project it right back to me. I'm reminded here of the old adage that when you are pointing your finger at somebody, there are three pointing back at you.
This reels me back in from yet another digression; I see that there is a lot more finger-pointing than I've seen before. I know that I sound like the curmudgeonly old man that I used to roll my eyes at. When I was I child and he told me how much more civilized and polite society was when he was young, I would at best nod patronizingly. I see that now. When I was a child things were far more civilized than they are now, and that observation not coming from some halcyon romantic sentiment that isn't rooted in reality. Back in my day, children could safely go out to play in the streets without parental supervision all day. When I was a kid and summer vacation came around, Mom would kick me out of the house and tell me to go play if I didn't do it on my own, nearly every single day. The only rule was that I had to be home for dinner, or call for permission to stay out later. Fathers didn't punch little league coaches in the face for pulling their child out of the game. We didn't talk back to our teachers, much less bring weapons into school and wage a massacre. We were taught to win and lose with graciousness and manners. Fun was fun, and sometimes work was even fun. Even if work was drudgery, we made better use of our leisure time.
This makes me ask: is fun ever going to become fun again? Does winning matter so much that you have to step over a pile of friends, acquaintances and (imagined) foes to get there? Can there be grace in winning and losing, and can real life's lessons come be learned from the experience? I can answer that at least for me, over the last year or two, I've told myself that if my hobbies aren't bringing me joy and pleasure then I will stop doing them, at least temporarily. I've been pretty true to my convictions in that regard. If I win, how nice, if I lose, oh well, it's just a dog show, drag show, car show, horse show or marathon. Lives aren't resting on the outcome. If losing is leaving me (or you) feeling only like we've been screwed over, that is a red flag. I know my friends have noticed this change, I hear it all the time: "why aren't you doing dog shows anymore Parry? Why aren't you doing (fill in the blank) any more?" Well, maybe it's just because I don't want to. Or maybe I just can't do it because I'm waging a war in my body with what seems like every pathogen known to man.
Believe me, I'll still listen to the gossip from my friends, but now, I really feel a very comfortable detachment from the drama. The bonus has been that life as a whole is getting at least a little more fun again. Even with all my health issues, I am enjoying life as much as I can, and by the same token, doing everything I can to take care of myself. A big part of that is reducing the stressors in my my life over which I have control. I also make sure that I eat healthily, and hopefully, I'll at some point I'll have the energy to start a gentle moderate physical fitness regime again, even if that only means daily walks in my neighborhood.
Tonight will be Week 2 of the Interferon injections. Oh joy. Honestly, I can't complain, at least so far. Feeling flu-like for a couple of days afterward isn't that far from my normal feeling, thanks to Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. There are certainly more things that can (and likely will) crop up further along into the therapy. I haven't even reached peak blood levels of Interferon yet; that usually takes 4+ weeks. In the end, if this gets me through this battle and stops the disease progression then it will be worth it. I'm not a stranger to challenges and struggles, I would just like to not have all of them happen at the same time.
Ta-ta for now. Or as Elvis would say: "thank you, thank you very much"
Doggydad's Life Now: The Viral Monologues by Parry Tallmadge is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at doggydad.blogspot.com.
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