Evolution Is Beautiful by Nature: The Revolution Inherent in Evolution

This morning I awoke and ventured over to my poet friend Poet Rhythm’s site, SisterGarten, where she has composed a wonderful piece dealing with musical artists and artistic evolution entitled “In the Shadows of Our Younger Selves.”

And even as I was finishing my comment on the post, the phone rang, and on the line was a cousin from home calling to see if I would be coming home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. As I spoke to him, a line from Poet Rhythm’s post suddenly came to mind—“Evolution is beautiful by nature”.

As a young person, everyone has that favorite cousin, that cousin a few years older than you that you completely idolize, that you follow doggedly behind and try to emulate in all things. Well for me, that cousin who phoned this morning is that cousin.

When we were children and young men, we were so close that when someone saw one of us, they naturally looked around for the other. However, as adults there is a certain distance between us, both literally and figuratively.

At one time after I left home, we spoke on the phone frequently, at least once a week. Then the frequency slowed to once every few weeks. Then, we spoke only every few months or so. Now we usually only speak when I drop into town.

And it’s not that my affection for my cousin has lessened in any way. I wish that we could speak more. I really wish that we could find more occasions to laugh together, to enjoy each other’s company. But now our conversations have ceased to be unique; each is an exact facsimile of the rest. The main topics he wishes to discuss are women, cars, and weed,and in that exact order.

Additionally, he still lives with his mother. He has several children by several different women which I suspect he doesn’t support because he only works enough to take care of his car, the only thing he owns. The attention he gives that car baffles me.

He is the same person I idolized as a young man, that I sought to emulate. And that is the problem.

I know so many people, and I meet so many people who seem unwilling or unable to change, to evolve. They are the same people today that they were last year. And the year before. And the year before that.

And I hear these people complaining, bemoaning the fact that they seem to find themselves in a rut, wishing that somehow, someway, something different, something spectacular, something dynamic occurs in their lives to make their lives better, but when you suggest that they might want to change a few things, they balk at the notion. Perhaps the familiar, even if it is inimical to their happiness, to their self-fulfillment, is more desirable than the unfamiliar as suggested by change.

But I believe change to be necessary. I see change as inevitable. In fact, to not change or evolve is unnatural. If you are the same person right now that you were last week, or last month, or last year, or five or ten years ago, something is wrong. To change, to embrace change, to embrace evolution is naturally beautiful.

To be able to stand back and take account of yourself, to be able to honestly assess and admit your faults and shortcomings, is a necessary part of change, of evolution, and is truly a revolutionary act. Most of us would rather close our eyes to the worst parts of ourselves and remain stagnant rather than evolve into the best person that we can possibly be.

But back to my cousin. I last saw him this past summer. In the cool of the evening, we sat under a shade tree in his mother’s front yard just as did as young people. We talked, we laughed, and we teased one another just as we did as young people.

And at some point in the evening we decided to walk to the corner grocery just as we had as young people. To my surprise, the corner grocery had not changed all that much since I had last been there about twenty years ago, except then it was owned by a Jewish family, and now it is owned by a Palestinian family.

When we returned from the store, he uncapped his quart of Colt 45 malt liquor, poured out just a bit for the brothers no longer with us, tilted the bottle to his lips, and took a long, deep swig. He then held the bottle in my direction just as he would have when we were young people. But at that moment I hesitated for just a moment before finally accepting the bottle and taking my turn.

When I gave the bottle back, he looked at me for a long second. And as he examined my face, I suddenly felt ashamed. I felt out of place. Suddenly this familiar front yard of this familiar house is this familiar neighborhood felt so strange, so foreign.

“You’ve changed,” he finally told me as he gazed at some unidentifiable point across the street. And as I struggled to come up with a rebuttal, as I struggled to come up with a reasonable argument to defend myself, he let me know that it didn’t matter. That he was proud of my change. He was proud of the man I had become. That he wished he too could change, but he simply did not know how.

How Comfortable Are You with Yourself when No One Else Is Around? (A Lesson for My Daughter)

This weekend my children and I took on the project of collecting and sorting the many pictures that can be found in numerous locations throughout our home. Over the years, we seem to have amassed an absolutely massive quantity of pictures. They are stuffed in drawers, hidden away in shoeboxes in the back of closets, stacked neatly in stuffed manila folders and big envelops in file cabinets; they threaten to overwhelm us, so we sought to remedy this problem.

Of course, it was a tedious process, but looking at the old pictures allowed us to reminisce just a bit and even have a good laugh or two. But there was one set of pictures that caught the interest of my children.

Somewhere in the deepest recesses of my closet was a shoebox filled with a number of pre-wife and kids photos. And as they sorted through the photos, they had a lot of questions about my life then. In fact, they even found a group of photos of a young Max in an Amsterdam café. This one took a considerable amount of explaining.

Anyway, at one point my daughter paused to comment on how happy I seemed then. She observed that I always seemed to be at a party or I always seemed to be surrounded by a large group of people. And as I took a look through the photos, I realized that she was right. I guess I had never really noticed before.

I had no individual shots; all the pictures were group shots featuring me at the center, broadly smiling, my arms around the shoulders of this person or that person. The narrative these pictures told made it appear that I was having the time of my life.

However, the funny thing about pictures is that they can only capture the superficial. They can only capture the outward appearance, the façade of a person, in that fraction of a second it takes for the shutter to open and close. They can tell the supposed narrative the person being photographed would like for you to believe at the time, but this narrative is always in question.

So, in case my daughter got the tacit message that spending an afternoon in an Amsterdam café constitutes real fun, or that one needs to be surrounded by crowds of people to be happy, I had to sit down and tell her the truth.

Yes, I seemed to be having the time of my life. Yes, I seemed to be always surrounded by crowds of people. But the truth is I desperately needed those crowds. The truth is I could not stand to be alone with myself. That is why I spent so much time with others. That is why I was always the last to leave the party. I dreaded being alone with myself because then I would have to face the real me replete with too many fears and insecurities to even mention.

Now I know a great many people, but very few do I count as friends. We speak and talk about issues and common interests, and we come together over the various projects I am involved in, but when it is all over, I wave goodbye and find my way home.

My wife and children and my brothers and sisters are those whose company I most welcome. I do have one or two good friends I spend time with every now and then, but otherwise, I prefer to be alone.

Not that I am a misanthrope or anything; however, I like who I am now. I am comfortable with myself. And every now and then, just like this very moment, I just like to sit and think and explore my thoughts and get to know myself a little better.

Back then, I played at happiness. And I acted the part very well as long as there was a supporting cast around. But now I truly am happy. People and friends and crowds have their place, but they do not necessary correlate to true happiness. What really matters is how comfortable you are with yourself when no one else is around.

Love yourself and be a blessing to somebody.

In This House, On This Morning (Max Returns to the Mourners' Bench)

This morning a call from Pops Reddick woke me up way too early. It seems the Right Reverend Pops Reddick has been tagged to give the key note address at some conference or another, and he wanted me to critique his sermon.

And I listened despite the earliness of the hour. I have finally come to the age when I can admit that my dad is actually a very interesting individual. He is like the mad scientist of the theological community. Currently, he is consumed by his own pseudo science which he calls theosophy, a marriage of theology and philosophy.

But anyway, the conversation turned toward church liturgy for some reason or another, and I informed him that I thought the most powerful part of any church service was the culminating altar call or Mourners’ Bench. So, Pops Reddick proceeded to inform me of the psychology undergirding the Mourners’ Bench. And it’s not all about securing one’s place in heaven.

Sitting on the Mourners’ Bench is tantamount to a public confession. And according to Michel Foucault, the public confession accomplishes two things: the public confession establishes guilt and recognizes power. In the instance of the Mourners’ Bench you confess that you are nothing more than a dirty low down sinner and you recognize and give yourself over to the omnipotency of a higher power.

Please stick with me. I am hurrying toward my main point, but first I just had to establish a few things.

Pops Reddick broke it down further in secular terms. At that moment, you must do a bit of soul-searching (excuse the pun). You must weigh yourself. You must decide just who and what you are and where you stand and just who and what you are and where you wish to be.

And the public spectacle is required so that others might bear witness to your moment of transformation and provide you support as well as hold you accountable.

Let me simplify this for the Facebook and Twitter crowd. It’s just like setting up your spiritual profile. Except you have to be really, really honest or your friends and/or followers might call you out.

So, I’ve been contemplating the knowledge Pops Reddick bestowed upon me. And as I enter middle age, I am trying to get a firm grasp on just who or what I am and where I wish to be. In doing so I realize that I have not achieved many of the goals I set for myself so long ago. I realize I am nowhere near where I wish to be personally or professionally. And I need some spiritual help as well.

And I am returning to the Mourners’ Bench to publically confess my shortcomings, to say publically that at this time in my life, I am not yet who or what I wish to be and additionally, recognize my power to be able to change that. I am the only one person with any real bearing on my future, on my success, and I will not give that power over to others by blaming them for my own personal shortcomings and failures.

The door to the realization of my aims and dreams is right in front of me and all I must do is to compel myself to move forward and reach for the door handle, and once I enter, leave the door slightly ajar for those coming behind me.

And I am confessing it here so that you might bear witness to my confession and provide me support as well as hold me accountable.

Do you need to return to the Mourners’ Bench? Have you taken account lately? Do you really know who and what you are and where you are heading personally and professionally? The doors of the church are open.