Potential

Captivating word, isn't it? I mean, isn't it just chock-full of ...of..... potential? Doesn't it just scream myriad possibilities and an endless array of promise?A person can have potential, be a potential, exude potential, not live-up-to his/her potential. A person can see potential in someone else, fulfill his/her own potential, recognize their potential, get excited by potential. Like I said, it's a very captivating word with seemingly endless uses and chock full to the brim with possibilities.

The other evening, D & I were returning from an Easter visit to his sister's place and we stopped enroute at a truck stop to use the restrooms. I walked into a stall and there I saw one single word, scrawled in blue felt tip. All of the walls, in all of the stalls were clean save for this one single word written in lower case print. Potential. Now I've seen some pretty whacky stuff in restrooms. I've seen everything from "here I sit, broken-hearted" to "for a good time call..." I've seen every manner of profanity and I've even seen evidence of squatters before me attempting to wax either poetic, philosophic or prophetic. As I said, I've seen it all. I grew-up in Toronto for heaven's sake so, I'm sure you get the drift. But here, in this truck stop, somewhere east of Kingston, Ontario, just off the 401 highway; here at this truck stop, in this all but for one word graffiti-less bathroom, was one simple word. Potential. I hadn't seen that before.

Apart from wondering how many people before me had witnessed the same word (i.e. was it written this a.m.? or had it been there much longer?)and wondering what those people may or may not have thought about it(did it spark similar deep ponderings? or did they simply notice there were some blue letters on the wall?) I couldn't help but muse what the writer was thinking when they wrote that word. Were they simply trying to recall how to accurately spell the word? Had someone just told them that they had potential? Were they considering the potential outcome of a situation or a choice they had made? Of all of the words in the English language, this is the one that they chose to print in lower-case blue felt-tip lettering inside a woman's bathroom stall, in a truck stop on Hwy 401 (just east of Kingston.) It staggers the mind. The possible choices are endless yet they decided on "potential."

Narcissist that I am, the next logical step in my mental process was the question did I have any potential? Oh, I'd been told myriad times when I was young that I had plenty of it (all of it seemingly dormant and unused because the only comments I can recall contained phrases such as "you're not living up to your potential by making this choice", etc.) Nonetheless, it seemed I had had some at some point. The question was though, did I still have it or had I somehow wasted it?

I thought about all of the things that I'd ever wanted to put my hand to. I thought about the things that I would still like to put my hand to. I thought of the things that I know I do well. I thought of my personality and the things I enjoy doing. I thought about what my particular learned talents are and in what way they too could best be utilized. I thought about what makes me happy and if there was a way in which I could marry all of these considerations as best as possible, say in a particular career. Needless to say, there was much introspection taking place in that there stall over the duration of the average pee.


The instrospection then continued on the remaining car ride home. Chewing my Nibs and watching the lights pass by, I kept wondering how these considerations could best be met; in what particular career choice would I best be suited (age old question really because I've been asking myself this since my early 20s.) If I truly believed that one choice was the best, that one choice would best fulfill all of the considerations I mentioned AND make me the most happy, I would pursue it relentlessly until my dying day. There is no mountain, either literal or figurative, that could stop my progress. Problem is, I've never been "sure" that anything was the best choice. I always second guess myself. I'm always asking myself if I'm sure whether or not I've made a mistake in making a particular choice. Sigh. It's a vicious cycle.

We arrived home and I wrote one simple word in my journal, in blue felt-tip pen.

Potential.

Then I went to bed.

The Mysterious Disappearance/Reappearance of Hope

Where does hope go when it goes away?

Hope is like a tonic. Imagine you're run-down and you basically feel like crap. (In my case, my imagination can take a rest here because I am run-down and feel like crap!) Along comes Dr. Herbal Health and recommends this tonic. You take it and lo' and behold, you feel great again! Instantly! Amazing.

Hope is like that. You feel like crap. The sun, as you perceive it, is never going to come-out again from behind those steely grey clouds. It's dismal, virtually hopeless.

Then WHAM! Along comes Hope! Just the faintest glimmer of it beams like the Sun in an endless blue sky. Gone are the grey clouds. Gone is the dismal rain. Hope beats down with a warmth and brightness to lighten even the darkest day.

But then, you start feeling like crap again. The clouds start gathering. The rain begins to fall. There's nothing to look forward to again. Everything seems futile. The sunbeams of Hope have disappeared again but where exactly did Hope go?

Is it that Hope is like the sun? Is it still there behind the dark clouds and we just can't see it? Or is it more like Hope just escapes like a frightened rabbit, only to poke its cute little head out of the ground when things grow calmer. 'Tis a puzzlement.

My Tom Robbinsesque imagination likes to think of it as the latter; a little scared bunny that high-tails it out of here at the first sign of trouble, peeking out only once the danger has cleared. Tsk. Silly rabbit.

I think most of us would like to think of Hope as the sun 'cause that way we can figure it's always there, it's just us that can't see it sometimes. Umm, yeh but I know I didn't put those damned clouds back so, who in the hell did? Like I said, I think it's better to think of Hope as a bunny. With patience and a little ingenuity, you can coax a bunny out of a hole. Coax as you like however, you can't coax the sun out from behind the clouds. It'll only come out when it's good and ready.

Be careful around that flippin' bunny though! One false move and it's back down the rabbit hole for Hope.

Timid little puke, ain't it?

The Fool on the Starbucks Hill

Well, it's noon on April Fool's Day. No stroke of a bell. No magic fairy appeared. Noon struck, and here I am, still a fool.

I was kinda hoping that this year, at the stroke of noon on April Fool's Day, POOF ! I would magically become a wise and enlightened sage and end my years as Cinderfoola. Someone with all of the answers and to whom everybody clamours for advice. No such luck. I'm still here trying to make heads or tails of things. I'm still floundering. I'm still in the cinders.

When I was a kid, I thought all of the answers lay just inside the unseen but magical door to adulthood. Again, no such luck. What awaited me instead was a vast and seemingly bottomless pit of more questions into which I stumbled headlong and have been flailing lo' many a dark moon.

I can't be the only person who's made this discovery though. It's not possible that I could be that profound. So, if there are others (assumedly many, I mean we're how many billion on this planet?) where in the hell are they? All I see are people who have it together. They have their tidy little careers, their tidy little 2.5 children families, their tidy little acquisitions. For all intents and purposes they've got it "together." They write treatises, they publish books (mainly found in the self-help section of Chapters, et. al.) They take tidy little vacations and plan their tidy little financial futures. They even plan and pay in advance for their tidy little deaths and funerals, so as to spare their families cost and/or decision-making. Nice. Tidy even.

That's all I see. I don't see the others like me. Maybe they're hiding. Maybe, unlike me, they're unwilling to flaunt their foolishness. Maybe they're not quite so ready to tell the world how stupid they really feel. And maybe, exhibiting some cleverness, they disguise themselves as just everyday ordinary people, going about the business of living. Yeh. They look just like you and me and so, how could I tell?

(Revelation approaches.)

Hey! Maybe all of those "together" people are just fools in clever disguises. Maybe they're just too frightened to let people know stupid they feel, how stupid they really are, especially when they're the ones with the alleged answers I seek.

So, that it is it? We're all fools? If that's the case, where do we go for the real answers? Who knows stuff? Maybe it really is those fellas/gals that sit virtually naked in caves or on hillsides. They have no disguise. They're not hiding behind any superficial trappings like Gucci or Armani. They don't own a sailboat or even a fork. They don't have a house in Hawaii and one in Colorado. Still, they seem quite content. Happy even. Most importantly, they're not claiming to have all of the answers but they're willing to share with those who question. They don't have any tidy little books that you can shell-out 20-40 bucks a pop for though. You have to journey to ask them the questions. Smart.

Maybe those are the answers worth having. I'm not a Jesus-freak but he said something that needs repeating to all of those self-help gurus out there making money hand over fist off of fools like me. "Freely ye have received; freely give."

'Nuff said, don't ya' think?