III. Her Flawed Gullet
Note: This is entry III, in a series leading up to the NOW, which more closely resembles a palatable travel blog from the Beighmobile that is currently on walkabout throughout the West. NOW discusses nice things like horses and hounds and living in an RV whilst pining for the security and roots provided from the legacy ranches on which it squats. They’re better read in sequence, but given the nature of the content, feel free to poke around randomly. Let me know if you have any questions. Or answers.
If born with the propensity to doubt the existence of God, a human needs something in its life to validate its existence. She had her mother. Throughout the first part of her life it was her mother who told her she was worthy of being. It was her mother who altered her little mind through years of repetitive reinforcement to fully believe that she was beautiful, talented, creative, intelligent, and especially different, special, unique, and rare. She was faultlessly and completely programmed. The intricate neural pathways of her forming brain were hard-wired. Those beliefs became the unshakeable foundation of who she became in the next part of her life. Try as she might, through all of the devices known to man to promote the fallacies of being a human, she could never, ever crumble the footing or compromise that base. It became her curse and later her salvation.
At the appropriate times, she rebelled, stretched her wings, tested her limits, and did what every other human does as they make their way through the process of living. She added layers and new pathways to her mind, and probably killed off and atrophied part of it at various times. She grew up. She became an identity. And all along, she had her mother.
At the appropriate time, she decided she was independent. At the appropriate time she began making decisions on her own. Unbeknownst to her, all of her actions were governed way down deep in their roots by the foundation that had been laid for her by her mother. As is true of most young women, she jumped from her nest and began to fly on her own.
There are a few moments in life that you have to look back upon to realize they were pivotal. Sometimes, you have to look way, way back to make that realization. Usually it’s because somewhere along the road you took a wrong turn and ended up lost. Sometimes, it’s after you become terribly, hopelessly lost and find yourself sitting in a heap in the middle of uncharted territory. After you get over the initial panic and frantic attempts to figure out how you got there, an eerie calm overcomes you and just before you nod off from exhaustion and the wolves come in to devour you, in a hazy half-dream you start to remember.
The first pivotal moment for her was realizing that despite all of her mother’s attempts, her programming wasn’t flawless. It wasn’t complete. The auto-run button never got flipped on and so she still had to be fed by someone. She never learned to survive, to go out and grub for the worms of validity herself, to have the fortitude to subsist even when the pickings were slim. She kept looking back up to the nest hoping her mother would throw her a few morsels, and when she didn’t catch them or when they weren’t juicy enough, instead of finding her own, she went to other sources. At first it was kudos from teachers and superiors. Then, she positioned herself in the limelight and got her fixes from notoriety and public reviews based on performance. She carefully surrounded herself with exactly the right people to feed her what she needed and avoided those who didn’t.
Had it continued along that course, it wouldn’t have been fatal. She was in control of the nourishment tube and was doing a pretty good job of finding sources. When things faltered, she’d go back (sometimes literally) to mommy and eventually daddy, who would sooth her with tidbits like; “You’re just more mature than the rest and when you are around older people you will be better understood,” which ultimately went down her flawed gullet to be regurgitated as, “You’re just better than the rest and they are all stupid.” And, “You intimidate people, that’s why you have no friends, girls want to beat you up in the parking lot, and you made it to college without ever having a boyfriend,” came out. “They’re just jealous. No one you know is worthy of you. You are not normal and that’s a good thing because normal is actually subnormal and sucks. You don’t suck. You are spectacular. Movies will be made about you and someday you will walk down the red carpet. Expect the best, aim for the stars (that definitely came from her father), you are going to be great, anything less would be subpar.”
But, a little infection had somehow weaseled its way into her sub conscience. Had she always had it, a genetic flaw? Was it an airborne illness she picked up from someone (because obviously she wasn’t swapping any bodily fluids at the time), or was it just the human condition? One will never know. It was doubt, a tiny mustard seed of self-doubt. A little break in the façade of her reality. It was minor at first, almost undetectable, but under the microscope of maturation it was malignant and inoperable.
And then, she found a man. Finally. Hallelujah, praise the Lord, she is weaned! Standing at the first major crossroad of her life, looking down Law School Road and Cupid’s Avenue, she chose love.
Upon reflection, twenty-five years later, heart ripped in two and mortally wounded, facing divorce, financial ruin, old-age, and regret, she’d choose it again. But, that’s a few directional turns down storybook lane.
Meanwhile back at the train wreck…