Guiding Principles, Version Two

In response to a gauntlet originated by Rasheed Hooda, and passed on to me from Rosennab

Yesterday, which was perhaps my final Saturday in this house, I got a challenge. I am going to do my best to respond to it as I finish my final packing for moving my household goods to Eugene this week.

What are my ten guiding principles? I’m not sure I have that many. Let’s see here:

1. Move People’s Lives. This is my life purpose, handed to me in a speech by an academician who was an early computer adopter back in 1985. This all-encompassing notion for me means that I have to live in a way that people are moved. Not to emulate or follow me. But to be their own heroes and heroines. For those who don’t wanna be moved, I have a handy Cat 416F2 Backhoe Loader to get you, gently but firmly, the fuck out of the way.
2. I own my own shit. I am completely responsible for my life, its outcomes, the quality of my journey, my results and my choices. I might wish to be able to blame, but I don’t get the luxury. As long as I own my reality, I also own how I choose to feel about that reality. The problem is that I make so much shit that I need a hell of a lot of toilet paper, which is damned inconvenient at the moment.
3. Exercise my funny bone. Just because I don’t always get the Cosmic Joke doesn’t mean it isn’t funny. What is funny to the Goddess is that we take life so seriously. We have no idea what the next journey entails. The way I see it, the more I laugh with her, the more fun I’m going to have, even when I am slogging through the shit of my self-doubt, my pain, my losses and failures. Speaking of Cosmic Jokes…I am reminded every time I see the asshole perched on my shoulders every morning, in my mirror, sans dentures.
4. God/Goddess/The Sacred is in all things. I draw from many practices, but I believe that that the sacred lives in all life and deserves our respect. Even the Pus-Faced Pumpkin Head. See Cosmic Joke, above.
5. Erase my impossible. When I hear an inner (or outer) doubter say “You can’t do that,” that’s my starting gun. The very fact that the thought exists is proof that there’s something terribly important to learn here from trying, failing and trying again. It’s not the achievement so much as the dignity of effort. Of which I am reminded when I try to clean up my shit with one square of toilet paper at a time.
6. I face my own Smaugs, on my own. While I appreciate and value a cheering squad, don’t send in reinforcements, replacements or a pinch hitter. I’m boxing through the final round. Stitch my cuts, wipe my nose, gimme some water (and chocolate almonds). But whatever the battles are with my demons, they are mine and mine alone. However I wish to hell the Smaugs would drop off their gold at my house, after I got that $11,000 moving estimate from United Van Lines. Holy shit. Where’s my toilet paper?
7. Give first what I want to get back. Courtesy, respect, graciousness, generosity, love, kindness, loyalty. An occasional kick in the ass. Those who love me back wear steel-toed Doc Martens which is why there’s a hitch in my giddy-up.
8. Stay open, soft and curious. With luck, a tip of that hat to the late, great Toni Morrison, my accumulated data will become information; that will be curated into knowledge. Eventually, if I work hard enough, that knowledge might morph into wisdom. Not likely, given my track record, but I can hope. I did say the Goddess has one hell of a sense of humor, so don’t hold your breath.
9. Never ever ever take anything too seriously. ESPECIALLY sex. Oh, and men. Oh, and overly pretentious Medium writers who tell us about the 87 Things They Learned About Life By the Age of 27. Oh, and myself. Especially that.
10. I have no clue what to put here, Rasheed Hooda. OH! WAIT! Age vibrantly. No excuses. No apologies. And no self-flagellation about quarantine pounds. That’s too many for one principle. Tough shit. Those are my ten.