Cross Your T's and Dot Your I's
Daytalking about ego and what ... makes ... I—what was this about again?
“Scrambled eggs,
How I love to eat those scrambled eggs,
Look, they’ve given me more scrambled eggs,
Oh I believe in scrambled eggs.”
—Paul McCartney, disappearing into the wallpaper behind him
After being published Thursday in the Minneapolis StarTribune, I had a realization that landed with a thud: No one wrote that.
Reading the other contributors in the city newspaper, I started counting “I, me, my,” etc. Wow. A lot of egos out there. Then it occurred to me—that ceases, personally, for me, in oh, maybe 20-30 years. No more emails to respond to. No more “work” to do. No more living, no more loving, no more breathing. That can seem daunting, but also, “Whew, what a load off!” Which means, I’m dead!
Looks like we made it.
It being that distant shore. Was that Shakespeare, maybe? Barry Manilow? Clorox bleach? Help me out here. Please.
“Who am I?
How I love to say that I am me,
Look, they’re telling me that I am me,
Oh I believe in me, me, me.”—Sung to the tune of “Yesterday” by everyone BUT Paul McCartney
When I read stuff, I don’t care who wrote it.
I’m looking for value, traction, grit, salve, substance—fuck who you are. No. One. Cares.
Truly.
How do you play? What do you have to say?
Go check out Mick Fleetwood, John McVie, Danny Kirwin, and I think Jeremy Spenser is in there too and Holy Mother of God the amazing Peter Green in 1969, right here, right now:
Imagine the world has X-ray vision and all the eyes of the world see right through your desperation missive, whatever that is you have written (like me here). Then ALL THOSE EYES roll upward into this MASSIVE FOREHEAD that can’t stop sighing and cringing and dying inside because of what you wrote.
Of course that isn’t real. It never is.
Maybe this is due to social media backwash. Technology has blessed the unwashed masses with a sense of ego entitlement. Everyone’s applauding. You can’t get higher than this! It’s a goal and you’ve achieved it. Way to go, you! You risk-non-adverse sonafubitch!
Now let’s take a cleansing walk, shall we?
Ringing in your ears, right?
Cup ’em and walk on. It’ll get better. Turn your head and look up.
Yup, it’s a gorgeous day. Wow.
Breathe in.
I’ll wait.
You good?
The thing back there was, well, I think, about being open. Risking change. Introducing yourself to other people. Taking chances. Anything that seems awkward.
Ooooh, check it out! Look up!
I love how branches grow. And have leaves. I love leaves. They provide shade and you feel sheltered and protected. It’s like the trees know this and that’s their job. What a cool job! I’m impressed.
Let’s walk on but don’t look down!
Oh damn. You did…
Welp, you can sure tell humans were here.
We make things; we break things. We’re breakable. And we’re makeable.
But who are you? Who am I?
If you’re curious, then you’re Stargazing. That’s all that means. It means being curious about anything and anyone.
After the Strib published my essay, I’ve spent the last three days just listening to people on the street. Anthony, who’s my age and getting dialysis for the first time in his life and scared about the future, with kids and a shaky relationship. Loved meeting him. David and Robin, who are in their 70s and finding love again. Amazing meeting you on Thursday night. And Maggie over brunch today, who has gone through career setbacks and new challenges and who loves to read. And who read me, from my essay, and was so inspired she drew a chart about it.
Laughter, connection, happiness.
You don’t get that from being on the Web. Oh no.
You get it from other humans. Being with them.
It’s raining here now and that feels good.
This post started as a rant, but I took a mental walk through the past three days and reporting it here, so you know you can do the same sort of magic in your own life. These people I met—Anthony, Maggie, Dave and Robin—they will disappear, but then again those I thought who would always be around—family, friends—they have gone away too. You can’t know what’s coming around the corner, right?
I’m grateful to be able to risk this stupid ego—I, me, mine—to connect to other people. So cross your T’s and dot your I’s and once you’ve crossed and dotted those stupid things, get outside and go for a walk.
Talk to your neighbors. Listen to them. Learn about them.
And let the sun set today knowing you were a force for good in the world.
Thank you for reading StoryShed’s ongoing Substack experiment. Glad to be here.