The firework that exploded nearby (maybe an M80) was one of those deep booming ones that echoes as though the city streets were canyons. The seagulls flitted overhead, their cries sounded confused and panicked. In that moment, I gained a new understanding of ignorance and cruelty. I couldn’t unhear the seagulls’ screams – it was different from the squawks I normally hear.
I used to be a fan of the 4th of July – or at least a willing participant. Now, I’m far more uneasy with the holiday. It seems that much of growing up and getting older involves slowly pulling back the veil on the things you used to like and seeing the darker undertones beneath. Don’t get me wrong, I like the sparkle and color of fireworks – I don’t even mind the boom. But when I read about how disruptive they are to wildlife or how stressful they are to pets, I’m considerably less enamored with the spectacle.
Earlier in the night, after the big fireworks display, but before the local boom, I stopped by my local pub for a pint. There, I sat next to the bar owner for a bit and we talked about the neighborhood and the city and concerts and music and all the things people talk about when sitting next to each other at a bar. He’s a salt of the earth type of guy. He knows everyone by name. He prides himself on running a good neighborhood establishment. As he was leaving, a guy named Darren (not really his name) came in. Darren and I have talked and hung out before. In fact, we were at the same bar the night before when during one of Darren’s pee breaks, the bar tender told me Darren’s an ass and has a tendency to piss people off and get kicked out of bars. I acknowledged that Darren is a little odd, but said that he didn’t strike me as offensive – or maybe it’s just that I’m not easily offended.
By odd, I mean I knew Darren seemed chauvinistic and narcissistic. On one of the first nights that he and I met, Darren showed me something he had been writing. It was a semi-autobiographical piece – or maybe it was a chapter in his memoir. I don’t remember what I read, but I remember it being vaguely sexual. I think he was talking about a partner and a trip they had taken. It read more like he was being intimate with an inanimate object – a lounge chair, a sofa, a hat stand. I gave him some feedback, though I wasn’t completely honest. I didn’t tell him that I struggled to get through it or that I found it to be dispassionate. Instead, I told him to add more emotion and detail to his work. I told him that he’s telling me what happened in this encounter or that encounter, but he’s not telling me or showing me what he felt or why it mattered. The woman had neither depth nor detail. I told him I want to know (and see) what her eyes look like by candlelight, how the corner of her mouth curls when she smiles, or how her dress moves in the wind. I didn’t think of it at the time, but I’m now reminded of the Mary Oliver quote: “attention without feeling is only a report.” Darren thought my advice was spot on – he couldn’t believe nobody had told him this before. Meanwhile, I felt like I was sharing what I learned in writing 101 – show, don’t tell.
After a while (last night), I began to see the asshat side of Darren (in his defense, he was a little drunk). At various times during our conversation he told me I don’t know myself, I’m weak and unfit, I’m afraid of failure, and that I don’t know how to form a proper question. Mind you, we don’t know each other terribly well. Because he’s probably done this before (which is why he’s been kicked out of bars), he’d follow a comment with some version of the phrase calm down, or let that sink in a minute. It was an odd thing to say to a guy (me) who’s staring blankly, almost catatonically, at the pint of beer in front of him. Checking me for a pulse would have been more appropriate than suggesting I calm down or think on it. In order to calm down, I’d have to care… and I can’t say that I cared. At one point, we talked about running. This is when he said I was unfit (something I don’t entirely disown). He said he runs a half-marathon averaging six-minutes and thirty seconds per mile (I doubted this but didn’t say so). He said he could train me to run at that pace and then pestered me to sign up for the Monterey Bay Half Marathon. He didn’t seem to pick up on the fact that I have no interest in trying to run that fast or that I’m just not that into running that I would want to dedicate all of my time to it.
Darren likes to think of himself as an intellectual who people can’t understand or relate to. I know this based on the number of times he said most people don’t seem to get him or that he’s not like most people you’d hang out with in a bar. He strikes me as the type of guy who espouses the “everything is possible so long as you set your mind to it” philosophy. The type of guy who believes everything in life is about re-framing one’s thinking… if you’re not succeeding, you’re probably not trying hard enough. I’m not convinced that he lives what he preaches, but I don’t know him all that well and quite honestly, I’m not sure people like Darren are knowable.
At 2 am, I couldn’t sleep. I watched the flash of fireworks light up the building facades across the way – the sound popping off like gunfire. I thought about some of the people I’ve met over these past few months. I’ve been thinking a lot about how I might go about expanding my social circles – how I might bust out of some of my routines. I like my local bar. I even like meeting/observing/interacting with some of the characters. I’m curious about what makes them tick. That said, I’m not sure this is how I would spend my time were different or other options available (and of course they are – hangin’ at the bar is just an easy cop-out). Despite my minor reservations, I went to a fireworks show because I didn’t have anything better to do. Afterwards, I stopped in at the pub and hung out with Darren, because, why not? I’m thinking maybe I could (or should) live more deliberately.