For only fleeting moments in the day, poignant remorse surfaces. What if, I wonder. What if I had been able to birth biological children? What if I hadn’t experienced such serious fraud by Elimisha Brown Fussell? What if I had majored in film as an undergraduate rather than blindly following what I experienced growing up? What if this feeling I have for her had some semblance in reality and didn’t just make me cry today? What if I hadn’t created all these painful moments. That is why the remorse is fleeting. Instantly I recognize my part, the responsible role I played. And by now I have immediate ways of positive thinking that turn the switch on. Which one? Gratitude.
On a brief list of daily activities to increase happiness this is number one. Who gave me the list? The therapist who I am working with at San Francisco City College, Rik Isensee. Cannot say enough positive comments about Rik. In a few sessions I feel so grounded and directional about change in the present moment and less actually on dwelling in the past. He recently published a book titled Shift Your Mood: Unleash Your Life! Your Pathway to Happiness. I’ve bought several copies and will distribute them to friends. Investigate further if you wish at http://www.your-pathway-to-happiness.com/ Still a touch sceptical about the talk-therapy approach, but these sessions are winners and I’m grateful.
Despite heartache over the missing girl, life seems especially intriguing these days. I am so damn free. In this daily joyful mood I stumble into mini-adventures. Today I encountered the parking meter maid. He paced back and forth several times around a car he was writing a ticket for. After cleanly parking my car, and falling behind the red line by a generous three feet or so (I’m a cautious driver and excellent parking gal, said humbly, of course), I stepped out of my car and he happened to stroll my direction. I looked down at the curb and saw the other car parked by six inches or so in the red.
“Dude!?” I said, (for some reason I am saying “dude” often these days) waving my hands in incredulous disbelief– as in, how could you ticket a car for only taking such little space in the red.
He looked at me–earnest, stout, and spouting a few black hairs from his ears, appearing a touch to me as if he were a Greek grocer.
“Listen,” he said.
I sneered and almost walked away, giving him immediate belligerent meter-maid attitude; these guys are the Gregor Samsas of real life (see Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis).
Calmly he replied, “No, I mean it, listen.”
And so I did. He regaled me with a story about the building next door catching fire with a loved one inside. He had my full attention and I swear once he sensed that he started to wing it big time. For example, he emphasized three or four times before moving on to another segment of the story about a cherished one waiting inside a burning building. Then he analyzed how the fire hydrant stood at a certain angle, so the fire engine would need to break the car windows in order to feed the hose through. That is why the car deserved a ticket, he calmly explained. This car parked illegal and as a consequence would place someone’s life in grave danger for the extra few minutes it would take to feed the hose through the car’s windows.
Then he turned and pointed to the car three feet away from the red paint and seven feet from the white fire hydrant.
“Now this guy drives with respect,” he said.
“That’s my car!” I said happily.
“I didn’t even notice you parking there,” he said bashfully.
He told me several times that I knew how to drive well and with total respect. Thank you, I replied. Looking directly at me before he turned around to walk away, he said in earnest, “God bless you.” I smiled and said thank you again.
These moments are strange and powerful. In my remorse spots, I wonder if my life has had much purpose. But this idea of rhetoric–the art of persuasion–is one we always discuss in a writing classroom where I work. Maybe my teaching has influenced some. And this guy demonstrated the persuasion technique of using pathos–a splash of emotion to get me not only to listen closely but to accept his logic. Aristotle would have been proud. And also the uber meter-maid reinforced to me that truly it does not matter what your career is–just take it serious and work with integrity. That’s all. Simple. And more than enough. Even eases the heartache of missing her, accepting I don’t usually get what I want, but always get what I need.
