City on a Hill

I have never loved anyone as much as I love her.  But I'll come back to that.

Once, I was asked the difference between joy and happiness.  I probably rambled on for a half an hour trying to explain this perplexing concept to this friend.  I knew the answer.  I just couldn't articulate it well.  I can now.  But I'll come back to that, as well.

You know those moments where certain random things you learned as a child just appear out of nowhere and pop into your mind?  Be it, the state capital of North Dakota or the chemical compound for salt or the name of Scooby Doo's nephew which was Scrappy. 

The human brain is an amazing thing.  The way it stores data and information, how it controls every movement we make and every sense we have.    One day, we are smelling the perfume on our girlfriend's neck and years later after she has moved on, that scent just drifts quietly back into our senses and our brain automatically makes this connection between her and that moment we were breathing her in.    It happens more commonly with music.  We are driving along, not necessarily thinking about anything, an old song we haven't heard in years starts playing on the radio.  We suddenly remember every single word and this overwhelming feeling of nostalgia or joy or that relentless gnawing feeling of grief takes over.  Our brain immediately reconnects us to how we felt during those remarkable moments we first heard that song.  And then, we find ourselves smiling for no reason or a tear just slowly flows unexpectedly down our cheeks.  But we are alone, we're just driving in our car.  No one is there and it's liberating.  And it makes us yearn for those better days.

My old best friend had Al Bundy syndrome.  Every conversation we had started with, "remember when"... and at the time, I found it irritating.  He was in his early 30's and spoke as if life was over; as if the best this life has to offer was well behind him.  It was heartbreaking on some level because it subtly told the rest of us how hopeless he was feeling.  He turned out to be right.  He left us at the age of 32.

I think about him a lot; usually in the quiet crevices of my own thoughts, I long for more days with him.  And it never fails.  I'll be alone and some song we used to drink to starts playing.  It's always a loud uplifting party song but now my brain has translated that loud uplifting party song into a sorrowful hymn.  And I can't help but get choked up.

I have had a difficult time sleeping my whole life and my brain moves at a remarkable speed.  I'll lay there for hours thinking about random things and I'll pop out of bed, jump onto my computer and start writing.  It's always when something nostalgic hits me or when I'm feeling a little down.  If I was happy every minute of the day, I would never write.  And I love that about me.  I love that I teeter between happy and a little down. 

So, here I am, after a failed attempt at going to bed early. 

As a product of a Christian school, random Bible verses are cemented into my brain.  I don't quote verses or turn to them for comfort as much as I should.  They are just things I had to learn growing up; like the Magna Carta being signed in 1215  

Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.  It just randomly floated out my brain tonight.  One of those Bible verses I was forced to memorize.  So, I turn on my television before running to my computer to snapshot my state of mind through this incredible medium known as writing.  Right there on my TV screen is some story about a dog saving a drowning boy.  I didn't really catch the details but it was ironic timing considering I was reciting that Bible verse a few minutes earlier.

All of that brought me to Buddy; my last dog whom I can write about with ease.  It's funny how connected we become with our pets.  When my best friend left us, I couldn't cry for a considerable time.  When I found out my first love lost her life in a needless accident, I was numb for a long time.  I didn't even talk about her death for years.  It was my secret.  When Buddy died, well, he can still move me to tears and that was a decade ago.

There were those moments when I was feeling down and I hadn't quite discovered this beautiful medium known as writing and I would just turn to Buddy and tell him how I was feeling.  His ears would perk up and at the exact right moment, he would lick my hand.  Suddenly, I would feel better.  I doubt he knew what I was saying but there is no doubt, he knew I was hurting. 

I've written many times about how he was the only one I could talk to when I was faced with loss.  When our best friend left us, it was Buddy who wouldn't eat simply because I couldn't eat.  It was Buddy that would curl up on my bed and lay his head on my chest all those countless nights where I was trying to make sense of everything.

That dog taught me more about life and friendship and love than everything I was forced to remember growing up.

I'll tell you this: I used to look forward to coming home from work everyday because there was no greater feeling than seeing my dog jump up and down frantically and bark at my mere presence.  That joy he exhibited daily upon my arrival is unmatched in the human realm of things. 

I think all joy has been sucked out of this world and replaced with this cynical temporary superficial thing we call happiness.  If I am ever asked again to articulate the difference between joy and happiness, I'll tell that person to buy a dog.  And then I'll shut up.

That person will either get it or he won't.

There's so much beauty in this world and it's always found in the least likely of places.  We focus so much time on all those things that scare us; like the economy or the potential of war or the unknown future that our children will have to endure.  Fear holds us hostage and blinds us to the beauty staring at our face; begging to be recognized. 

Buddy used to jump up and down frantically at my mere presence the minute I walked through our doorway.  I would kneel down, talk in a strange baby voice and have a short conversation with him.  He would eventually settle down, lick my hand and then follow me into my bedroom as I changed out of my work clothes.  He would just sit there and watch me.

I was beautiful to him.  He lived a life free of fear.  It was the little things he appreciated and longed for..

If dogs lived as long as humans, I am not sure we would appreciate how amazing they are.  I think we eventually would take their unbridled joy and their unconditional love for granted.  It's probably a blessing that we only get 10 years or so of life out of our dogs because those 10 years not a moment goes wasted.

Nights like this, I find myself in nostalgia overload but not to the point where I want to start every conversation with remember when because as hopeless as this world seems, as the Bible tells us, a city on a hill cannot be hidden and we are indeed, the light of the world.  We are the light of this world.

My girlfriend just had a birthday and we are the sheer definition of "its complicated" but one thing I know is that I have never loved anyone like I love her.

I think Buddy, my best friend, my first love and everyone who came before her are the reasons why. 

Man, I love life.  I love every damn part of it. 

Even the bad stuff.