The phrase, “Life isn’t fair,” is often used for advice, but rarely applied.
(Here's the essay I wrote. Hope you like it.)
When life bites most people try to bite back even though life is a figurative beast. About a month ago I gained some firsthand experience. My lesson came one night when the list of homework assignments seemed higher than Mt. Everest. The lack of oxygen at those heights is astounding, even metaphorically. My most focused efforts seemed to yield the worst results as I typed away on the computer. Perhaps work would have gone smoother in the library since my roommates were playing the online video game, “World of War Craft,” with their speakers turned all the way up. The sound of swords hacking through ogre flesh has never helped me study.
However, their surround sounds were silenced when an electric decrescendo resonated through our digitally dependant household. The power went out. Johnny and Jeff’s online Olympics were terminated instantly. They vented their frustrations by shouting oaths of vengeance at Mother Nature while marching around the house half naked. With their flashlights in hand they reminded me of nomadic hunters. “NO BODY open the fridge!!!! “ Johnny yelled while storming through the kitchen. Jeff exclaimed his assent with a resounding, “Yeah!” They proceeded to banter back and forth for a good five minutes, shouting every syllable. The rage remains clear in my memory even though the content of conversation has long since been lost. I just sat on my stool staring at my screen. If my brain had lungs it would have been taking deep breaths. The pounding rain and howling wind gradually crept into my consciousness as I became cognitively aware of the storm outside. Johnny was already on his phone and his mouth was moving at a rate which matched the heavy rainfall. I can’t remember all that he was saying, but these words will forever stand out in my mind: “Phil, the tree fell on your truck!” My mind had been focused completely on my school assignments, but this simple sentence suddenly somersaulted and smacked it onto the ground. I was almost speechless. The only words I could manage were, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” When “no” was the response I shuffled over to the window to take a look. The cool kiss of glass on my forehead helped sooth my mind as I stared at the date tree which had crashed into my truck bed. The truck had been smashed and the realization that I didn’t have insurance to cover it smashed me like a thousand date trees. Moments later Johnny asked, “Does your insurance cover that?” I looked into his eyes and they told me exactly what he was thinking. It’s what I would have thought if our roles were reversed. “Man that sucks, glad it wasn’t me.” I suddenly became aware of how unfair life really can be.
Johnny and I have been friends since high school. We both could recall the last time a vehicle I owned came into contact with a solid object. Last time I was driving on the freeway and rear ended another car causing a five car pileup. Yes, it is a fairly humiliating story to relate. I was young, dumb, and the only one not getting a check from an insurance company. Standing on the side of the I-10, I wondered how this could have happened to me. I desperately tried to find a scapegoat. However, the car behind me had stopped in time. I couldn’t say he hit me and blame him. The officer explained that I couldn’t blame bad traffic either; “I needed to keep control of my vehicle.” My father told me his insurance wouldn’t cover it because it was a liability policy. It would only cover damage I caused to others, not myself. Seeing how my car, really his car, was only worth fifteen hundred dollars I couldn’t blame him. My little Geo Prizm never rode again. Car-less and thinking life was over, I did what over-dramatic teenagers do best: get depressed. A little voice inside my head said my life wasn’t fair, and I let it drag me down into the depths of self pity. This same voice started to speak to me again.
“This time it’s different. You bought this car. Over the winter you worked twelve hour days and walked a half an hour in the snow, uphill, both ways, to get to the bus. You saved everything so you could pay cash and buy the truck. Your little 95’ Toyota, complete with dents and rust spots, isn’t much, but she’s yours. Full coverage insurance is way more than you can afford. Your truck is the only vehicle at your house without full coverage insurance. This isn’t fair.”
These words echoed in my mind as I called my father, who conveniently is my insurance agent, to explain the situation. As the phone rang in my ear, I tried to think of a clever way to break the news. I was unsuccessful.
“Hey Dad.”
“What’s up Philip?”
“Not much.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Well we’re having this crazy storm right now, and my truck just got hit by a date tree.”
“What?!!??”
“Bummer, huh? I am guessing that it isn’t covered under my policy.”
“Yeah, you just have liability, so it wouldn’t be covered. “
“Will my landlord’s insurance cover it?”
“Probably not because you’re a resident there. If you were just visiting then definitely, but since you live there it complicates things…”
At this point in our conversation I realized that there might not be anyone paying for the damages to my truck… except me. To call this a stunning revelation would be a lie; I had a premonition from the first moment I saw that date tree hugging my truck that I would be paying for this one. As I hung up the phone, my mind reflected on a few words of wisdom I received from a religious mentor while volunteering for my church in Australia. “Where there is no option, there is no choice,” he told me with a smile as he paid a similar ill-fated and hefty bill. Musing over this memory led me to realize that the world didn’t owe me, and if insurance didn’t owe me either then I was stuck with the bill. My landlord confirmed my father’s words; his insurance wouldn’t cover the incident. I had a decision to make. I could accept my fate with good humor and a smile, or I could live in denial, seeking to find someone to blame. I decided that if no one was really obligated to fix my problem, then I would have to make the best of it.
“We’d better get some good shots of this one,” I said as a grin slowly crept onto my face. Johnny and Jeff had been watching me rather nervously while I sorted things out in my head. However, enthusiasm replaced awkward tension as the three of us came up with comical camera shots to highlight the events of the storm. I rode the tree like a cowboy, we surfed on a mattress which had mysteriously appeared in the street and we played with renegade street signs which had been blown down. We ended the night with a “jam session.” It involved drums, acoustic guitars and didgeridoos being played at their maximum volume. What started out as one of the worst nights of my life ended as one of the most spectacular.
Today’s world is overloaded with people who think somebody “owes” them. My boss suggested I sue my landlord for the damages to my truck. Someone else suggested that I make a false claim on my insurance. Both ideas are stupid. My landlord didn’t chop the tree down and I haven’t been paying my insurance to cover tree damage. One would lead to a frivolous law suit; the other happens to be illegal. Both would be an effort to push my problem on someone else. If I could sue the storm I would, but whirling gusts of wind are awfully hard to get into a court room. I haven’t bothered to track down a litigator, but there are plenty of people who would.
These “self-entitlists” see themselves as victims of injustice. They believe it is society’s responsibility to fix their problems. Stories of people who make millions of dollars from spilling a cup of coffee, ironing themselves while wearing a shirt or traveling from state to state to collect multiple welfare checks are common in modern culture. I once watched a classmate argue with our teacher because he was failing her class. When she asked him how much he studied he replied, “It’s YOUR job to teach ME!” Obviously this is an extreme example of a serious idiot; however, I have also watched many of my classmates cheat on exams because they felt entitled to high marks without studying. The underlying attitude among all of these examples could be expressed in these words: “I deserve more.” People who really do deserve more are usually just grateful for what they have.
A perfect example would be refugees from the Sudan. I had the privilege to spend time with some of them a year ago. If there is a group of people who have had it rough it would be them. One day I asked a group of Sudanese children what they were most grateful for. A little eight year old girl in the group looked me straight in the eyes and replied, “To be somewhere safe.” I never once heard any of them complain about their situation, or their previous experiences. Life hasn’t been fair to them, but they manage and they are happy.
It certainly wasn’t fair that a date tree smashed my truck. But when the two situations are compared, mine seems trivial. I was provided with the perfect opportunity to cash in on the unfortunate events; however it would be demeaning to do so. The world’s fraternity of self-entitlists is large enough, and I have never been a fan of Greek life.
(Here's the essay I wrote. Hope you like it.)
When life bites most people try to bite back even though life is a figurative beast. About a month ago I gained some firsthand experience. My lesson came one night when the list of homework assignments seemed higher than Mt. Everest. The lack of oxygen at those heights is astounding, even metaphorically. My most focused efforts seemed to yield the worst results as I typed away on the computer. Perhaps work would have gone smoother in the library since my roommates were playing the online video game, “World of War Craft,” with their speakers turned all the way up. The sound of swords hacking through ogre flesh has never helped me study.
However, their surround sounds were silenced when an electric decrescendo resonated through our digitally dependant household. The power went out. Johnny and Jeff’s online Olympics were terminated instantly. They vented their frustrations by shouting oaths of vengeance at Mother Nature while marching around the house half naked. With their flashlights in hand they reminded me of nomadic hunters. “NO BODY open the fridge!!!! “ Johnny yelled while storming through the kitchen. Jeff exclaimed his assent with a resounding, “Yeah!” They proceeded to banter back and forth for a good five minutes, shouting every syllable. The rage remains clear in my memory even though the content of conversation has long since been lost. I just sat on my stool staring at my screen. If my brain had lungs it would have been taking deep breaths. The pounding rain and howling wind gradually crept into my consciousness as I became cognitively aware of the storm outside. Johnny was already on his phone and his mouth was moving at a rate which matched the heavy rainfall. I can’t remember all that he was saying, but these words will forever stand out in my mind: “Phil, the tree fell on your truck!” My mind had been focused completely on my school assignments, but this simple sentence suddenly somersaulted and smacked it onto the ground. I was almost speechless. The only words I could manage were, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” When “no” was the response I shuffled over to the window to take a look. The cool kiss of glass on my forehead helped sooth my mind as I stared at the date tree which had crashed into my truck bed. The truck had been smashed and the realization that I didn’t have insurance to cover it smashed me like a thousand date trees. Moments later Johnny asked, “Does your insurance cover that?” I looked into his eyes and they told me exactly what he was thinking. It’s what I would have thought if our roles were reversed. “Man that sucks, glad it wasn’t me.” I suddenly became aware of how unfair life really can be.
Johnny and I have been friends since high school. We both could recall the last time a vehicle I owned came into contact with a solid object. Last time I was driving on the freeway and rear ended another car causing a five car pileup. Yes, it is a fairly humiliating story to relate. I was young, dumb, and the only one not getting a check from an insurance company. Standing on the side of the I-10, I wondered how this could have happened to me. I desperately tried to find a scapegoat. However, the car behind me had stopped in time. I couldn’t say he hit me and blame him. The officer explained that I couldn’t blame bad traffic either; “I needed to keep control of my vehicle.” My father told me his insurance wouldn’t cover it because it was a liability policy. It would only cover damage I caused to others, not myself. Seeing how my car, really his car, was only worth fifteen hundred dollars I couldn’t blame him. My little Geo Prizm never rode again. Car-less and thinking life was over, I did what over-dramatic teenagers do best: get depressed. A little voice inside my head said my life wasn’t fair, and I let it drag me down into the depths of self pity. This same voice started to speak to me again.
“This time it’s different. You bought this car. Over the winter you worked twelve hour days and walked a half an hour in the snow, uphill, both ways, to get to the bus. You saved everything so you could pay cash and buy the truck. Your little 95’ Toyota, complete with dents and rust spots, isn’t much, but she’s yours. Full coverage insurance is way more than you can afford. Your truck is the only vehicle at your house without full coverage insurance. This isn’t fair.”
These words echoed in my mind as I called my father, who conveniently is my insurance agent, to explain the situation. As the phone rang in my ear, I tried to think of a clever way to break the news. I was unsuccessful.
“Hey Dad.”
“What’s up Philip?”
“Not much.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Well we’re having this crazy storm right now, and my truck just got hit by a date tree.”
“What?!!??”
“Bummer, huh? I am guessing that it isn’t covered under my policy.”
“Yeah, you just have liability, so it wouldn’t be covered. “
“Will my landlord’s insurance cover it?”
“Probably not because you’re a resident there. If you were just visiting then definitely, but since you live there it complicates things…”
At this point in our conversation I realized that there might not be anyone paying for the damages to my truck… except me. To call this a stunning revelation would be a lie; I had a premonition from the first moment I saw that date tree hugging my truck that I would be paying for this one. As I hung up the phone, my mind reflected on a few words of wisdom I received from a religious mentor while volunteering for my church in Australia. “Where there is no option, there is no choice,” he told me with a smile as he paid a similar ill-fated and hefty bill. Musing over this memory led me to realize that the world didn’t owe me, and if insurance didn’t owe me either then I was stuck with the bill. My landlord confirmed my father’s words; his insurance wouldn’t cover the incident. I had a decision to make. I could accept my fate with good humor and a smile, or I could live in denial, seeking to find someone to blame. I decided that if no one was really obligated to fix my problem, then I would have to make the best of it.
“We’d better get some good shots of this one,” I said as a grin slowly crept onto my face. Johnny and Jeff had been watching me rather nervously while I sorted things out in my head. However, enthusiasm replaced awkward tension as the three of us came up with comical camera shots to highlight the events of the storm. I rode the tree like a cowboy, we surfed on a mattress which had mysteriously appeared in the street and we played with renegade street signs which had been blown down. We ended the night with a “jam session.” It involved drums, acoustic guitars and didgeridoos being played at their maximum volume. What started out as one of the worst nights of my life ended as one of the most spectacular.Today’s world is overloaded with people who think somebody “owes” them. My boss suggested I sue my landlord for the damages to my truck. Someone else suggested that I make a false claim on my insurance. Both ideas are stupid. My landlord didn’t chop the tree down and I haven’t been paying my insurance to cover tree damage. One would lead to a frivolous law suit; the other happens to be illegal. Both would be an effort to push my problem on someone else. If I could sue the storm I would, but whirling gusts of wind are awfully hard to get into a court room. I haven’t bothered to track down a litigator, but there are plenty of people who would.
These “self-entitlists” see themselves as victims of injustice. They believe it is society’s responsibility to fix their problems. Stories of people who make millions of dollars from spilling a cup of coffee, ironing themselves while wearing a shirt or traveling from state to state to collect multiple welfare checks are common in modern culture. I once watched a classmate argue with our teacher because he was failing her class. When she asked him how much he studied he replied, “It’s YOUR job to teach ME!” Obviously this is an extreme example of a serious idiot; however, I have also watched many of my classmates cheat on exams because they felt entitled to high marks without studying. The underlying attitude among all of these examples could be expressed in these words: “I deserve more.” People who really do deserve more are usually just grateful for what they have.
A perfect example would be refugees from the Sudan. I had the privilege to spend time with some of them a year ago. If there is a group of people who have had it rough it would be them. One day I asked a group of Sudanese children what they were most grateful for. A little eight year old girl in the group looked me straight in the eyes and replied, “To be somewhere safe.” I never once heard any of them complain about their situation, or their previous experiences. Life hasn’t been fair to them, but they manage and they are happy.
It certainly wasn’t fair that a date tree smashed my truck. But when the two situations are compared, mine seems trivial. I was provided with the perfect opportunity to cash in on the unfortunate events; however it would be demeaning to do so. The world’s fraternity of self-entitlists is large enough, and I have never been a fan of Greek life.
3 comments:
If life were easy, it wouldn't be hard. And then we wouldn't appreciate the happy times as much.
xoxoxo
oh i do love the phil.
I didn't know he even struggled with this event. When he told us about it, he had such a good attitude that I felt completely free to laugh at the irony of it all.
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