British Petroleum

At 4209 South Florida Avenue, there stands a relic of the former age of gas stations: a rather degenerate looking BP. This particular BP is a solemn monument to a bygone era, in my opinion, due to its hapless architectural design, poor location, and dysfunctional appearance; gas stations these days are slick, efficient, well-illuminated edifices that offer a seemingly limitless supply of conveniences. 4209 South Florida Avenue, however, is a time capsule of a facility, a green mound of visual refuse. One is automatically disinclined to leisurely refuel as well, principally because of the barred windows of the store; if the owner feels the location is an unsafe one, the public should probably feel unsettled about choosing to refill here also.

Unfortunately for me, this afternoon my “empty light” was on for a solid 15 minutes before I felt as though the running-on-fumes envelope could be pushed no further; doubly unfortunate for me, I chose to refuel at the BP located at 4209 South Florida Avenue.

Allow me to make a brief aside before I continue conveying my recent experience: I hate being hoodwinked. I cannot abide the bait-and-switch. I loathe a shyster. I cringe at the thought of being cheated. I cannot stand a snake oil sales pitch. I deplore the use of diversionary marketing tactics. I think swindlers should rot in compost heaps composed of liars and gossipers and fraudulent politicians and obnoxious salespeople and individuals that kick babies and Jay Leno and Bill O’Reilly…

…That aside complete, I will now proceed to the actual cause of this post: my unwitting purchase of grade 89 gas.

I never, ever, ever put anything but the least expensive gas into my car. This time, however, I noticed within a few seconds that I was rapidly becoming the victim of an unserendipitous gas pump placement: where the cheap gas—grade 87—should be (furthest on the left), there sat the mid grade option. With the precision of a medieval axeman in Antoinette's France, BP had delivered to me an emotionally dismembering blow. I had been a dummy and had received a dummy’s treatment. Like the rest of the simpering masses being led along the primrose path to consumerism’s slaughterhouse, in order to save a buck, I had hastily purchased a product without being fully informed to its true nature. Instead of paying $2.549 for a gallon of gasoline, I paid $2.749.

Lesson 1: Read the labels of every product that you purchase, for capitalism is at best a friendly competition and at worst a bloodsport (the consumer almost always loses, by the way). If a corporation or company can figure out a way to trick you, they will.

Lesson 2: Don’t ever buy gas at the BP located at 4209 South Florida Avenue. They suck.

Live Simply

A friend of mine recently said this to me: 'Get over yourself. Enjoy life.' I wasn't entirely sure what she meant by the first imperative, but the second command, to "Enjoy life," has visited my thoughts frequently since then.

It reminds me of the teaching of a minor prophet who spoke & wrote on behalf of God. He communicated that what God expects of human beings are the marks of goodness: just actions, a love of kindness, and a humble walk with God.

I try to be fair. I try to be kind. But
I'm not sure I know what humility is. Or is not.

Take a sparrow or a lily or a child. They don't worry or are fretful about the future. Their metaphorical stomachs aren't twisted, tight, or taut like rope knots, leading them down a life path of angst or tension.

They are simple. Each moment is its own entity to be embraced, experienced, and enjoyed. Day and night, they move humbly along the current of life, innocent of causation and all the happier for the lack of it.

My Bartlett's says that in Zorba the Greek, Nikos Kazantzakis remarks, "How simple and frugal a thing is happiness...All that is required to feel that here and now is happiness is a simple, frugal heart." Perhaps innocence and frugality and simplicity are fruit from a similar vine--the vine of humility.

Maybe like a minor prophet, my friend was saying that I should let go of my over-developed, hyper-active sense of preference and instead embrace the heart of life, which is good and full. Perhaps to enjoy a life lived amidst God and community requires a paradigm of humble love. Perhaps seeing the universal Spirit of God in every momentous second and appreciating the miracle of living is a calling to which more individuals should listen.

A loss of self.
A love of God. A love of others.

Be simple. Enjoy life. Do justice. Love kindness.

It is possible, though, that my friend was just expressing irritation concerning my hesitance to listen to an album from her favorite band. Possibly, this is all hogwash and I am yet again too verbose.

I choose to believe, however, that at that moment, she was a minor prophet. I hope that I am and forever remain both a hearer and a doer of this word, that this resurgent love of simple humility would not depart from me.

The Alchemist

I started reading The Alchemist today. It's an easily digestible read (similar to Tuesdays with Morrie in that respect), but I've been routinely surprised at the density of meaning contained within it. I think my principle source of enjoyment lies in the fact that, though the main "message" of the book is quite easy to understand, any number of positive sub-meanings can be derived from it. Also worth considering is the fact that it doesn't come across as blatantly pendantic as Morrie or other thinly veiled, moralist self-improvement narratives, making it a more pleasant experience in my opinion.

A predictable measure of a book's overall quality is, from my perspective, it's overall affect on the reader. In this instance, then, it bears mentioning that, after reading approximately half of The Alchemist, I felt reinvigorated, and promptly set about accomplishing a great handful of simple but important tasks that I had been neglecting to do. These actions took on a rediscovered hope and refined spirit of purposefulness that they had been lacking, enabling me to feel their importance instead of merely just knowing how significant they were.

To put it simply: I would recommend that any and every person read The Alchemist.