on embracing privilege

and a fart in the face of empathy

I ran into an old colleague the other day - a former colleague.

Well, not exactly ‘run into’. She was walking her very large dog past my house.

It was a therapist friend, one of the few I had and still have respect for.

We hadn’t connected in quite a while.

She asked me about ‘my practice’.

I told her - I’m practicing serving food and mixing drinks. I’ve done a little bit of private tour guiding as well. It’s been great. People come, they have fun then they leave. I’m not bringing any heavy shit home. My life is a lot better these days because of it.

She paused, sighed and it looked as though a little bit of her soul leaked out;

You know, my dad did tour guiding. A lot of people opened up to him. They shared a lot of heavy personal stuff. They came back to him year after year. In a lot of ways he was like a therapist.

Why did she tell me this?

I’m not sure if she was trying to reassure me that I was still doing helpful and important work.

Because really?

I did that for a while and ya know what?

I have no fucking desire to be important to anyone other than my family.

If that makes me seem impotent in the eyes of the world?

That’s a price I’m willing to pay to sleep well at night.

Apparently there’s a lot of ugly shit going on in the world these days.

It makes a lot of people feel anxious, up set and out of control

And you know what?

It would be VERY difficult for me to care any less than I already do.

Apres moi, le deluge.

But I think my friend is one of those caring types with terrible boundaries - you know the kind - the kind of folks who see terrible things in the world then in turn feel terrible then decide to take on some silly moto about being the change they seek in the world.

Whatever floats your boat man. But that internalized guilt and sense of responsibility to deal with injustice? That’s a trap, a well laid trap that keeps good people panicked and pushing crushing boulders up hills only to be crushed by them.

I think it may have been her guilt and self loathing.

I dunno, I’m not a therapist anymore, but I think she might need to see one.

Either than or just maybe, she’s burning out too. She has that look - you know the one - the dark circles under the eyes from lack of sleep and slumped shoulders from holding the weight of the world.

But if you’re burning out and the house is in flames all around you, the idea that the oh so familiar house on fire could be escaped for something a little less smokey can seem far off and unattainable.

I could feel a tension between us - a tug of war of sorts. It was as though she wanted to keep me close, to hold me in a helper role that no longer suited me. Why? I still can’t come up with a satisfactory answer.

So instead, I smiled at her and began to sing.

We’re here for a good time, not a long time, so have a good time, the sun can’t shine every day.

Her jaw dropped quicker than a turd from her oversized doggy’s arse. You know something Jimmy, I’ve always hated that song.

I laughed and replied. Me too, until recently. Now, it’s my theme tune. And when the song people are singing doesn’t fit with this one, I laugh and move on.

She wasn’t havin’ it. That seems a little entitled of you.

And that’s when I decided that our relationship was over. I’m entitled to ignore people who criticize me for enjoying life.

But I wasn’t going to tell her.

Instead, I quipped: Some people feel compelled to save the world. Me? I’m here to make everything a little less serous.

And with that, I farted loudly and left her there holding her dogs leash in one hand and a giant turd in the other.