No Control

The evidence suggests that the co-pilot of the doomed German Wings flight crashed the plane on purpose. One hundred fifty lives are lost, and one hundred forty nine of the souls gone had absolutely no influence on their end.

Less than a month ago, as I began my workday, I saw a naked man, wrapped in plastic loaded into an ambulance. The vigor with which the EMT worked the manual ventilator indicated that he was still alive at the time. I assumed a heart attack victim, as we live in a retirement community. In reality, this man was a stabbing victim and would later die. He was murdered in my tiny uneventful town. He was a homeless man, murdered by another homeless man, while they were both taking shelter from the winter cold in our local Methodist church.

Angelina Jolie Pitt has had her ovaries and fallopian tubes removed to prevent the onset of cancer that seems to run rampant in the women in her family. There are many ways to view this decision, but I will view it in the simplest of terms: A woman of sound mind and with the information given to her, made a decision she thought would prolong her life. When faced with eminent death, our bodies do this involuntarily--preserve themselves. And so, it seems natural to me.

I am a planner (euphemism for control freak!!). My daughter was registered for kindergarten this week, and I was surfing college websites. I have life insurance and a retirement account. I try to drink less beer and eat less bacon. But how does that really help me. Beer is fun and bacon tastes great, and if my plane is going down tomorrow . . . who cares.

Until recently I found solace--or tried to find solace--in quips like, "Plan like you'll live forever and live like there's no tomorrow." The fact that this statement is ridiculous and self defeating is not helpful.

I think I've found a better way to cope. As I emailed a German friend of mine my condolences and concerns today, it dawned on me how fortunate I was to have this German friend, a world away and yet, in my heart and mind. As I played with my daughter this evening, I saw my legacy in flesh and blood. As I sat down to form these words I became eternally grateful to my wife, who gave me my daughter, and gives me the time to think and write about these things. I think about the teachers who have nurtured my mind and exercised it, to make it strong enough to face the random barbarity of our existence with hope. I think about the teachers who will do the same for my daughter.

We have no control over the happenstance that may take our lives, unexpectedly, prematurely. At the same time, we have no control over the serendipity that shapes those very lives. I saw my wife eight years ago, outside a coffee shop. I knew I wanted her--needed her. I sought her out and pursued her, forsaking all others. Now she is the foundation on which the family that has illuminated my world is built.

Fifteen years ago the odds of my wife and myself meeting were probably the same as the odds of any of us boarding a flight tomorrow with an unstable pilot. Given the odds, and the potential outcomes, I recommend we all keep taking our chances.

The Practical Joker

**Warning. This post contains potty humor, and relies completely on my daughter's charm for its charm.**

A week or so ago, my daughter got unbelievably excited before bed. Though she generally goes to bed an hour or so before me, she demanded that I get in my pajamas and get into bed before we read her a story. Upon pulling back the covers, I saw a crumpled piece of toilet paper where I would normally sleep. Quinn erupted into a peal of laughter and fell on the floor. Once she got herself together she said, "I used that toilet paper to wipe my back buns."

We just kind of fell into it, but we in the Murray family refer to the delicate regions as buns. There are front and back buns…pretty self explanatory, I think. Quinn seems to have come up with this one herself. Why mess with perfection? Back buns and front buns are about as perfect as "poop burp," another one of hers I love.

Oddly, as I stared at that piece of toilet paper-obviously clean for the curious among you-I felt a swell of pride within myself. Snarky ironic humor makes us laugh. A well told joke can entertain. But, the practical joker thinks to herself: There is not enough funny in this day. I'm going to make some!

My wife explained that the toilet paper was planted over twelve hours earlier, before Quinn left for school. I'm not going to muse on about the patience it took for her to execute that joke, or how that amount of focus proves she will someday rule the world. I'm simply going to revel in the knowledge that my daughter, like me, thinks that life can never be too funny, and funny takes a little effort, and that effort is time well spent.