Chapter 15
What was I thinking when I signed up for Earth Science this semester? I’ll tell you what I wasn’t—the nebular theory. I mean, how much vital information can my professor seriously pull out of these eight planets that he expects me to remember after the first exam. I understand that the Sun will eventually eat the Earth and convert everyone into well-done shish kabobs, but that’s not for another five billion years. All I can do to get myself through this information is tell myself this speculative, controversial bullshit will all be over soon so I can continue to avoid forming an opinion about religion and politics.
All I can think about while studying is the book by John Grady called Men Are From Mars, Women are from Venus. If you’ve been on this earth for a while or know anything about Venus, you can probably recall a time when science-fiction writers referred to this planet as a lush, tropical oasis, much more beautiful than planet Earth and much more like paradise. However, what scientists found instead was a traditional view of hell.
I find this analogy to be a bit offensive while understanding that it may or may not be more accurate than I’m presently willing to admit. If men are from Mars, then why is Mars such a world of wonders? Why does Mars look more normal than Venus in comparison to Earth? Why is it more interesting? And why does every fucking astronaut want to go there?
One thing’s for certain—I’m no astronaut.
After realizing how grateful I am to have responded “garbage lady” to the proverbial childhood question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”, I received a phone call from a friend of mine, Michael. A much needed distraction.
He's currently in love with Jen and she’s not interested anymore. For over a year, she developed and cultivated a strong interest in him while he was recovering from a gut-wrenching breakup. He was basically a zombie, taking prescription drugs for every ache and pain, and she tried to make him happy. Although it wasn’t love, I’ve never seen her like someone so much or try so hard to make someone okay. When she realized she couldn’t, she moved on and he suddenly became aware of how badly he wanted to be with her.
All I could do to help him was tell him my story about how ironic and idiotic it was that I spent four years of my life not actually loving the man I loved, and then realized how much I needed him when it was far too late.
I wished I could tell him that each story has a happy ending and that we all get exactly what we want. But instead, I told him truth—that we usually get what we need. Even though it doesn’t feel good and it often makes absolutely no sense, we evolve into beings that are capable of adaptation for survival and learn the vital lessons that most other people ignore in the process. Then, we survive after all the others die, and we get to see the most beautiful things in the world. We meet other survivors, make friends, share stories, and sometimes fall in love again. When we don’t fight the process, it eventually all makes sense. That’s when we derive the wisdom to decide what we really want and gain the freedom to choose it.
We just have to let go when time gives our teachers a big promotion or when it simply reassigns us.
Goodluck, Mike.
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