Live from New York
Stuart Smalley, the benign, lovable, tied-sweater chum played by Al Franken during his stint on Saturday Night Live more than thirty years ago, introduced me to the world of affirmations — the habit of self encouragement and visualization. Smalley, during his skits, became famous for looking into the mirror every morning and saying: “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough and gosh darnit, people like me.” Franken’s comedic timing made for two minutes of uncomfortable laughter for those in the audience who experience a chronic crisis of confidence.
I am one of them.
Jack
The phenomenon of distress and sadness felt by social media users who compare their personal status to the over-the-top joy and success enjoyed by online friends can be disorienting. Misery, mediocrity and banality spun into gold as if Medjugorje. My own children have cultivated a perception of bliss that borders on pathological lying.
Born of comparison, the slightest twinge of inferiority in one’s psyche becomes a beanstalk launched from a handful of seeds traded for a cow. The perception of a joy state, born of twisted engagement, spun thumbs and glue-trapped mice, ruthlessly seeking volunteers for a cancer diagnosis, makes every man a commodity.
I am one of them.
It ain’t over
Among a list of affirmations with which I’ve become familiar is the following: “In the end, everything is going to be alright. If it ain’t alright, it ain’t the end.” Corny, but helpful, it brings comfort to people in times of struggle.
I am one of them.
Practice
When I leave my home, I always bring one handwritten love note to a human being. Any human being. Genderless. Genuine. Unknown. Thoughtful. Empathetic. Compassionate. Real. I usually leave it in a book at the library or tape it to the back of a stop sign. Perhaps people read them.
I am one of them.
Stop sign
In August, I began to parallel park, on a small street down which I’d never driven, near 10th and Spring Garden in Philadelphia. Unusual, because there are few streets with which I am not familiar in Center City, I twisted the wheel and fit my car perfectly between two junks, underneath an abandoned train bridge. Getting out, looking over at the concrete foundation of the bridge, I was confronted. This poster was plastered.
An affirmation. A love note. A library book. The back of a stop sign. A wonderful place to sit, breath and let go.
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