The Tao of Beer

I’m thinking we live in a pretty complicated world. Every day, we have a load of bad news flying at us every day from every conceivable direction: our economy, the environment, war, hunger, a government of elected lawyers, terrorists, a government of elected lawyers and airwaves clogged with self-ordained demigods.

Did I mention that we also have Nancy Grace? Every…single…night?

I’m tired of it all.

I’m old enough to say ‘screw it,’ and I have enough cash to buy some beers. I don’t plan on killing my liver, but I do intend to make it work just a little harder. .

I know some really, really good folks. We make each other laugh and will gently prop one another up as needed. No one keeps score, or dodges your phone calls.

I’ve slowly come to realize that the only thing better than having those kinds of friends, is being that kind of friend.

I suspect I’ll have to boot a few whiners out of the herd, and do my best to focus on what’s good in this world.

Lord knows, there are no shortages of prophets of doom. They can keep score on life’s cooties.

I’m determined to die penniless. I think there are a lot of good people out there who could use a little help making ends meet, and keeping the kids in shoes.

Being a kid shouldn’t be hard—it shouldn’t hurt. Life has a tendency of offering plenty of lumps and bumps along the way, and I'm thinking there's no need to start the little guys off any earlier that necessary.

I’m done with labels, too. I’ve been labeled ignorant, baby-killer, war-monger, liberal, conservative, lazy, driven, weird, loser, lost, hopeless…(holy crap, I didn’t realize the list would be this long), not to mention directionless, resistant, and my all time favorite, ‘too generous.’

The bottom line is none of those labels applied then, just as they don’t apply now.

It’s impossible to distill the essence of a person into a label. It’s a waste of time.

I’m going to pray, too. A lot. I’m going to be mumbling my thanks for all the blessings in my life, and ask for some divine intervention in the lives of those who haven’t quite figured it all out.

I think the only thing I'll ask, is that they begin to see the world through eyes other than their own.

You know, it’s hard to hate someone when you truly understand their life.

I can’t understand how anyone can hate another human, simply because of what they are—merely because of their skin color, ethnicity, religion or orientation to life. I don’t want to understand it, either. I’m thinking hatred is one of the biggies blocking the entrance into everyone’s Happy Hunting Grounds.

I’m guessing I’ll be praying for a lot of kids, too. Some I know—most I don’t. Kids are the most important and priceless legacy of any life. Some don’t get much of a start, and that may be the greatest tragedy of life.

My kids, your kids...their kids—will be the authors of tomorrow—all the tomorrows.

I’ve lived long enough to understand that getting knocked on your ass is pretty much par for the course we're all playing. Somewhere along the way, I heard someone say, it’s not how many times you get knocked down that matters, it’s how many times you get back up. I think that’s gotta be one of the indisputable truths of life.

I’m sure there’s a few unpleasant surprises out there waiting for me, and I’m sure I’ll find myself staggering back up on my feet and dusting off again.

That’s OK. Life has whupped up on me before, and then watched me—usually quite unsteadily—regain my feet.

The beer, the friends, the laughter, the prayers and the scars should make it all a little bit easier from now on.

I’ll go on record with it—I intend to keep living until I’m officially dead.

(When that time comes, maybe you should poke me with a stick.....just to make sure)