Reasons for Me

Sometimes I wonder why we exist. What purpose are we serving by being alive? Is there some grand plan for us that none of us knows about? I am not a staunch believer in God, but I sometimes pray for my family and friends. Sometimes for myself; asking God for patience, courage and strength to get me through difficult situations. I go to church with my in-laws a few times a year, but I don’t own a Bible and occasionally I use the Lord’s name in vain.

I started thinking about why we, as humans, exist after a co-worker told me a story about her daughter. Donna’s daughter, Kelly, is 19-years-old now and seemingly ‘cured,’ but growing up Kelly had horrible food allergies. On more than one occasion Donna had to perform CPR on her daughter to get her breathing again after she had eaten an orange or some other food that sent her into anaphylactic shock. She told me that recently Kelly started eating small portions of the foods that had previously been deadly to her with no harmful aftereffects. Donna believes that as her daughter matured and her body changed, the food allergies simply went away. Because of the hardships Kelly endured and her near death experiences, I believe she was put on this Earth for a purpose. But what?

I wondered about Donna and Kelly’s existence. Does Donna exist because her daughter exists? Without Donna, there would be no Kelly. Does Donna exist to help Kelly realize her potential? To help Kelly fulfill her destiny? Do we exist solely for the benefit of one another? If so, how is my life connected to that of a complete stranger?

I watch the inmates I am responsible for and wonder what their purposes in life are. They steal, cheat, lie, and cause harm to other people in many different ways and on varying levels. Their actions negatively affect their families, friends, strangers, and their community as a whole. Many refuse to take responsibility for their actions and blame everyone around them for their mishaps. In my opinion, those that continue to be selfish and hurt other people are worthless, are a drain on society, and have no business breathing the same air as I do. Yet, the door to the jail is a revolving one and my job security is never threatened. I wonder why these kinds of people exist when they contribute nothing positive to the community.

Which leads me to ask why do I exist? Do I exist because inmates exist? Do I exist to help balance out the numbers of good and bad? I am almost 40-years old and really have done nothing of any consequence in my life. I am a responsible, law-abiding citizen, but mostly I work, eat, and sleep. I pay taxes, but don’t belong to any charity groups that help children in need or build houses for the poverty-stricken. I never give money to the bell ringing Santa Claus outside of Wal-Mart at Christmas time and rarely do I buy cookies from Girl Scouts. I drive an eight-year-old SUV that burns through fuel and causes green-house gas emissions.

So why am I on this planet taking up valuable space? What am I destined to do in life that is so special? So many more questions than answers, but I suppose only in time will those answers be revealed. In the meantime, I could probably start using my time more wisely. I can volunteer and support a cause that I am passionate about (animals) and in the process maybe my destiny will come to fruition and I will finally understand the reasons for me.

Book Signing Like a Rock Star

We gathered together like a herd of sheep in a pen too small to contain us. Shoulder to shoulder we swayed and fidgeted as one. The air crackled with electricity; a tingle ran down my spine; my underarms grew damp; our nervous chatter was hushed. I wished I had applied a little lipstick. We had all come to see, to meet one man.

“I see him,” someone said.

Our heads bobbled to the left, to the right, back and forth as if we were performing some kind of bizarre ritual. The source of our excitement was close. We felt him; we smelled him. He was here, somewhere among us, blending in with the crowd.

“I don’t see him,” someone sighed with disappointment. Collectively we sighed.

I pulled up the sleeves of my sweatshirt, wishing instead I had worn a cute little tank top to show off some too pale skin. I glanced at my watch. It was time. He should be here. He was.

“I see him!” someone screamed. Collectively we screamed.

As one we surged towards the bespectacled, balding man dressed in a black t-shirt and flip flops. All three-hundred of us crowded close, but fell just short of mobbing him. We jockeyed for position; all of us wanting to touch him, to take his picture, to hear him speak, and later to tell our friends that we had been one of the lucky few, okay one of the lucky three hundred, he had actually talked to.

You’d think Paul McCartney, the Pope, or even Miley Cyrus, had sauntered through the double-doors of Barnes and Noble, but it was only Sam. Only Sam? No, not ‘Only Sam,’ but Sam “The Cooking Guy!” Step back and recognize!

***

I clutched Sam’s book, Just a Bunch of Recipes, to my chest and practiced what I would say when it was my turn to have him sign my book….

Hi Sam. You’re so great! My husband and I are big fans!
Hi Sam. I’m going to a BBQ this weekend. What do you suggest I make?
Hi Sam, you’re so cute! Hee hee hee

Twenty minutes later I still hadn’t decided what I would say, but I had time. I pulled my yellow card from my pocket, #167. He hadn’t yet reached #20. I had a long ways to go, but towards the front of the store there was a commotion. Barnes and Noble had just sold the last of Sam’s books! People grumbled, a woman cried, I thought a fist fight might ensue. Many of those people had already been issued numbers, but had no book to sign and this was after all, a book signing. Their loss, however, was my gain. A man handed me his yellow card as he went out the door. #143! I giggled crazily with anticipation.

***

The line moved slower than a snail taking a nap. Actually, it didn’t really move at all, it just seemed like it did with people bouncing from one foot to the other to keep their legs from falling asleep. Absolutely everyone wanted their picture taken with Sam, to hug him (at least the women did), to tell him how good his recipes were, and to tell him how great he was. I was no exception, but I would have to wait my turn.

Finally, the moment I'd been waiting for. It was 10 p.m. and I’d been standing in line for a good 3-hours. I went over everything in my head. I decided I would tell Sam what big fans my husband and I were and ask him what I should make for the BBQ. He flashed his lovely smile and as I gazed into his twinkling eyes all cognizant thought flew from my head. I couldn’t speak. I merely held up my camera and the man in line behind me took a picture of us, then I thrust my book at Sam to sign. At last I found my voice. “You look tired,” I said. Good going Rae! Basically I told the man he looked like shit, but I got my cookbook signed and all was good in the world again.