That Light at the End of the Tunnel May Not Be What You Think . . .

Have you ever had one of those lifetimes where it really just doesn't pay to get out of bed in the morning? I mean, you just know that no possible good can come from that act. You know what I'm talking about. Every one of us, at some point, has asked themselves the question "Does it really matter, cosmically speaking, if I just pull the covers back over my head and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist?"

The answer, of course, is no, it doesn't. A hundred years from this moment, no one is going to give a damn what you did or didn't do, whether you want to admit that or not. Nor is it very likely that anyone is even going to know you were alive, unless they are directly related to you, or you somehow wound up on the evening news with the anchor carefully pronouncing all three of your given names and your neighbours saying "But he was always so quiet . . ."

In the meantime, you get seventy or eighty years on this planet before the clock runs out and they throw dirt in your face. If, that is, you manage to avoid any of the truly delightful ways we've found for terminating our existences early . . . your mileage may vary. And what is it that so many of us choose to do with that time? Funny you should ask . . .

Casey Jones, meet the locomotive.

Most of us just seem to wander from one disaster to the next, and we call it "life." Not that we necessarily want to, but we just can't seem to help ourselves. Its what we do. Some people blame God for that, and then turn right around and pray to that same God for comfort and relief. Some people blame everybody else for their problems and misfortunes. What many of us don't do is put the responsibility squarely where it belongs: on ourselves. Life is chock full of drama, most of it self-inflicted.

Ever have a friend who just keeps throwing himself in front of the same train? It always winds up in a wreck, sometimes of biblical proportions and sometimes just of your everyday, city-razing variety, but they just keep on tossing themselves on the tracks. Whatever the pain, it seems that there's a bigger payoff and so the lemming-like rush goes on. And all you can do is watch from the sidelines, shrug, and remind yourself that the price of tuition just keeps going up.

For better or worse - mostly worse - we all make our own decisions. So, really, we have no one else to blame when that locomotive rolls right over us. If you don't want to get hit, then don't jump onto the tracks.

Maybe I'm just too detached. I certainly know I've been accused of that. Is it better to feel nothing than it is to feel everything? I don't know. I've been to both extremes in my life, though what most people mistake for detachment is simply the paralysis induced by feeling everything. That's my particular locomotive.

What I do know, however, is this. There are really only two rules in life. Rule Number One is that you can't change people. Rule Number Two is that you can't change Rule Number One.

I can't stop you from throwing yourself in front of that train. You wouldn't listen to me even if I tried. Nor can I pick you up, dust you off, and tell you everything is going to be all right, because it's not. Not when every time you see that light at the end of the tunnel, you're going to rush right out to see if it's the 4:15 freight. I can't do it, not when I've already lost so many friends. I just can't watch any more train wrecks.

You'll understand, I hope, if I just pull the covers back over my head. I've seen this movie before. Oh, hell, I've lived movie before. Trust me, it never ends well. There aren't any happy endings in this life, just endings, the only variation being the amount of pain we inflict on ourselves and others. And that, too, is one of the choices we all have to make.