A Negative Cast

Frank wasn’t obese. He wasn’t an alcoholic. He didn’t smoke or use drugs. He won more often than not at the races. He wasn’t rich but more so than poor. Twice divorced, dating a younger woman, he could retire early but was already bored. Not a bad father – anymore- or friend. Just felt dull, dulled, pointless. Not clinically depressed, but not fully alive. He was going through the motions.

Sundays he went to Mass, Saturdays at temple, Buddhist retreats six times a year, he devoured Greek, African, South American, Native American mythology.  Mindfulness meditation podcasts, wrote poems, short stories, took art classes, did yoga, ran a couple of miles three times a week, went to movies, drank in moderation, self-help book junkie. Believed in social justice- didn’t do much to help the downtrodden. Then there was his anger problem.

It had been years since he punched a wall. Maybe if he ran more, maybe if he tried group therapy again. Nah. DBT? He wasn’t sufficiently motivated.

 What did he love when he was a kid? Baseball? No. No sports. Chess. Not really. Music. Yeah. He didn’t pursue it because no one liked his songs or covers.

 Maybe the problem was his lack of compassion with himself.

The horse was a beautiful animal. But he hated the smell.

Manure was a good fertilizer, but he didn’t like to farm. Or garden.