Let There Be Light!

“Easy for a privileged white guy to say!” wrote a privileged white woman with a computer and internet access about an article I wrote.

At first I felt annoyed. Why would she say that? Did she even read it? Does she know anything about me?

Is she spying on me in the shower to know my exact skin color? Are Jews white?

But then I felt annoyed at myself for being annoyed. Which is even worse. Why would I let her bother me?

Because she is absolutely right. There is nothing in her statement that is wrong.

A) it IS easy for a “privileged white guy” to say what I wrote.

B ) It’s also easy for ME to say what I wrote. I have no problem “saying” anything. It’s just typing. I can type anything I want.

C) I’ve been through many things that made what I wrote not so easy (like when my hands were tied behind my back and duct tape put over my mouth) but how could she have known that without reading my diary?

D) It’s hard for her to do the ideas I suggest because she has excuses. For one thing, it’s pretty clear she is not a privileged white guy. That’s a pretty good excuse. Excuse noted!

E) I have NEVER been able to convince anyone that their own excuses are BS. People love their excuses like they are little babies. They cuddle them and protect them and feed them and go “googoo gaga” to their excuses.

Heck, I’ve even accused others of being privileged white guys.

As an aside, I hate when Jewish people (me last week) say, “I’m not white. I’m Jewish.” Have you looked in the mirror? You’re like Elmer’s glue. You’re like white-out.

Some excuses I’ve seen people use just in the past week:

• you got an education and I didn’t.
• I got ripped off by my partner. I’m too trusting.
• I have to raise six kids.
• Nobody trusts me after my last failure.
• you have to be dishonest to be successful
• I’m an introvert so I can’t do that.
• not everyone can just be an entrepreneur (hunter-gatherers were entrepreneurs so, trust me, you can be one also).

I’d probably be dead by now if I clung to my own excuses instead of pried them off my body like the leeches they were.

So I believe her. She had something deep down inside that she was arguing with. My poor baby. Come over here and let me hug you.

Why should I get in the middle of that heated internal discussion that just happened to pop up for air in the comments section of an article I wrote.

What people think of me is none of my business!

Excuses are leaks in a boat. When you cover one up, another pops up and is even worse. I’m not in the business of repairing other people’s boats. It’s hard enough to work on my own.

Often I wake up and I’m angry at someone. Or I get an email that’s annoying. Or I read a comment that’s annoying. Sometimes I hate going to sleep at night because I’m afraid I’m going to wake up angry at someone.

This will sound stupid but when I feel that first well of annoyance start to spring up as my dreams get adjusted to wakefulness do you know what I do?

I hold my hand out and picture the excuses underneath them. I say “let there be light!” on those excuses. And I repeat it all day whenever they try to pop up while I’m busy.

I’m the ruler of my universe! Nobody else. Then I let it get to my head a little. I boom out to Claudia (my Hispanic underprivileged wife), “Make me coffee!”

Corny, right? I’m embarrassed to tell you that. What if you think I’m a weirdo? You might think, “does he really do that? What a weirdo.”

But then day after day, my excuses go away, the things I’m angry about swim back down into their murky depths. The things I’m afraid of turn into fog and then disappear. The boat I’m on stabilizes and travels a bit further up the river.

“Ugh! That’s easy for you to say. That BS doesn’t really work.”

Ok. See you later alligator.