Unexpected Finishes

I’m drawn to stories that don’t reach their logical conclusions. The runner in distant last place who wins the race.  The winner of the talent contest who sang, even though she was completely deaf (and as you watch this video, keep an eye on the dad, too).  The two legislators in Tennessee expelled from the legislature who were reinstated within a week. None of these stories ended the way most people thought they should, but they found their rightful conclusion anyway, much to the delight of those same people, who suddenly went from sceptic to delighted observer—and that includes me.

As a lover of the unsuspected, I’ve thought about the common elements of these success stories, and what they might mean. Here goes:

They challenge a social box  Like it or not, we are all susceptible to the expectations of our culture, and they sometimes try to limit others.  As a result, when a situation shows up, we’re inclined to reach the conclusion of the story before we even know the first few chapters. You’re in last place with one lap to go?  May as well walk the rest of the way.

This kind of assumption is often a must in order to live our lives—we have to trust what’s going to happen when we turn the steering wheel, put the clothes in the washer, and follow the instructions of the recipe.  On the other hand, people aren’t cakes, or cars, or even Maytags, which means the process of human growth isn’t nearly as mechanical as the process of things or stuff.  I often forget that.  I shouldn’t.

The person in the experience doesn’t see it that way at all  The heroes of some comeback stories will tell you they always knew exactly how it would end, while others started with just a glimmer of the finish, while others had no clue, other that they knew the end wouldn’t be bad.  No matter what the case is, they had some inkling that this chapter of their lives wasn’t going to be business as usual, and they trusted it.

They put their belief into practice  The last-place runner didn’t keep at the same pace, hoping the others in front of her would simply fall down, and the hearing-impaired singer didn’t let too many days go by without working her plan to understand the different vibrations of notes.  None of the hero stories I know of included Marines, but all of them included the unofficial Marine motto—hope isn’t a plan.  Instead, they all gave oxygen to their hopes by bringing them to life.

They were true to themselves  Can we honestly say the two legislators in Tennessee had no doubt they were going to be returned to their seats?  Can we say that the hearing-impaired singer never had a day where they thought, this isn’t going to happen?  If they doubted, they sure handled it the right way, even if they gave up for a day, and came back to the dream the next day. Patience played a role in every comeback, and with it came an expectancy of good.

For all I know about these stories, and for as much as I like the glow they give me, they lead me to three questions I still don’t know the answers to:

Do they change the way I see the world, live my life, and take on challenges? 

Do they help me see others differently, when society’s boxes suggest I should limit them?

Which of the first two questions is more important?

The Last Orange Jellybean

It was quite a vivid bowl
Easter Sunday.
Every handful a rainbow
Some more lopsided than others
But still a lovely mix
And an explosion that elicited memories
Of Saturday cartoon breakfasts.

But now it’s Easter Friday
And the twenty or so survivors
Are saying goodbye to the last orange
Which is after all
My favorite.

Do they wave a fond farewell
Heave a sigh for what lies ahead
Or sparkle in the memory of what was?
So much to learn
In this time of resurrection.

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