A long overdue stammer of thanks

I’ve been reading some of my posts recently, and I’ve come to a few realizations about myself. I’m incredibly boring sometimes. No, don’t contradict me on that. I know that I may on occasion have intelligent things to say or make insightful points, but (at least) every now and again, I have to stop and spout off some bit of esoteric and arcane mumbo-jumbo that has been running through my head. The most recent example has been my diatribe over the abortion issue.

I read that post (talk about long... man, sometimes I just cannot get to the point!) and realized that I don’t think I function on the same level as other people generally do. I don’t know how to introduce myself to a pretty woman without stammering and mumbling. I can’t walk confidently through a business social gathering. I get bored watching a football game on television... But ask me about how democracy suffers from a utility preference transitivity problem, and watch my face light up!

Most of my life seems to be spent in a permanent state of grey. Issues flit through my head and I have full-blown arguments with myself over bizarre hypothetical scenarios and what most people might consider absurd propositions. But when entering the mind of a by-nature philosopher, one thing gets left at the door:

Emotion.

A rational man thinks, but cannot afford to feel. A conclusion laced with passions can be a dangerous thing, because while you can throw away a conclusion based on reason when better reasons come along, a conclusion based on emotion is much harder to let go.

Most of my past-times seem to be centered around making me emote. Some people get drunk. Other people get high. My personal form of intoxication is the revelry of euphoria, the misery of genuine despair, the pounding vision of righteous fury, and the thrumming of the heart in breathless anticipation.

While I typically turn to movies or literature for my drama fix, occasionally real life provides all the emotion I can handle. These moments, when the force of my emotion has left me bereft of reason... These moments, when I simply do not have the capacity to think, are as rare as they are meaningful to my life.

Perhaps you might not know what I am talking about, so let me give you an example.

In most every generation there is some moment that defines a lifetime of people. For my parents, it was the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. People who were alive then can usually tell you where they were when they heard the news, what they were wearing, and any number of other details about the day.

For my generation, that defining day is likely September 11, 2001. I have little doubt that in 40 years when the specter of 9-11 has been passed, children will ask their parents about "how it was back in the day." Their parents, all of us, will be able to tell their children about where we were, what we were wearing, and how it had affected us.

I was in the basement of my scholarship hall on the campus of the University of Kansas. Because I lived in the Scholarship Halls, I had to do work around the hall as part of my reduced rent. My job that morning was to do the breakfast dishes. While I did the dishes, I usually turned on the television to CNN (the best news program that we got... I always wished we would have gotten the BBC news instead). I was there, watching, as the news cut away to an emerging story. I was there, watching, as the plane hit. I was there, watching, as people died.

I was there, and I was thinking.

I wondered about how this would affect foreign policy. I wondered about how domestic policy would be altered. I wondered if this would be the start of a war. As usual, though, because I was thinking, I was not feeling.

After I finished the breakfast dishes, I continued to watch and think until it was time to go to my class. I continued thinking about policy as I went to my mid-morning political theory discussion section under Phara Charmchi. We wouldn’t be talking about class-material that morning, I knew. I mentally prepared a list of questions I had and insights I thought I should share.

As the class began, though, something happened. A pretty blond woman, who I think sat in the second row, began to cry.

I can’t recall what I was wearing. I don’t remember whether I had breakfast that morning. I haven’t the foggiest idea what other classes I had that day if any. I do remember this class, though, and I do remember her. She was wearing a blue jacket, and she was weeping. She was so overcome by the power of her emotion that she got up to leave the class partway through.

As she broke down, and as she left, she flipped a switch in my head. Thoughts left. Emotion flooded in.

I found that I couldn’t recall any of the points that I had wanted to make or any of the questions I had prepared in advance. All I could do was be carried along by the swift current of emotion coursing through me. I was struck by the overwhelming tragedy of so much wasted life. I realized that the estimated dead were not numbers to be tallied on a chart, but were people’s mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, and children, too. I was confused and terrified, but there was more. Even though I am not generally a violent person, my mind would not listen to reason that day. I wanted vengeance, but I didn’t want to punish the people who had killed the victims in New York because they had killed the innocent people in New York. I wanted to exact terrible retribution on whomever had hurt the girl from my political theory class so badly.

Sometimes, I forget that living means more than having an iron-clad set of beliefs which can withstand serious intellectual assault on the force of their reasons. Being encased in an armor of rigorous thought is a good way to have a good argument, but it is not a good way to live.

To that woman from my political theory class, wherever she may be tonight, I want to say thank-you. You reminded me then, as you remind me now, that life must be lived with passion, and not absent it. Although you may not have realized it, you were the cause of a meaningful moment in my life, and I’ve been remiss for not saying so in the four years intervening that day and this, even if this time I’m throwing my heart-felt appreciation into the wind.