August 8: Any of My Secrets, Joy and Sadness, Lovely Messes

Zaphod and Ford and Trillian are still trying to unravel the mysteries of Zaphod's brain . . .

The scene around them was currently plunged into gloom.  Dark mists swirled round them and elephantine shapes lurked indistinctly in the shadows.  The air was occasionally rent with the sounds of illusory beings murdering other illusory beings.  Presumably enough people must have liked this sort of thing to make it a paying proposition.

"Ford," said Zaphod quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Just before Yooden died he came to see me."

"What? You never told me."

"No."

"What did he say?  What did he come to see you about?"

"He told me about the Heart of Gold.  It was his idea that I should steal it."

"His idea?"

"Yeah," said Zaphod, "and the only possible way of stealing it was to be at the launching ceremony."

Ford gaped at him in astonishment for a moment, and then roared with laughter.

"Are you telling me," he said,  "that you set yourself up to become President of the Galaxy just to steal that ship?"

"That's it," said Zaphod with the sort of grin that would get most people locked away in a room with soft walls.

"But why?" said Ford.  "What's so important about having it?"

"Dunno," said Zaphod.  "I think if I'd consciously known what was so important about it and what I would need it for it would have showed up on the brain screening tests and I would never have passed.  I think Yooden told me a lot of things that are still locked away."

"So you think you went and mucked about inside your own brain as a result of Yooden talking to you?"

"He was a hell of a talker."

"Yeah, but Zaphod, old mate, you want to look after yourself you know."

Zaphod shrugged.

"I mean, don't you have any inkling of the reasons for all this?" asked Ford.

Zaphod thought hard about this and doubts seemed to cross his mind.

"No," he said at last, "I don't seem to be letting myself into any of my secrets.  Still," he added on further reflection, "I can understand that.  I wouldn't trust myself further than I could spit a rat."

A moment later, the last planet in the catalog vanished from beneath them and the solid world resolved itself again.  

They were sitting in a plush waiting room full of glass-top tables and design awards.  

A tall Magrathean man was standing in front of them.

"The mice will see you now," he said.

Zaphod knows he can't be trusted.  That's why he performed surgery on his brain, so that he could hide memories from himself and others.  It's a way of protecting himself from himself, if that makes any sense.  A way to erase things from his mind that may be dangerous.

Memories are sometimes gifts; other times, they're curses.  There are absolutely some things in my life I would prefer to forget--failures and disappointments, moments of profound despair.  Those memories only provide pain to me when they flash through my brain.  They include things like the deaths of my sister and brother, my wife's struggles with mental illness and addiction. 

Of course, there are also moments that, if I could, I would relive again and again.  These include kneeling in the snow on Christmas Eve to propose to my wife; the day we married, and all the people who were there to celebrate with us; and the births of both of my children.  These are memories I call upon on my dark days, when joy is in short supply.

Don't start hunting for your bottle of Prozac.  I'm not about to lapse into a post of suicidal depression.  My point is actually fairly simple.  You can't have the good without the bad.  How would you know joy if you don't know sorrow.  That is one of the great struggles of life.  Life can't exist without death.  Love can't exist without heartbreak.  Rest can't exist without work.

On my way to Mackinaw City this week, my kids watched the film Inside Out.  I was driving, so I mostly listened to it.  There comes a moment near the end of the movie where the main character--Joy--realizes that she can't exist without her friend, Sadness.  Think about it.  Whenever you've cried over something--a lost job or a failed school exam or whatever--you immediately afterward experience a sense of calm.  You've walked through a dark forest, and you've reached the other side.  At least, that's the way I think of it. 

My life--everyone's lives--has been a series of encounters with both Joy and Sadness and their friends--Anger, Disgust, Worry, and Fear.  That's the way things work.  If we're not feeling all of these things, then we aren't really experiencing the whole gift of the universe that God gave us.  One experience calls up a whole multitude of emotions.

Try it out.  Step outside tonight, look up into the sky at the moon and stars.  You may feel joy and loneliness together.  Or sadness and awe.  Maybe a little fear.  That's what it means to be human.  We are just a bundle of contradictions.  Sometimes messy contradictions.  Happiness is messy sometimes.  Sadness, too.  Love, in particular, can be really messy.

But I wouldn't give up any of these emotions, whether they're joy or sadness or anger or disgust or loneliness.  The day you stop feeling is the day you stop living.  if you're really lucky, you have someone who's willing to join you on that journey.  Someone who will be there to laugh with you.  Someone who will pick up the pieces when you're falling apart.  Someone who will share in the messes of life.

Saint Marty has made some really lovely messes these past few days in Mackinaw City.