Two Sides to Everything

    Monday’s eclipse – full totality here in humble East Rochester, New York – has evoked many deep reactions and residual philosophical viewpoints from my family and friends. For me, though, it was a vivid, visceral reminder of that admonishment we hear from childhood about there being two sides to every story:

     Things that taste delicious can cause weight gain.

     Jobs that bring great wealth can also be so immersive that they rob you of enjoying time with loved ones.

     Being born pretty or smart or rich can isolate you from the more ordinary minions of the world.

     For me, the allegory is about tenacity. Yes, even tenacity has its dark side. Granted, it gives you the heart to keep moving forward, undaunted, toward a specific goal, but it can also make you not know when it is in your best interest to simply stop trying.

     Take, for example, my Freshman year at college, on the first day of classes:

     It is warm and sunny, the campus is fragrant and lush, and all the fellow students I am passing en route to my various new destinations are just friends I haven’t made yet. I am loving my new life and all that comes with this unfolding experience, and I am determined to grab it by the horns and ride it for all it is worth.

     Enter Midwestern-style cute boy – tall, blonde, blue-eyed, wholesome – definitely not my type, but I'm here to embark on new horizons. The light side of tenacity – my new resolve to go with the flow of what could be if I will just let loose and let it happen – peeks out and beckons me to indulge. Fine. He’s not my type, but I’ll bring my playful best to this moment.

     He makes an effort to catch up with me at the end of our first English Literature class, this cute boy, and bestows a warm, approachable smile.

     From roll call, we were all made aware that there were three Richards in our class. One went by Rick, one by Dick, the third by Richard. With a flirtatious lilt to my voice, I say, “I know you’re one of the Richards, but which one are you?

     “I’m Dick,” he says.

     “Oh, you look like a Dick!” I respond immediately. Inwardly, I gasp. This is fixable, I tell myself tenaciously. I will try again.

     “Well, I don’t mean you look like a DICK,” I back-pedal. “But, if I had to guess which one of the three of you was the Dick, I definitely would’ve guessed it was you.”

     Eeeek! Nope; that wasn’t quite right, either. Keep trying!

     “Well, you know, not that there’s anything WRONG with Dicks!”

     Oh, dear lord. This is going sideways fast. But don’t give up! Be a bulldozer!

     “I LIKE Dicks!” I am trying to keep the register of my voice from joining my stomach, which has now catapulted up to my hairline.

     One more try, and this will all be right back on track. Never. Give. Up!!

     “I honestly have never met a Dick I didn’t like!” This comes out in an octave that sounds like Snow White has overdosed on helium.

     Just then, the sidewalk forks, and my cute Midwestern traveling companion says, after an awkward beat of incredulity, “I’m going to head to my dorm.” He then dashes away like an Olympic track star in the path of a flaming scud missile.

     “Okay. Bye, um, Dick!” I call out to his rapidly vanishing back.

     I’m sure I don’t need to mention that he never walked with me after English Literature class again. But, in retrospect, I take consolation in the fact that it was just as well. His name, after all, was so redundant: Dick Johnson.

No light to that dark side!