How My Life Changed because of a Terrible Prom Date
(By the way, I'm the goalie in this picture. This is from 6th grade, but I probably was actually cooler in 6 grade than I was as a 15 year-old)
I should also say,
my evening was not ruined by my date. Well, at least not directly. She was a very
nice girl. We were friends--really nothing more, nothing less. We both needed a
date. We were both tall. Although that essentially ends the lists of our
similarities, it worked.
Sort of.
For this particular
“spring fling” (given the disclaimer at the beginning of this, I can’t help but
put quotes around the term) we decided to board “The Spirit of Chicago”, a boat
that provides it’s guests a pretty remarkable view of Chicago as it navigates the coast of
Lake Michigan. We weren’t the only high school on the boat. In fact, watching
the other schools dance, it became pretty clear that they called their senior
formal “prom” not “spring fling.” There was lots of hip-shaking. In case you are curious, we were not allowed
to dance.
About
halfway
through the evening I became slightly…antsy. I didn’t really care for
the food, and the music in the other room was getting…sinful. I needed
some fresh air. I
have to admit, I do feel kind of bad for my date. I was…well…kind of a jerk. Every once in
awhile I fall into a psychosomatic, self-absorbed, self-pitying stupor. In case
you’re wondering, this still happens every so often. Ask my wife. It happened
last night (Sorry, Sarah!).
If we would have
been high school sweethearts I probably would have stayed at the table. But we
weren’t, so I left.
I went on the bow of
the ship and spent the next forty-five minutes simply looking at the city. I
looked at the building, the parks--everything that makes up the city of Chicago. I
couldn’t see any people as I looked at the city, but I realized something in that
moment. There wasn't a single person in the city of Chicago that knew who I was. I grew up about 50 miles outside of Chicago
so this shouldn’t be that much of a shocker. But through my first fifteen years
on earth, I thought I was kind of a big deal. I suppose in many ways, the world
revolved around me. I thought I was Truman in the “Truman Show.” Then it hit
me. Not only do these people, not know anything about me, they don’t even care
that they know nothing about it.
Yes, for the first
time, I realized that there are other people on the planet.
Other people with
families, dreams, jobs, things that stress them out. To the almost 2,700,00 people
within the city limits of Chicago, I was irrelevant. Then I thought, how many
people are there in the state of Illinois, the country, the world?
I couldn’t get these idea of self-worth, value
and significance out of my head.
Am I “one-in-a-million” as the saying goes or am I simply one of
about of the 6,840,507,003
that live on planet earth.
I think that is why I've started writing this blog.
Most
blog that do well, experience success because there is something
inherently unique about its content or it's author. I do not make my
clothes out of my wife's hair. I do not cook exclusively with cashews.
But I have fallen in love (a few times...more on that later). I have
wrestled with notions of purpose. I have doubted the existence of God.
I guess in a lot of ways, I'm not unique at all. Maybe that's why I'm writing this blog.
Because I think we are all pretty similar.
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