Behind the Golden Gate

       Do not think me gentle
because I speak in praise
of gentleness, or elegant
because I honor the grace
that keeps this world. I am
a man crude as any,
gross of speech, intolerant,
stubborn, angry, full
of fits and furies. That I
may have spoken well
at times, is not natural.
A wonder is what it is.

-Wendell Berry

August 2013 Run, San Francisco

I've been thinking about mean people. Usually meanness stems from a lack of something. Lack of self esteem is a big one (if you've encountered a teenager lately, you will know what I mean). To live in a mean situation suggests impoverishment. And to be wealthy can make you meanest of all. Because money cannot buy you love.

Which leads me to the fact that I saw Sir Paul McCartney in concert this weekend. That guy must be about 70 years old, and he was on stage for 3 hours. He seemed so happy to be there. I heard quite a few inebriated or stoned (or both) 20-somethings watching him play and saying things like "dude, he is as old as f#*." Sir Paul never once uttered the F word, and he could outlast any of those idiots who have probably never worked a day in their lives.

Which brings me to the luxurious moments I spent, early in the morning before heading to the concerts. I do work, and more than I oughta, (my own golden handcuffs of choice) but when I am running in Northern California, on a trail, breathing clean air and eucalyptus fumes, and gazing in from the ocean side of the Golden Gate, I feel truly rich. Like nothing is missing, like nothing can impoverish me, like nothing mean ever existed.

I can be mean too. Not when under the influence of eucalyptus and fog though. Unless, of course, some dude tries to pass me. 

August 2013 Run, San Francisco