Don’t care if it’s unlawful to remove the boot.
If the mold is on the stem you gotta target the root.
You’ll not repay a penny that the devil lends.
This is how it looks when the nightmare ends.
-from “When The Nightmare Ends”, by Giant Moose (me)
No one likes a quitter. No one likes the deserting soldier facing a court marshal, or the deadbeat dad with the deadbeat girlfriend living in a deadbeat motel, or the highschool dropout hanging out on the corner doing whatever dropouts do when they’re hanging out on the corner. No one likes a quitter. On February 21, 2015 Larry Sanders quit the NBA.
A freakishly athletic 6’11” center drafted 15th out of VCU in 2010, Larry spent five NBA seasons with the Milwaukee Bucks wowing the league with blocks and dunks, signing a 44 million dollar contract extension, and frustrating fans, teammates, and management with erratic behavior, including a highly publicized bar fight, multiple suspensions for marijuana use, and inconsistent play. In the midst of a “personal reasons” leave of absence, he and the Bucks negotiated a 13 million dollar buyout of his contract, and he left the team and the league. In a general yet revealing first-person video (http://www.theplayerstribune.com/larry-sanders-exclusive-interview/) Larry discussed his reasons for leaving. It’s worth viewing. Not reading too much into it, we see that he suffers from a mood disorder, loves basketball but has many other loves, was deeply unhappy playing in the NBA, likes the sticky icky, and has an awesome hat. Some deride him for being just another spoiled professional athlete who would rather rap and smoke weed than actually work for a living. Some applaud him for choosing to follow his dream and do what makes him happy. I just hear a new Lincoln ad, with a scruffy Matthew McConaughey’s faraway stare and lazy drawl. “It ain’t about rappin’ and smokin’ weed. It ain’t about followin’ your dream, neither. It’s about figurin’ how to live with yourself every day. That’s why I quit the NBA. And that’s why I love drivin’ a Lincoln.”
I’ve quit some things; no, a lot of things. I’ve quit the workforce. I’ve quit socializing. I’ve quit being an everyday presence in the lives of my wife and children. I’ve quit therapy and the accompanying futile effort to manage work and family. I’ve quit subjecting myself to others’ expectations. I’ve quit trying to overcome my fears. I’ve quit dreaming of success. I’ve quit being someone I’m not. I don’t want ten simple tips for managing bipolar. I don’t want the perfect cocktail of five meds that might not be perfect in five months. I stopped looking for help. Instead I asked a select few for understanding and support, with no promise I could offer anything in return. I’ve quit, after all. Now thoroughly dependent on others, but feeling free of their expectations and the fear associated with them, I spend my days knitting, playing music, writing, reading spy novels, watching a little sports, and drinking a little beer. It’s a regular routine that earns me little more than a penny, but brings me regular moments of joy, makes me feel almost worthy of my little corner of the universe. I hope Larry Sanders feels the same.
Sometime during our history, humans began judging the merits of fear, calling some rational and some irrational. No one is expected to overcome fear of an angry mother grizzly who will tear a person to shreds. No one is expected to overcome fear of a grenade that was just lobbed into the bunker. Yet those who are so afraid of failure, of losing their tempers, of being asked a question to which they do not have the answer, of disappointing an audience, of being exposed as a fraud, those who are so afraid of these things as to consider self-harm a reasonable alternative, they are labeled mentally unstable and expected to seek the necessary treatment. I am not here to criticize psychiatric care. I, myself, depend on a daily dose of lithium. I simply argue that, for some, these so called irrational fears are absolutely real, and many precious lives get wrecked by the persistent pressure to overcome them, to be healthy and productive, to live up to potential, to manage a “mood disorder.”
Maybe someday Larry Sanders will play professional basketball again. Maybe someday I will move back to Pennsylvania. Maybe someday a lot of people will do a lot of things. Till all those days, if you see someone who seems to have quit, ask what brings that person joy, and then help him or her do whatever that is. It’s not about helping someone recover, or helping someone become self-reliant, or helping someone reestablish a career. It’s about joy. The world needs joy. If a quitter finds joy, then the world needs a quitter. And it’s nice to feel needed. This is how it looks when the nightmare ends.
giantmooserocks 