ABOUT ME

I was leaving the tennis courts Saturday . I got on my old pair of shitty tennis shoes, some cut-off britches, and a dirty old T-shirt. I have the cheapest racket you can get down at Wal-Mart , and a hand me down cap that says "Eat Me" on it. . Anyway, I'm not going to tell you about me. I'm going to tell you about the guy I saw.


He was about my age, in slightly better shape (OK, lots better) and he was out for a run. He had on a running outfit, one that looked like it ought to be on the cover of a magazine. He had some kind of French running shoes on, and a hat that probably came from Spain. His sunglasses probably cost what I make in a week. He's at the corner, running in place waiting for traffic to pass. He has that weird glow where you just know everything he touches turns to gold.

And my mind starts to drift, the way it sometimes does. I can see this guy, after his jog. He is in the driveway waxing his car, probably a BMW because BMW owners are always so well dressed. He's waxing his car, and he checks the oil and he is spotless. Then he goes in the house and sits at a big mahogany desk and pays a few bills. He has likely not paid a bill late, not since college at least. After he pays a few bills, he will go online, to that E-Trade thing and make a deal or two and pocket a cool Ten-Thousand. Then he will clean his kitchen and take some laundry to the Dry Cleaners before going to his kids soccer practice, after which he will take the entire team out for snow cones. When he gets home from that, he will marinate some steaks and start planning for the Memorial Day swim party.

This guy hasn't stopped since seven o'clock this morning, and after dinner tonight he and his wife will go dancing and when he gets home he will set the alarm after he takes out the trash, his family and castle secure.

I think all this inside of 15 seconds, the green light flashes go, the billionaire steps off the curb, and we both get on with out lives.

Now you might think I feel envious of this guy. But I don't. I almost feel sorry for him. That kind of life surely sounds like hell to me. But have come to understand that that is part of what is wrong with me. If had wanted just a little bit to have that kind of life, things would maybe be a lot different. Money was never that important to me. I'm glad for that. But maybe there were times it would have been good if it had been more important. I have regrets. I don't regret not having a big house or a fancy car.  My deepest  regrets are the recognition that I hurt people along the way, thinking only of myself.

Because this is how my Saturday morning goes:
I get up and my son and I play tennis in blown out shoes and a cheap-ass racket. Then we go to the Buttermilk Cafe for a Denver omelet with egg whites and multi-grain pancakes with sugar free syrup.. The waitresses all know us there. Then I go to a meeting and share my experience strength and hope. If I don't do anything else the rest of the day that's just fine with me. That right there is about all this addict can handle.
Everything else is gravy.
Life is good.