“Well maybe the real God uses tricks, you know? Maybe he’s not omnipotent. He’s just been around so long he knows everything.” –Phil Connors, “Groundhog Day”
How often do quantities, values, units dictate my feeling of self-worth? High, low, unchanged. Good, bad, indifferent.
Age is just a number
The importance of age has changed through my life. When I was a 9-year-old kid in late March of 1992, I was nine-and-a-half, thank you very much.
I anxiously anticipated the next birthday. Every year was a milestone. One step closer to being a grown up. Oh, if I could only go back in a DeLorean and tell younger Les to take it easy. Enjoy life while it’s simple. And free.
Now, I’m thirty-three-and-seven-twelfths-years-old, thank you very much, and I’m caught between lamenting speeding through my youth and wanting to make the most of whatever time I have left.
Some numbers matter (or the fat man’s lament)
I’m a robust fellow who likes to eat and forces himself to exercise. Cholesterol is a real thing that can be a turd in the punchbowl if you let it. I gotta lower that number.
My weight is an issue. Sure, I accept the fact that I won’t have chiseled abs and Schwarzenegger-esque pecs. But I am too fat and I gotta do something about it. For my physical well being. Why can’t tacos, cookies and cheesecake give us the same nutritional benefits as fruits and vegetables? Scientists, I’m looking right at you. Get on that shit, y’all.
Some don’t, relatively speaking
I remember hearing a preacher one time saying something about things in this world that “God simply doesn’t care about.” He gave the example of when some people pray for their favorite sports team to win. I got the notion that this preacher didn’t like sports, otherwise he probably wouldn’t have said that. I’ve met some downright delusional sports fans who would probably sacrifice non-essential body parts in order for their team to take home a championship.
But, hey, there’s certainly more to the outcome of a football game than just how one particular fan of the team feels afterward. The impact of sports games can have a rippling effect across workplaces, schools, friendships. Who knows? I don’t. And that preacher certainly doesn’t. What’s good for someone can be bad from someone else, and all that.
Maybe god doesn’t care about somethings. Like the way a parent might be glad their kids have hobbies and interests, but have no connection themselves. Example: my boys and their obsession with “Minecraft.” I am glad they play and enjoy it. They work together (sometimes diplomatically). They build some awesome shit. But, honestly, I have no interest in it. I’m just glad they like it.
Is god really Phil Connors?
“Groundhog Day” is one of my favorite movies. It has time manipulation, an oft-incorrect weatherman, Bill Murray. And a groundhog. And Bill Murray.
Think about the part in the diner where Phil tells Rita he’s a god. Not the god. A god.
Maybe that’s what the being we pray to, worship, love to hate, hate to love, deny, embrace, etc. really is. He/she/whatever has been around so long that they just know what’s gonna happen next because it has already happened. If the amount of time that everything has been in existence, according to scientific principles, is billions of years, then surely a being well above our station could learn their way around this universe. Surely he/she/whatever wouldn’t spend all their time focusing just on some infinitesimal aspect of your life.
Wouldn’t they be out, I don’t know, creating other things? Experimenting with what might have worked with us humans and applying it to some other kind of race? Am I just spitballing because I’d really like it if Wookiees were real and somehow I could find one and make him my lifelong buddy?