And boy, did that open the floodgates of memory, and a few
chuckles.
Uncle Leonard’s Verbal Tomato Garden Smackdown (Now with Extra
Basil and Sass)
Let
me tell you about the time I got spiritually body-slammed by Uncle Leonard
Madalon—a man so wise and well-traveled, he made Indiana Jones look like a
homebody. Uncle Leonard wasn’t just a globetrotter; he was a faith-fueled,
tomato-growing, radicchio-loving humanitarian who could quote scripture, fix a
leaky faucet, and tell you the best place to get goat curry in Kathmandu.
One sunny afternoon, we were out in the garden, tilling soil like good Italian
peasants, when I made the mistake of complaining about my Catholic school educator's
salary. I was mid-rant, probably comparing my paycheck to the cost of a decent
bottle of Stag (his favorite beverage), when Uncle Leonard stopped, leaned on
his hoe like it was a pulpit, and gave me the look—you know, the one
that says, “You’re about to learn something whether you like it or not.”
“Shame on you,” he said, in a tone that was equal parts
disappointed priest and mafia consigliere. “We live like kings compared to most
of the world.” And then came the
lecture. Oh, the lecture. It was like being lovingly mugged by Mother Teresa
and Gandhi at the same time. He talked about his time in Nepal, where his son
Lenny was doing service work, and how people there lived with so little but had
so much. Meanwhile, I was griping about not being able to afford a Happy Meal
for my kids at McDonald’s.
By the end of it, I felt like I had been spiritually exfoliated. I
nodded, humbled, and went back to planting radicchio with the quiet reverence
of someone who a tomato-slinging prophet had just schooled.
The Cybersecurity Envy Chronicles
Then
there’s my lifelong friend Michael. He worked in cybersecurity, yes, the kind
of job that sounds like it comes with a cape and a secret identity. One day, he
confessed he was jealous of how much I loved my job. He saw my social media
posts: me dressed as a leprechaun, a pilgrim, Santa’s favorite elf, and of
course, Dr. Seuss’ Cat in the Hat. He said, “I wish I could enjoy my career
even a fraction as much as you do.”
What Michael didn’t realize was that I was also playing a role:
actor, marketer, school spirit ambassador, and part-time mascot. Sure, I loved
my job, but I also knew how to sell it. I was living the dream, or at least,
the Instagram version of it. Behind every costume was an exhausted principal
with glitter in his hair and glue on his shoes.
Chasing the Dream (and the Joneses)
Recently,
I wrote a blog called “Enjoying a Slice or Sliver of Heaven?” and
realized I wasn’t just keeping up with the Joneses—I was chasing something
worse: The Dream. You know the one. The yacht. The mansion. The
perfectly filtered life where everyone’s smiling and rippling with muscles.
Real influencers.
It’s the unholy alliance of envy and illusion, convincing us that
unless we’re blissed out 24/7, we’re failing. I’m done with that. I’m done
catering to the thief of joy. I don’t need a yacht—I’ve got a 110-gallon fish
tank I still haven’t repurposed. I don’t need a mansion—I’ve got a school
office with a mini fridge and a Buddha statue. And I don’t need rippling muscles;
I’ve got a radicchio garden and a penchant for gooey cafeteria pizza (and
mushroom coffee!).
Where’s Buddha?
And
finally, we circle back to Buddha. You can’t drop a Buddhist quote without
mentioning my office game: Where’s Buddha?
After Advent and the Elf on the Shelf craze, my students made tiny
Buddha statues during Genius Hour using a 3D printer. One was turquoise, 3.5
inches tall, and became the star of a new game for Father Yates (aka Fr.
33-Buttons). Buddha traveled all over my office, on bookshelves, behind picture
frames, and nestled amongst the coffee-stained mugs. Father never could quite
spot him. It was like spiritual hide-and-seek meets office décor.
To this day, that little Buddha sits on my shelf, reminding me to
stay humble, strive for enlightenment, and laugh at the absurdity of it all.
He’s my tiny turquoise guru, silently judging me when I reach for my extra cup
of coffee or forget to carry out a scheduled fire drill.
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