David Michael Bruno

Re-Calibrate - Less Things Leave Room for More Joy

One of the saddest deceptions of American-style consumerism is the idea that when we get more stuff we get more happy. This is a sneaky trick.

The problem is that it's almost true. Material possessions are like a big slide at a playground. Buying some possessions -- a new outfit, a new gadget, a new bike -- is like the thrill of speeding down a slippery fifteen-foot-high corkscrew slide. There's wind in your face. If the air is dry, the static electricity makes your butt sizzle. Everyone watching you laughs and shouts, "Look at him go!"

Imagine getting to the bottom at full speed and there, instead of the end of the slide and six inches of playground sand to dig your heels into, the slide just keeps going into a big huge gaping hole. Round and round you go. Down and down. Eyes watering. Ass sparking. The fun never stops. Except eventually it isn't fun anymore.

A playground, like consumerism, is enjoyable for a time. But after a while it's time to go home where, if you set your priorities straight, there's way more room for joy. Seek joy where humans thrive: not at the mall but in a loving home.

Filling Holes with Fresh Air

My oldest daughter has an amazing idea for a story. I will not give too much away, lest any plagiarists be lurking. Essentially it's about a garden where the plants communicate with each other by passing messages via animals carrying pollen between them. It's a really cool tale.

A couple days ago I asked her casually in passing if she'd worked on her story recently. She groaned, "No! But I really want to. It's just that there's no time."

She's got school. And homework. And horseback riding once a week. And Wednesday night church. And some minor house chores. And she likes to play. And she likes to read. Where's the time for writing stories?

Transition to my life. I too have been groaning of late that I have no time. I've got work. And a commute. And children. And a wife. And a dog to walk. And Wednesday night church. And house chores. And bills to write. And I like to play. And I like to read. Where's the time for writing stories?

And yet, there is time. I know it. Feel it. See it. I fill it up, with other stuff. Or perhaps the time gets filled up by other stuff. (I'm getting to my point here.) It's as if there are holes in my life. Holes that I can fill up with anything I want. I can put fresh soil in them and plant some seeds and cultivate the ground and watch something living grow until it's ready to be picked and eaten up. I can put water in them and add fish and plop down in a lawn chair and toss in scraps of bread. I can get a bunch of paper and a pencil and some water and a snack, especially some chocolate, and jump in for a few hours and write a story. I can do whatever I please with those holes.

Over the last couple weeks I have "not had time" to do much with the holes in my life. And you'd think that they'd just sit there empty, collecting falling leaves and snails. But they don't. They fill up. With kids staying up past their bedtimes. With unplanned weekend activities. With phone calls from family and friends. With worries that play like endless voicemails in my head. With dreams of buying a Land Rover Series III truck like I saw for sale on the side of the road a few blocks from work this morning.

I'd like to fill some holes with fresh air. Crisp, dewy-smelling fresh air. And climb into one of them. And take a nap.

Weeds, The Price of Progress

Did you catch the article in the New York Times “Rise of Superweeds,” by William Neuman and Andrew Pollack? One farmer, Eddie Anderson has been using Monsanto’s Roundup for 15 years to produce no-till crops, i.e. crops in which he only has to spray weed killer and not pick weeds.

“We’re back to where we were 20 years ago,” said Mr. Anderson, who will plow about one-third of his 3,000 acres of soybean fields this spring, more than he has in years.

Progress. Humans get chastened while weeds evolve.

We people have such an urge to dominate and control. We so desperately want to rule the environment and financial markets alike; we forget that we’re inescapably restrained by nature and human nature. We can modify natural systems, but we can never have mastery over the environment. We can squeak out more profits, but we can never make enough money to appease greed.

Not every industrial farmer wants to dominate the environment. Not every person caught up in Monsanto’s evil cycle is greedy. People are capable of more than one motive at a time. But without some self-imposed constraint, a herd behavior takes over and we go in directions we’d otherwise reject. (M. Scott Peck’s People of the Lie does an excellent job discussing this phenomenon.) Then it’s just a matter of time before the weeds grow up and choke us.

Two Kinds of Consumer Humility

There are two kinds of consumer humility. The first is the kind in which we humiliate ourselves by buying so much stuff that we eventually turn into fools. The second kind is to be humble in the first place, not trying buy our way into some kind of lifestyle we cannot live no matter how much stuff we get.

Both are choices. But we only have control over the second choice.

Review: Hunger Games

My friend Melody recommended that I read Suzanne Collins' book The Hunger Games a while back. She said that there might be some connection to the 100 Thing Challenge. Well, I put her off for a few months until my wife finally got the book and read it, as she does with most all books, in a couple days. Then my daughter read it in a few days. Then my wife got the second book in the series, Catching Fire, and read it in a day, followed by my daughter reading it in a couple days. I had no choice, two women and a young lady whose literary judgments I trust.

I will not spoil either of the books for you. My "review" is short and to the point: these are great books! I will warn that they are pretty graphic in their description of violence. This is particularly disturbing since the violence is mostly carried out by youth against youth. And yet this is not voyeurism, the way that we see killing on television or in the movies. (They are, of course, making movies of the books. Unless they change some things around, I cannot imagine -- and don't want to -- how these movies could be anything but extremely troubling.) Back in the days when I was at ChristianAudio, I did an interview with Ralph C. Wood in which we discussed Walker Percy's novels. Wood pointed out that while Percy's novels can at times be quite explicit, it's never in an inappropriate way. It's never in a way that makes you want more violence or more sex. Rather it makes you appreciate the difference between what is right and what is wrong. The violence of the Hunger Games does the same thing, it gives readers the ability to process atrocity without relishing barbaric acts.

Hope this doesn't scare you away! Really these are great books.

What about the connection to the 100 Thing Challenge. Well, I think there is a solid link. In the Hunger Games there are Districts that serve the Capital. The people in the Districts are impoverished and ruled by the iron fist of the Capital. They serve the opulent whims of the Capital people, who indulge in luxury to the point of boredom. The commentary on our own culture is unmistakable. At its extreme, American-style consumerism is endlessly indulgent, seeking evermore pleasures through luxury, permissiveness, and entertainment at the expense of others. The Hunger Games paints our daily lives and the outcomes of excessive capitalism with dramatic strokes. Yet if you can force yourself to stop and think about it for a little bit, what we demand for ourselves -- fancy cars, clothes, meals, and more -- isn't unlike what the Capital people want. And the way we go about getting our luxuries -- on the backs of impoverished people around the world -- is not unlike the means by which the Capital people get their luxuries.

Just yesterday I was driving and noticed an obese man in the passenger seat of a high-end luxury sedan. He wasn't buckled, probably because it isn't comfortable to wear a seat belt when you're that fat. His wife was done up. They both looked rich. Whether they were or not, I could not know for sure. But what did strike me was that this is the primary difference between the fiction of the Hunger Games and the reality of our American-style consumerism. In the Hunger Games the Capital and the Districts are separated. In our case, the opulent and the average and the impoverished all share the same places. Think of Hollywood or Santa Monica or even Beverly Hills. Places that are the very symbol of luxury and celebrity, but are rundown and full of poverty.

Ok. So the Hunger Games could sound like a downer if you're only reading them like a nutty guy who did the 100 Thing Challenge. But they aren't only about toil and injustice. There's a pretty good love story brewing. And for what it is worth, I'm going with my wife's theory that Gale really is Katniss's cousin (their father's were brothers!) and eventually Peeta will get his love. Cannot wait for book three!