I do not have a job.
I need a new place to lay my head.
It's the middle of a pandemic.
Just weeks from cataclysmic election.
But the Packers are 4-0. So not much else really matters. As the philosopher notes, "When you're chewing on life's gristle/ Don't grumble, give a whistle."
It's funny when you stop looking at the gristle and decide to a have a glass of joy (which tastes suspiciously like the Bionic Dragon IPA at The Tap here in Bloomington).
The drive into town Sunday morning was like driving through a Jackson Pollock fall-themed splatter. I had my windows down and my hair -- both of them -- flowing in the wind. That rotting leaf smell permeated the air as did the smell of wood furnaces on the drive home.
As a son of the Wisconsin Nort'woods, raised on the Green Bay Packers, I take great solace in the team's successful start. And as we fans -- full transparency: My daughter and I own one share of the Packers -- often live and die on the Packer's success, this takes away at least one more stress from our lives.
My drive in reminded me of Pema Chodron's story about Jarvis Jay Master, on death row in California for decades for a crime he didn't commit. During that time, he studied Buddhism and learned to be open in the moment. One day he's suddenly taken into the nearby city for an eye exam. During that ride he's silently awake to all that's changed around him during his incarceration.
That's hard to do everyday.
But try it on the good days.
And please, cheer on the Packers.
Peace and a winning streak unto all of you my brothers and sisters.