Losing sight of what's important
Mark Pavilons

I'm an idiot.

Granted, that's not the most earth-shattering revelation you're likely to hear.

In my estimation, there are gazillions of idiots, halfwits, dim-wits and not-toobrights among us. But that's not what I'm referring to.

I'm talking about the realization that comes with wisdom, not ignorance. It's the new-found knowledge; the information overload; the epiphany that creeps into one's thoughts at the end of a particularly tiring day. It's the noise a light switch makes (kind of like a clack) when you illuminate your dwelling.

When you achieve a certain level of awareness of the big picture, that picture changes dramatically. And so does your perspective.

When approaching the plain of enlightenment that many talk about (I stress approach, because I'm not convinced we can actually reach it), we are startled by the truth. The truth is, we are speck-like creatures who lack the mental agility to achieve much more than satisfying our home electronic needs. Just like that clack in our livingrooms, the aware among us know full well that we don't have enough matches for a spark; our elevators don't go all the way to the top; we're short a sandwich or two for a picnic; our oars don't reach the water; our stairs don't make it to the attic and we're a few bananas short of a milkshake.

In less colourful words, we're as dumb as a box of rocks. And most of us are reality impaired.

In an age of instant information there's really no excuse for being thick as post. It doesn't matter if you have a PhD or high school diploma, or even if you know what a high school is. Stupid is as stupid does, but wise is as wise learns and takes to heart.

I'm beginning to learn, even at my age. But the more I absorb about what's really important in this life, the more I feel inadequate and ill prepared for the next step. That's why I admitted my shortcomings at the outset of this column.

A regular reader told me that even armed with a fistful of degrees and years of teaching experience, many academics wouldn't refer to themselves as learned scholars or brilliant bulbs. Again, the key to knowledge is not finding it and retaining it, but making sense of it and applying it in the real world.

Despite the harmful effects of stress, I still worry about my sorry chequing account; mortgage rates; skyrocketing house prices; car repairs and the quality of goods made in China. Some of these are beyond my control and so, the only power I have is how I choose to react to such external influences.

In a perfect world, we would all be easy-going, never lose our tempers and approach each new experience and each new day with vim and vigour. In the real world, our neck muscles tighten as soon as we get out of bed; our blood pressure rises on the way in to work and our brains stop talking to us as soon as we slip behind our desks. We anticipate stressful situations and try to predict the future on an hourly basis - without success or any degree of accuracy of course. To top it all off, we eat poorly, don't manage our time very well and contribute to gridlock. By the end of the week, we need a stiff drink, and as sweet as the nectar of the gods is, we really can't swish away our troubles.

So, in a nutshell, modern human beings are nervous wrecks who are in way over our heads with little relief in sight. We consume and pollute and worst of all, lose sight of what's important.

And that brings me to my point (okay, I meandered a bit, but that's called poetic licence). Once we come to grips with our faults and our idiocy, the really good stuff is right there in front of our noses, but over there, a little to the left.

In my case, it's my wife and family.

As a directionless teen and young adult, I never thought love would find me, embrace me and spin me around. I never thought I would marry and have children, being somewhat resolved to live the life of a reclusive, literary soul - a very poor man's Hemingway.

But all that changed because someone took the time to care. And that set in motion a tremendous series of spectacular events that unfolded, much as they were destined to do.

I am not afraid of the faults she sees (and word has it there are more than a few). My past doesn't haunt me, although there are things I'd change. I'm just a book, perhaps a chapter short, for all to read. I do know, in the end, my dedication page will contain one name at the top - Kim.

Three other small but growing weeds make up the other really good stuff.

I see them smiling, as they approach me at the end of a school day, carefree and walking with confidence along the sidewalk. Their smiles blind me with pure, white light. Their eyes reveal a deeper mystery. At least once a week, I have to pinch myself (or check to see if my load is missing any bricks) to see if I'm dreaming. I can't believe I had something to do with their existence. These are mine. These weird, moody critters belong to me. These future explorers, scientists and astronauts share some of my DNA. And that's truly remarkable.

It's a gift, but often I don't see it that way. I am jolted this way and that by the current tides, the stressful but ultimately meaningless micro-moments. The Dalai Lama says we must always "think, think, think" before we act, and when we do, act with compassion and others' interests at heart.

He can't teach us to see. That we have to learn for ourselves.

Fortunately, there are plenty of opportunities to learn.

Try tilting your head a bit. And smile at the faces around the dinner table.