josh Allan

I just found out that my Grandpa died this morning. It’s really OK, though; I mean, as OK as it can be. Death always seems misaligned with reality to me, like it’s just really not supposed to happen. But if it ever can be appropriate, in this sense it really is. Grandpa was mid-nineties and has been sick for years, literally. Since he got old-sick, he’s been diminishingly communicative and but a shell of his former energetic, beautiful self (which is true; I’m not sure I’ve ever met a person more beautiful or as much like Jesus as my Grandpa). In any case, he’s not here (in the traditional sense, at least) anymore, and I think that’s OK, because I think he must be somewhere else. Where, really, I’m not sure, but I’ll bet it’s somewhere nice, with a pretty view out the window and lots of steak for dinner.

I can’t help thinking sometimes that some time periods have it better than others. What I mean is that, like with death for example, back even a couple hundred years ago people weren’t nearly as removed from the idea of death as we are now, in America. I’m also sure that there are places in the world right now, as I write, who are in very near proximity to death, spatially. But in any case, I’m definitely not whenever/wherever that is, and I wonder sometimes if our technology and individualization of quite damn near every service known to humankind (e.g., mortuary services) has done us a disservice in terms of our construction of reality. Like maybe we would have a better grip on what life is about if we had to deal with things like death more hands-on, more personally. Not that I really want to, mind you, I just wonder about these things.

But then I’m pretty sure that time periods and geographic locations aren’t superior or inferior, just different. I tend to consider anything I’m involved with, anything I participate in, any time period I’m in — anything I put the official Josh-Allan-Seal-Of-Approval on — (obviously) better than everything else. It’s just the way I think. The thing is, though, I don’t think I’m alone in this thinking. I’ll bet your friends do it, I’ll bet your parents do it, maybe you even do it: live in this highly evolved, self-absorbed mindset.

I guess I’m just still very much high on this notion of brokenness in people. We are a pretty fucked up bunch, if we’re being honest.

And why is it at this point in my writing that I feel I need to offer some answer, some conclusion? I sure don’t have any answers, just ideas. And I find myself not as concerned with whether my ideas are right or wrong anymore, but I sure do hope they’re meaningful. In any case, there’s either something clearly wrong with me that I desire resolution so badly, or maybe that’s another thing we’ve got in common, you and I.

I hope it’s the case that we’re all seeking an interpretation, an explanation, of this mess; it sure would make me feel a lot less lonely right now.