Synopsis: My Head, and Avocados — just when you think you know something, you don’t!
This one seems strange, even to me, but my opening illustration is my head, and avocados. O, mi cabeza and aguacates.
Some years ago, I started cutting my hair really short, using a “1” blade on an electric clipper. A few weeks back, it was time for a trim. The bathroom was a little dark, and it was early for me, so anyway, I didn’t notice that the “1 blade” add on had dropped off the clipper. So, I fired it up, and dragged it across the left side of my head, using the bare “0” blade, which gives ya a cut just this side of bald.
As to avocados, I typically pick ’em out at the store, as I tend to do slightly better at getting ones that are OK to eat, as in not too soft, not to hard, or maybe needing a day on the window sill. A couple of weeks back, we discovered that the lush and delicious avocados we’re used to buying were suddenly smaller; I did my normal groping and prodding, and picked two anyway. They seemed normal.
As to my head, I figured out something was off about the third stroke, and stopped my hand. I clicked on another light, and there was my scalp, covered with not much hair. I decided that all I could do was finish the side with the “0,” match the other side to it, and then do the top and back with the “1.”
The avocados came out of the fridge, and I did my normal routine, making a slit all the way around, length-wise, then pulled. One side came free. The top was almost black, over-ripe. The meat was stuck to the pit at the fat part. Under-ripe.
My eyes wandered to my head, and I saw
- a hitherto unseen slight dent, and
- a vein, bulging. I assumed it was a vein, as it wasn’t pulsing. The vein came and went, and now it’s again covered with hair. As is the slight dent.
The avocado was partly edible, mostly weird. I have two more in the fridge, pictured above. We shall see what is hidden beneath the peel when I whack into them.
Oh, and there was an ant colony inside the closet rod, which I discovered when I
- saw ants on the bar, and
- took it down and couldn’t see through it.
Now, I’ve had a passing acquaintance with my head for almost 65 years now, and the vein and dent were news to me.
Every avocado I’ve cut into in the past was either ripe, under-ripe, or over-ripe. Now, 2 in a row were all three.
And I didn’t figure an ant colony (or maybe they were termites…) could develop an ant condo inside a 4 foot long pipe.
In all of these cases, reality flew in the face of past experience. But, and this is key, some of it might not be “the new norm.”
OK, so my head dent is likely what’s actually under there… maybe I’ll have at my head with the “0” blade again, just to be sure, but the vein, the avocados, and the pipe?
Variants… more evidence… about heads, avocados, and ants.
Part of opening your eyes and seeing has to do with… opening your eyes and seeing. The trick is to do so as a “fact gatherer,” as opposed to a meaning-maker.
In the case of the pipe, I now know one more place an ant colony can be (one trip down here, we turned on the water on for an outside Jacuzzi tub, and an entire ant colony shot out, but I digress…)
Avocados come in degrees of ripeness, including, apparently, all three states in one avocado, but this does not predict the state of the next one.
And my head contains mysteries, not only for all of you, but also for me.
A client some decades ago had been cheated upon, and made the leap that everyone would cheat on her. She’d endlessly berate her dates, accusing them. Because it happened once, and therefore would always happen.
A husband yells. His wife says, “I never knew he was like that, or I never would have married him.” Except, he yelled once in 20 years. Evidence-wise, she really only knows he seldom yells, but can.
In other words, each action is more information, and nothing else. As we get to know someone, they are the total of their actions, and some actions, (like mysterious dents appearing) are aberrations. Not, “he was this, and now he is that,” but rather “he is both this and that.”
We need to breathe and observe, and repeat to ourselves that all conclusions are provisional, because you never know the state of your avocado, until you cut it open. And then, you know a little more.
None of us is a fixed quantity, forever transparent, known, stable. We are what we are as a dynamic process, and by dynamic, I mean changing. We love one moment, and don’t the next. Doesn’t make the loving a lie; it just means that things changed.
Dents appear, veins bulge, avocados do weird things, and ants, apparently, are everywhere.
We are as we were, and as we are now, and none of it is predictive of the next moment. This is both scary and exhilarating, as all we know for sure is, “It is as it is.” In my case, with a dent, and not as much avocado as I was expecting.