There’s a stretch of road leading north out of Lyons, Colorado. If you’ve ever traveled to Estes, CO, you’ve likely driven this route. It does not capture the splendor of the Rocky Mountain National Park located up ahead, but it does offer an amusing natural dichotomy for those of us prone to imbecilic entertainment.
A creek rolls down from the mountains, cascading and winding around rocks, mesas, and towering cliff walls. A few inflatable rafts navigate the often turbulent waves, fishers cast their lines, and waders dip their hike-weary feet into the icy cold flow. Pines trees and a smattering of aspens populate the brown granite landscape, which remains otherwise dry absent the narrow, rushing waterway running alongside the road where Captain Obvious parked his rental.
On the opposite side of the road from the creek a posted sign reads, “If flooding, move to higher ground.” Do we really need a reminder to activate this basic, primordial instinct? Unless I’m on oceanfront property standing on the shoreline, I’d like to imagine water rising past my ankles that rapidly approaches my knees would illicit an appropriate survival response.
Fortunately, geographic elevation is readily available in these Colorado foothills. If you’re physically capable, ascension opportunities abound. While statistically unaware, I doubt this area tallies an inordinate amount of flooding deaths. Maybe an occasional, past aberrant weather anomaly created sudden deluges. Perhaps this explains the painfully obvious and possibly necessary signage. Aye aye, Captain!
Ironically, the hillside opposite the creek is populated by a grove of burnt evergreens. The same land that justifies the need to warn people about rising waters also experiences fire danger. Disappointingly, these two events never occur at the same time. Then again, maybe that would be bad. If people moved to higher ground from a flood, they’d travel directly into a blaze. Thank God for opposite flood and fire seasons. Very Coloradan.
However, we’ve all heard that opposites attract. My wife and I are good examples. Before ever meeting we both took the Myers-Briggs personality test in our early twenties. As fate would have it, we scored as polar opposites on this assessment. We’ve been married for 27 years. Neither Myers nor Briggs said whether this was a good idea or not. We’ll reassess at the three decade mark and let them know.
According to this psychological standardized test we should, most likely, agree on little. As human being with varying perspectives and individual experiences we do not agree on everything. Who does? That would be like getting your way all of the time. Crap, that actually sound kind of nice, but ultimately a male spousal fantasy. A guy can dream.
Fortunately we’ve consistently agreed on furniture choices throughout the years. However, some couples struggle mightily when reaching a couch consensus. Functionality or feng shui? Is it a sofa or a davenport? Sectionals, ottomans, recliners, leather, fabric, or all/none of the above? That’s without bringing color palettes into the discussion. Are you monochromic or a kaleidoscope craving freak? No, you can’t be in-between. Just choose one, dammit!
My wife used to say her style was French country. Then she heard on HGTV that French country equated to not really having a design preference. Dis-nous que c’est pas vrai! I don’t know what we call our fashion preference. How about relaxed rustic? I like that. Maybe anti-modern, or is that too broad with a hint of negativity? It’s kind of stupid to even care.
Of course Katharine Briggs and her daughter, Isabel Myers, never said that personality types needed to stay within their groupings or seek opposites. All of their work merely stressed that recognizing and understanding personal differences would lead to better communications and relationships. So it’s nice for opposites to still attract, polar or otherwise. Besides, the basic premise behind every romantic comedy and Hallmark movie would be dashed to their corny bits if it wasn’t true.
Consequently, brides would no longer dream of their wedding day and every family would suffer the cascading effects. But blood is thicker than water and family always survives. Ehhh, that depends. Some families circle the wagons and stand shoulder to shoulder, dodging the flaming arrows together. And some families will bleed each other for a nickel. Mo’ money, mo’ money!
A co-worker shared such story from a small rural town, located just west of nowhere, U.S.A. Upon the demise of the final grandparent, a delusional family member believed it was his birthrate to inherit everything. Naturally, the will divided it up evenly between the surviving family. To this day, siblings no longer talk with each other even though they live in the same tiny town, go to the same tiny church, and divvied-up the same tiny inheritance. That’s big time!
Wanting to have it all isn’t supposed to be taken literally. I have more crap now than I ever imagined. I’m at the point of wanting to give things away, not accrue more stuff. It’s nice to have nice things, but do you have a nice spare room to build your newly acquired nice stack of unnecessary junk you’d struggle to give away at a flea market? Like Stephen Wright said, “you can’t have everything. Where would you put it?”
If I moved myself with my own sweat, with my own money, would I bend over and pick up box after box or build a really awesome bonfire in the middle of my cul-de-sac? I’ve witnessed relatives spend months moving junk from one residence to another residence halfway across the country, just to have the same stacked boxes scratch off the popcorn texture from their cheesy ceilings. Aren’t hoarders super neat?
Our neighbor is helping his 20 something year old son retrofit a work van into, well, a home. With exorbitant rent prices and few worldly possessions, this young man chose to go ultra-minimalist. He’ll have a mobile home with the cranial clearance fit for a great dane. He’s excited about this next adventure and his parents are excited to reclaim their basement.
Heads may get scratched fathoming the practicality of this endeavor, but he’s young. Head scratching ideas of our youth usually lead to entertaining stories shared during life’s later moments otherwise spent obsessing over receding hairlines and expanding waistlines. Sure, he doesn’t have a pot to piss in, but that could be a great house warming gift since there’s no plumbing.
I’ve seen friends later in life, kids grown and out of the house, looking to purchase a bigger home. Typically, less people does not equate to a need for more space. However, I had a D in high school geometry, so spacial relations was never my strong suit. Maybe if they lived in a van for a few months, they’d recognize the rewards of downsizing. Or one of them would go missing and I’d recognize the rewards of snitching out the last spouse standing (or crouching in the back of the van).
This coming from the guy sitting alone in my basement with a fully stocked bar, a bedroom, a bathroom with a shower, a sliding glass door leading outside to a fire pit, and two other floors upstairs I’m currently ignoring. A luxury, yes. A necessity, no. Yet I still have it and never contemplated my possession preponderance until I began tickling these computer keys to write this nonsense. Luxury and necessity. See. Opposites still attract.