"Truth is, after all, a moving target..."

All of my adult life, and through a good portion of my younger years, I have been tormented by statements and maxims about "doing the right thing." Sometimes, in simple times and circumstances, "the right thing" is clear to all; most often, it is not. At any rate, I often have wished I could be as sure about everything as everyone around me seems to be.

Maybe because of my instinct and (I hope) ability to look deeply into everything I see, I could never help but say, "Yeah, but...how can one be sure of what the right thing is?" I always knew that often "the right thing" was more connected to group consensus than to morality or reason. (In some ways, morality is nothing but a group consensus, when you think about it.) Stand among an enthusiastic group for awhile, and what they agree upon will seem the "right thing." But what if you had stood, first, among their enemies? You might have been just as likely to side with that group -- not because of any flaw in yourself, but because people who truly believe they are right think so as a result of their available perspective and of the information they have at their disposal. The "wrong" side may be in possession of different information that, if known, might put a whole new spin on things. Sometimes, though, bigger pictures preclude the sharing of such information, for better or ill. Or, sometimes, things simply get misintrerpreted. But the worst of all possible scenarios is the presence of people who are more interested in "winning" than in finding the truth.

Once Upon a Time Signature (A Parable)

Shelly Manne, Stan Kenton's (and many others')
 great drummer.

Once upon a time-signature, there was a young, wide-eyed kid who wanted to become a drummer. His parents, ever the encouraging and musical types, bought him a drum set that they probably couldn't afford. It was a hazy silver/grey color and it was one of the most beautiful things the boy had ever seen.

By the standards of a professional drummer, it wasn't the highest quality drum set, but the boy cherished it and polished it and he learned how to play by taking a few precious lessons and by playing along with records in his junk-crowded bedroom for hours on end. (His parents were also very, very patient.)

For all of his high school years, he would practice for hours each day. Guided by his father, an arranger and composer, he listened to recordings by all of the greats from the old days and he found the modern greats on his own. He was one of the few kids (if not the only one) in his high school who could tell you who Gene Krupa, Louis Bellson and Shelley Manne were, though he did listen carefully to Bill Bruford, Phil Collins, Chester Thompson, Vinnie Colaiuta and Neil Peart -- but mostly to Neil Peart.

Thinking of Trees

Neil Peart

I've already admitted I come from "that Rush/Genesis place." As a young literary and musical fellow who was learning to play drums, I worshiped both the playing and the lyrical creations of the great Neil Peart.

This morning I was enjoying the soft springtime quiet of my backyard. As I reclined, I looked up at the trees overhead out into the woods behind my house. This song lyric came back into my mind. The reason is obvious. There were...lots of...you know...trees. But I guess my mind has been chewing on the idea of a mediocrity borne of good intentions, especially in both education and in modern parenthood. I even spoofed the idea here, in my new column for When Falls the Coliseum, last week.

Whatever the reason, I always loved this lyric by Peart -- so succinct; so objectively-toned, despite its incisive point. The political point may be debatable, but the outcome of the quest to make everyone equal is all too familiar, especially these days. It's just such a great little fable...

"One Little Victory"

One little victory
The greatest act can be
One little victory

                                                                      ~ Neil Peart

A few days ago, I split my mind right in half. Somehow, I separated my intellect from my emotions during a low moment.

We all know what it means to be depressed and we can easily council people as to why things are not so bad as they seem. We try to help them get through with logic. If someone is afraid, for instance, that he has a brain tumor because of recurring headaches, but numerous scans and tests say all is well, we say: "The tests were negative. You are fine. You're being illogical." But that doesn't always work, because the emotion of fear can smother the process of reasoning. Emotions can overpower us.