Rise + Transcend

Fortune by Jason Engle

There is order in this chaos. A destimulated moment of stillness among the desensitizing cacophony of proficiency filtering through activity and purpose.

I've been waiting for two hours at the DMV to argue about a thirty five dollar fine. Meditating among the coughs, sneezes and baby farts. When I get up to the desk she tells me I have unpaid parking tickets. Fuck you bitch. You have unpaid parking tickets.

Then it turns out I didn't have any parking tickets. My account is just flagged that way. Or that's what she said. Don't argue with anyone about their job. It doesn't help things. I didn't get my fee waived. She seemed nice though, like, if only I didn't need her cooperation.

Money is inflammatory. When the thought of it entered my absent mind while approaching Window 22 I became distressed. The meditating helped me orient my emotions to discuss logically, framing outburst in a facial expression.

Change is reflected in the messages that unite. That means the messages are relatable to the moment. That means we are trying to understand the moment with the weight of connection. I've got a lot of respect for DMV employees, for laborers, for any hard working semi-agreeable person. The respect is the least we deserve. Money angers me because it reminds me of my insecurities.

I will always be wallowing in the depths of my aversion. Though I say I strive for clarity of vision. Sometimes I get distracted with hypotheticals. Money can't be evil. It's just a tool... like gravity is a tool. It can't drive you to work but if you don't have enough of it, you will feel that you need to. And if you have too much of it, you might force others to need to feel justified.

It's so simple when I straighten my spine, breathe deep, and clear my mind. I make false idols from extensions of wealth. I don't communicate my dreams. I don't know if I will ever be able unless I let the disconnects bring me closer to you and further from me.

One night on one of my walks through the city I glimpsed a beautiful person at the front desk of a dimly lit, upscale drinking establishment. She was dressed in black with her hair held back, looking down at a computer screen. As I walked toward her I noticed two other male attendees, standing behind her, raise their head with curiosity as I stepped under their awning. Her gaze stayed locked on the screen.

"Hey."

She looked up with doe eyes that morphed with reptilian prowess as they narrowed to shift focus.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm attracted to you." I let a breath echo in the dead space. The attendees eye's widened. My slouchy white overshirt, drop crotch cargo pants and grey suede Velcro'd high tops stood stark against the obstinate backdrop of uniformity in their pleated black dress slacks and polished leather loafers.

"...I'm sorry?" She replied. "There is a dress code."

"Do you mind." I nodding at the attendees, I felt uncomfortably powerful.

One motions at me with a gesture of subtle outrage. His tie skinny, like his lapel, matched his nose. "I'm sorry. Do YOU mind?! If you're harassing one of our employees we do mind."

"I don't mean to be aggressive. I wanted to ask this person a question." I saw her deep green eyes. I'm not use to that kind of green. Small scars on her cheek and chin were dolled with a thin layer of make up.

She stole a glance at the cars along the sidewalk. "I'm sorry, I'm working. I don't even know you."

"Alright buddy. You can leave now." Said the other attendee with more voluminous hair.

"Hey. I was just wondering if we could get some coffee...." My eyebrows perked up in with my best attempt to be innocuous. Which isn't usually an attractive trait.

She smiled and wrote down a number on a piece of paper.

I smiled back and slipped the paper into my pocket.

"Sorry for disturbing you...all" I smiled overly broadly and curtsied. Nailed it with the curtsy. Of course it wasn't her number.

It's so easy to convince myself that disconnection is uninteresting.

I protect my ability to love by accepting failure as a part of the cycle. I'm starting to think I love to fail. And that is dangerous. How do I look at my failures as opportunities?

I need to change the way I decide on "no." Negative doesn't mean depressing. Denying things shapes reality just as much as accepting.

Whether I'm aware of it or not, I'm constantly re-purposing and redefining instincts that were buried in my psyche centuries before I existed as this person. All of how I write and speak is a derivative of what we've all heard and read. Say what you say. None of us are really in control, just orienting toward purpose.