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Eric Pederson’s invitation is awaiting your response

LinkedIn
Eric Pederson would like to connect on LinkedIn. How would you like to respond?
Eric Pederson
Eric Pederson
Sales Management – Operations, Business Development & Deal Management
Confirm you know Eric
You are receiving Reminder emails for pending invitations. Unsubscribe
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The torture of the bungee

They jump off bridges.  A shuffle of feet, a little hop and they plummet into the abyss, only to be yanked short by a rubbery tether.

In my cupboard I contemplate the jump, the sunlight bright through the door ahead.

The light ahead promises change and harshness, an explosion into a world beyond, a realm that I am little more certain exists than I am of heaven.  This is the change that nature begs of me, the death of what I know.

Three quick steps, I rush and jump the door frame.  I feel it all, the wind of the fall, the future rushing up to meet me, life, raw and unrestrained.  I’ve never felt more alive.

Bright, blurry and unimaginable, this!  I reach my arms for it, hands submerging in nectar, finally, finally.

It is all perfect for the split second of a bee’s wing beat.

Then rubbery tethers, ignored or forgotten, do their work, straining to pull me back and keep me safe from the abyss.  Guilt, duty, fear, uncertainty.

I bounce back, a rag doll.

Hoots and hollers echo in the river canyon, followed by laughter not mine.

The difference between men and women’s bodies

“Remember, your body is a temple,” this beautiful woman tells me, as we discuss what to eat.

“I agree,” says I, “your body truly is a temple.”

Trust me, her body really is.

“My body,” I enlighten her, “is a whorehouse.”

I guess there is no danger of it turning into a church if one or two virgins come through the door.

Insane paths are trod a step at a time

Everybody has their own path to the cupboard, I suppose.

You always knew where the cupboard was, of course.  You never imagined that one day you would walk over to it, climb in, and shut the door behind you.

My path started with near cupboard experiences.  There were reasonable reasons to vacate the marital bed.  She needed to study law all night and my presence was a distraction.  Then there might have been times when we were in disagreement, and withdrawal to the by then well known couch seemed a fair detente’.

Then escalation, and the couch became home. A suggestion arises – isn’t it better to sleep in the cupboard bed, than on the couch?  Finally, don’t you want to move your stuff down to “your bedroom”.

I lived in the cupboard bedroom like a refugee, my clothes fighting for space with the stored Christmas decorations, her clothes overflow, and all the junk in our life together which had been discarded.

I never knew I was on the path to this dark corner of nowhere, I could only see the trail behind me.

One day I started moving the boxes of junk out of my way, out of my cupboard, and that’s when I realized the path to the cupboard could be traveled in two directions, though never back to the place I started.

Schrödinger’s box

The price of opening the box is the surrender of ambiguity.

Now you have a peek inside and find this cat, in whatever his state.  If I am alive upon the opening, then I will see you too and save you the work of digging a hole in the backyard.

It is impossible to tell until the box, this cupboard, is opened.  All the theorizing and planning in the world is no substitute for tickling reality, taking action, and seeing what shakes out.

It would be more comfortable to stay inside this box, neither dead nor alive, regretting that which cannot be, but never knowing if that was true.  The oasis of the mind may be a mere mirage.  The phantoms of my nightmares may be deadly, or a silly fear that washes away in the sunlight.

Voices in my head whisper “Open the box, you must!” but my hands tremble, sensing the end is near.

Surely in that respect my hands are wise, for as they reach to lift the lid, the end rises to meet me.  One must trust in the universe, that for every end there is a beginning on its heels.

Still, for the cat, this is no experiment at all.