Once upon a modern time, an emotionally healthy guy named Kyle lived in a little apartment overlooking the town of Soggy Bottom on one side and Deer-Fart Park on the other.
Kyle had a little buddy named Alan. Alan enjoyed collecting junk off the street and turning it into pieces of art. It represented how we can take little broken pieces of our lives and turn them into something fun. A little dragon made of tin cans and plastic spoons sat on Kyle’s deck.
One day Kyle drove home from Big Bubba’s Bacon Bonanza where he worked as a chef. He drove past the Pastors in Pajamas Church, where they worshipped their favorite god named Bob. A minute later he passed the Bless Your Socks Off Offering Circle where Alan liked to pray to spirits. Kyle wondered what it would be like, how his life would be different, if he believed in those things.
But Kyle didn’t believe in gods or spirits. He believed in peace and kindness, friendship and empathy. That was enough for him.
He pulled up to see the apartment building was all nice and shiny, looking brand new. It seemed his friend and next-door neighbor, Chammy, the superintendent, had pulled out the power washer. Seeing cans and spoons littering the parking lot as he rounded the corner to his apartment, Kyle’s initial happiness disappeared.
Alan’s little dragon had been destroyed.
Kyle was mad, but he held back. It was an honest mistake. Chammy was trying to do the right thing. It’s good to keep the apartment building clean. Yelling was not the answer, but Kyle was still mad, not so much at Chammy, but at the situation, at the misfortune, at his own failure to communicate. But the answer to prevent this in the future was simply to talk to the superintendent about it. Talk like adults.
So Kyle knocked on Chammy’s door, careful to do it gently. Chammy opened the door, dripping wet, wearing nothing but a hot pink towel.
“Can I ask a favor?” Kyle said. “Next time you wash the building, could you let me know first? Alan had a piece of art that he made for me on my balcony that got destroyed when you sprayed it.”
“All I saw on your balcony was junk,” Chammy said. Behind his back, he tried to hide a bottle of Liquid Bad Decisions Whiskey in one hand.
“I know, but it was junk that we kind of cared about.”
“It was junk. If you cared so much about junk, you should have let me know.”
“I know, it’s just, could you let me know next time?”
“I do this all the time. I’m always out there washing the walls. Trust me. It’s something that needs to be done.”
“I don’t remember you ever washing—”
“Fine. I’ll let you know next time.” Chammy slammed the door.
Kyle sighed and went home. He called Alan and told him about his destroyed dragon. “That’s okay,” Alan said. “It’s too bad, but I can make more dragons. That’s why I use junk.”
Kyle plopped down on the couch and stared at the wall. The dragon didn’t really matter, but something was still making him sad.
He looked at his acoustic guitar named Sir Strums-a-Lot, hanging on the wall. He wanted to practice and write music, but now he felt a darkness hanging over him like a moldy marshmallow stuck to the ceiling.
Kyle settled in to watch some episodes of his favorite 80s cartoon, Elderly Alien Samurai Alligators, and became engrossed in their battle for truth, justice, and cheesy pasta.
The next morning, Kyle felt better. It was just one tiny sad event that didn’t matter. No one was hurt. He still had his friends, family, health and sanity. Nothing important was lost.
Kyle was proud of himself for not lingering on this. Learning how to be happy was one of his proudest achievements.
But as Kyle turned the key in his car’s ignition, he heard a sputtering, a stuttering and a flop.
He sighed. He tried again but got nothing.
So Kyle walked to the bus stop. He opened the Go-Ogle Map-App on his phone to check the schedule. It said he had 10 minutes before the next Chaos Coach bus, so he walked casually. But two minutes later, as he was still a block away, he watched the bus whiz past.
And Kyle felt that moldy marshmallow hanging overhead again as he started the long walk to work. Eight minutes later, another Chaos Coach appeared, just as Go-Ogle had said it would. He heard the commuters on board singing one of his favorite songs, Stairway to Seven-Eleven. His friend Daryl stuck his head out the window and shouted “Hi Kyle!” as they raced past.
And Kyle sighed. Things were not going his way.
But was that true?
If I believe in spirits, what would they be telling me? Kyle asked himself.
That even on some random bus, you still have a friend who cares enough to stick his head out to say hi. That’s what’s important: your friends and loved ones, health and appreciation of life. That’s who you are. Getting to work on time is just something you do.
Kyle arrived at work almost an hour late. Wanda the waitress greeted him with a quick “Hi Kyle! We’re out of bacon!”
Kyle gripped the back of a barstool. “We’re out of bacon? I was supposed to prep the bacon stuffed turducken special and the bacon wrapped deep fried homemade twinkies. How am I going to get those done before we open?”
She shrugged. “Bubba is driving out to Hog Heaven on Exit Seven to buy another seventy pounds of bacon. He should be back in less than an hour.”
So Kyle set about cleaning the spatulas and bacon grill, just to keep busy. Two hours later, Bubba still had not returned, so Kyle and Wanda had to open the restaurant and warn all the customers that all they had to serve today was lettuce and tomato sandwiches. The customers were upset but polite. Many walked away.
Finally, Bubba returned with seventy pounds of bacon. “Traffic is nuts out there I say! Nuts!”
So Kyle raced back to the kitchen to fry bacon as fast as the spatulas could move. Suddenly, happy customers filled the dining room as Kyle fried strip after strip of crispy bacon.
I’m still good at my job. A job I love. I have what’s important, even when little things go south.
But that feeling lasted maybe a minute until Bubba came back into the kitchen, scrolling through text on his phone. “Your friend Chammy is tearing you a new one on L,” Bubba said. L was the social media site formerly known as Fibber. “Listen to this: ‘Kyle dumb’, ‘Kyle loser’, ‘K love trash.’ He’s so mad at you. What’s his problem?” Chammy didn’t have the purple circle, so he had to limit himself to twelve characters. Maybe that was for the best.
And the joy of feeding happy customers washed away, replaced with that old moldy marshmallow hanging overhead.
Just let it go, Kyle told himself. Chammy is struggling. He’s jealous. He’s suffering more than you, so just let it go.
Kyle called Alan after work. “Do you want to come over and visit tonight? I could use some company.”
“I don’t want to come to your apartment while Chammy is in his mood,” Alan said. “He yelled at me last time–I mean, yes, I should have wiped my feet better, but he didn’t need to be so mean about it. Your entire building is cursed.”
Kyle’s head drooped and his pace slowed.
“Why don’t we go see the new Elderly Alien Samurai Alligators movie?”
And Kyle’s mood jumped. Not everything is cursed. I still have all sorts of ways to enjoy myself.
But later, as they sat in the front row of the Plot Hole Palace Theatre watching the opening credits, the movie popped, sparkled and slowed to a deep grind before going black.
A long moment later a voice came over the speakers, “Sorry folks. Technical difficulties. Hang in there.”
So they hung in there as minutes rolled by. Finally the manager walked out to the floor, “So sorry everyone. We had a catastrophic projector failure. Unfortunately the movie isn’t going to work tonight. You will all get your money back, if you just come out to the lobby.”
“I think you’ve angered the Gods,” Alan said as they watched the other patrons grumble and shuffle out to the lobby.
“It’s just a string of bad coincidences,” Kyle said.
“You need a cleansing ritual, get back on the spirits’ good side. Have you thought about going to Bless Your Socks off to make an offering? That’s what I did last time I had a string of bad luck and it worked for me.”
“You know I don’t believe in that stuff,” Kyle said. “It just feels like a curse because we’re in a bad mood and we’re focusing on the negative. Besides, what would I even offer? Nothing I could offer would feel right to me because I don’t believe in any of that stuff.”
“Okay,” Alan said with a subtle role of the eyes.
They walked to the lobby just in time to see the manager stand up to announce, “Sorry again folks, the cash register is on the fritz. Not to worry, everyone is getting their money back. I’m going to write a personal check to every person here. It’s just going to take a little longer… or, you know maybe a lot longer.”
Kyle sighed as Alan looked up with raised eyebrows.
“It’s not a curse,” Kyle said. Just coincidence. “None of this is that awful. It’s just a series of inconveniences that seem like evil.”
“Sure,” Alan said. “Just think about doing a ritual and making an offering. Just think about it.”
Kyle came home to find Chammy standing in front of Kyle’s door. He froze.
What is he doing?
Kyle tiptoed closer until he saw. “Really?” he shouted. “Are you kidding me, Chammy?”
Chammy straightened with a snap, zipped his pants and turned. “What? You gonna yell at me again?”
Kyle took a long breath to calm the anger. “You were peeing on my doorstep. Chammy, your behavior right now is completely unacceptable.”
He shook his head. “No. I wasn’t doing anything.”
“I just watched you!”
“Fine,” Chammy said, “yeah, okay fine. But you had it coming.”
“I had it coming? For what?”
“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe for attacking me today about the power washing. I had just gotten out of the shower. How would you feel if some neighbor just comes and accosts you right when you get out of the shower?”
“And you feel that justifies peeing on my doorstep when all I did was ask you to just let me know next time you’re going to do that?”
“You came at me in anger!” Chammy wagged his finger at Kyle. “And what about Mrs. Nelson and her dog pooping on the lawn?”
“What about her? You’re gonna blame me for her dog?”
“You saw her dog pooping on the lawn and you knew she wasn’t cleaning it up but you never yelled at her.”
Kyle covered his face with his hands and took a long slow breath. “That’s not my job to come down on other tenants about their pets. Even if it was, that does not justify your behavior.”
“Oh, my behavior! My behavior! What about your behavior? You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You act all kind and pretend like you’re some kind of compassionate do-gooder but underneath you’re two-faced and selfish and mean.”
“You’re drunk, Chammy. I don’t want to deal with this right now.” Kyle stepped around Chammy and over the puddle of pee.
“Oh sure! Just walk away like you always do, Kyle! Just ignore the problem ‘cause it doesn’t affect you.”
Kyle unlocked his door with trembling fingers.
“You’re a coward, Kyle. I’m just trying to have a simple adult conversation but you just walk away like a selfish coward because you can’t handle honesty or anyone else having emotions.”
Kyle stepped in and slammed the door.
“Did you see that?” Chammy said from the other side. “He just slammed the door in my face! He accuses me of being drunk when I only had two drinks and then slams the door in my face. Your behavior is a disgrace! You hear that Kyle, a disgrace!”
Kyle’s entire body trembled. He locked the door and raced into the apartment despite having no specific destination. He paced around the coffee table.
Breath, he told himself. Focus on your breath.
He picked up a glass and found his arm coming back to throw it across the room, but he stopped himself at the last second.
No. That’s not the Kyle I want to be. I am someone who handles these situations with grace and civility and understands that Chammy is suffering worse than me, who understands that yelling and screaming is only going to feed the bad behavior.
Focus on the breath. Focus on finding the calm, then you can find a solution.
So Kyle paced round and round the coffee table until noticing the sun had gone down. Then he sat on the floor.
Just breathe.
It’s just an inconvenience. Just a frustration. He didn’t injure me. He didn’t take anything from me. Just remember that Kyle, he didn’t actually do anything to hurt you. Cleaning up will only take a few minutes. It’s just emotions and you are the master of your emotions. Not Chammy.
So lets move on to a solution.
Call Sam, the owner. Now that Kyle had stopped trembling, he realized this was the most reasonable path forward. He grabbed his phone and dialed the numbers.
He held back at the last second. No. Not yet. I’m still upset. I don’t know what I’m going to say.
So Kyle turned on his computer to write a script to calmly explain the situation. Then he just stared, the events running back through his mind in a jumble.
His phone dinged. Kyle’s heart sank.
The curse was calling. It had to be more bad news.
So Kyle set the phone aside to ignore the notification and figured out what he was going to say to Sam.
But the sense of doom called to him. It was going to be more bad news. For certain. Minutes passed. Kyle couldn’t focus.
Finally, his hand slammed down on the phone. He opened it with a swipe and a deep groan.
A notification from L, but not from Chammy. This one was from Bubba.
“KyleBestChef” it said. Bubba also did not have the purple circle.
Thank Bob it’s nothing bad. Nothing important. Thank the Bob I don’t believe in.
Kyle set his phone down. But more minutes passed and he still could not concentrate.
No, it is important. Bubba’s twelve character post was an oasis of appreciation in a desert of anger and frustration.
Don’t ignore this.
Curses aren’t real. They’re just a perspective where you focus on the negative and ignore the positive, forget to appreciate the things you have. You keep saying that nothing ever goes right for you when things are going right all over the place. You just don’t see it.
I have a good job with a boss who appreciates me and takes the time to tell me, even on a day that I’m an hour late.
The answer to a curse is not magic or prayer, but to take the time to appreciate the positive.
Maybe that’s what those rituals and offerings really do, they’re a trick to get you to take a step back, get out of your own head for a minute, look at the big picture and appreciate what you have. The rituals help you remember what’s important. They don’t actually solve the curse because there is no curse. It’s just a mental perspective. The rituals and offerings can break you out of that perspective.
So Kyle reminded himself to take charge of his perspective.
And when you appreciate something, take the time to let yourself or the relevant people know.
So Kyle typed out two simple replies: “Thank you” and “I neededThat”.
He turned back to his computer and was finally able to focus on writing out his specific issues with Chammy so he could speak clearly when talking with the owner. Finally, he picked up the phone and called, hoping it wasn’t too late.
“Hi Kyle,” Sam, the owner, answered. “Are you calling to complain about Chammy?”
“Um–yeah.” Kyle said.
“Well, you’re not the only one,” Sam said. “I am printing an eviction notice as we speak. He will be out by the end of the month.”
See? Kyle thought. Not a curse. Not supernatural. Just an alcoholic neighbor who upsets people.
Look on the bright side, Kyle. You’re learning coping skills.
He sighed. I still need to get my car fixed.
The next day Kyle woke up early and couldn’t get back to sleep.
The eviction was a solution, but he didn’t feel good about it. Chammy was suffering. The best solution was to find a way for him to get sober, to help Chammy with his self-loathing, help him face the demons he was running from.
But that wasn’t realistic. You can’t help people who don’t want help. The eviction was not the best solution, but it was the realistic and practical one.
So Kyle walked to work today because walking helps center your emotions, and breeds healthier perspectives. Kind of a non-believer’s science-based answer to rituals and offerings.
And along the way, Kyle passed by the Pastors in Pajamas Church.
“Kyle!” Pastor Steve, dressed in a bright red velvet onesie came running out to meet him. “Kyle! It’s good to see you! We keep hoping you’ll come by for worship but we never see you. How are you doing?”
“Whew,” Kyle said. “It’s been rough. Real string of bad luck.”
“Well come in and join us for worship. The love of Bob can wash away all sorts of problems.”
“I’m sorry,” Kyle said. “I just don’t believe in Bob, or any of that kind of stuff. I don’t want to be disrespectful to your beliefs or to mine by pretending I feel something I don’t.”
“Fair enough,” the pastor replied. “But you look down. You sure the church can’t help out? What’s been going on?”
So Kyle told him the story of his fight with Chammy.
“So what’s this guy’s problem?” Sam asked.
“Alcoholism,” Kyle said. “Low self esteem, isolation, us-vs-them perspectives, blaming others for his problems, poor eating habits–I don’t know. It’s a carefully blended depression cocktail but I don’t know the exact recipe.”
“So you’re getting rid of him, right? At least you have that.”
“Yeah, but I don’t feel good about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s suffering,” Kyle said. “Evicting him just pushes that suffering to some other location. It solves nothing for the larger community. As sad as I may look, he’s hurting worse than me and I wish I could help. I don’t have the means or the time or any idea how. He needs compassion, empathy, someone to help him find a healthier perspective. He needs love, friendship, and understanding. That’s the actual solution to this problem.”
“You know who you sound like?” said Pastor Steve. “Like Bob. Maybe you’re more of a believer than you want to admit.”
Kyle chuckled. Maybe Bob had been the one to take away his car right during this drama, force him to get grounded, reconnect with his feet, and remember what was important.
It might not be true, but it helps.
That evening, Alan called. “I still think you need a cleansing ritual.”
“I should make a gesture toward Chammy,” Kyle said. “Maybe get the other tenants together and we can come up with a big list of all the things he’s fixed or improved or cleaned around here, just to show that we recognize and appreciate the good things he’s done. Like the time he broke his headphones when he jumped into the pool to save that kid from drowning.”
“That’s not a bad idea. He might just spit it back in your face, but it’s worth a try. I still think you need to make an offering to the spirits. Burn a whole box of incense and cleanse that whole building.”
Kyle rolled his eyes, glad Alan couldn’t see.
But his eyes rolled up toward Sir Strums-a-Lot hanging on the wall. The guitar called to him.
“Could I write a song as an offering?”
“Absolutely,” Alan said. “That’s something people do.”
“It feels a little self-serving, like is that really a sacrifice? I would write music anyway.”
“If it comes from the heart, I think it’s okay.”
So Kyle picked the guitar off the wall then stayed up until 4 in the morning writing a song:
A moldy marshmallow follows you around,
Dumb little troubles keep falling down.
But you’ve still got friends and you’ve still got song,
When the world just feels a little bit wrong.
Friends still wave from a passing crowd,
‘Cause the sky is still wider than this dark cloud.
No curse here, just a twist of the day,
A stone in the road, but it’s not blocking the way.
Just breathe in, let the shadows pass through,
‘Cause love is our ritual and kindness is true.
Neighbors may stumble and drown in their pain,
Anger won’t heal, it just adds to the flame.
So just breathe in deep and let it all go,
Offer this song for the kindness we know.
He’s drowning in bottles and blame,
I wish I could lift him, but I can’t change his pain.
Still I walk on with compassion in hand,
Make little dragons out of junk or sand.
You don’t need Bob, or spirits, or flame,
To know the sun will rise just the same.
Spirits and prayer are just a mirror inside,
To show the love we should never hide.
No curse, no chain, no spell we can’t undo,
We’ve got peace in our pocket ‘cause kindness is true.
Just keep walking on, through the hard and the new,
‘Cause love is our ritual and kindness is true.
As Kyle put the guitar away just as the earliest birds began chirping, he realized he felt cleansed.
It’s funny how belief and non-belief works. Kyle had known logically there was no curse, but now he could see it emotionally. He had believed in the darkness the entire time, even as he insisted it wasn’t true.
But somehow the offering of the song helped him truly feel it: the curse is never true, but kindness always is.
