Good News, Bad News

One constant I’ve come to rely on in life is universal truth. Certain stories circulate and resurface regularly on our radar because they hold wisdom or guidance that all humans can relate to. Writers who tap into universal truths often present more resonant stories because there are nuggets of truth relevant to all human experience.

A universal truth is something that resonates with all humanity. It’s something that others can relate to and/or can be a lesson that we’ve learned. We may sometimes recognize something as a universal truth but are not always able to understand it initially. Thus the belief that time increases wisdom as we see a universal truth repeated in different contexts over our lifetimes.

Universal truths reflect something essential about the human condition or key events in people’s lives, including birth, death, emotions, aspirations, conflicts, and decision-making.

Universal truths help us understand life better and also help us deal with emotional and psychological challenges. We may come to realize that much of what we encounter in life is not entirely what it seems at first – good or bad.

When my friend Anrael Lovejoy recently published a post about an old Chinese proverb colloquially known as the “Good News, Bad News” story, I was happy to be reminded of it. https://anraellightheartedvoice.substack.com/chat/posts/a0da9da1-bc2f-4207-92d5-75eee44a4344

For more context into its Asian origins, I present the story below as I found it on the internet. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_old_man_lost_his_horse

The story is about a Chinese farmer who loses a prized horse (bad news) but the horse returns to him with many other horses (good news). His son breaks his leg trying to break one of the new horses (bad news). Then war erupts, and due to his impairment, the son is passed over for conscription (good news). And so it goes, in perpetuity.

We might recognize the essence of this story in our own culture as the platitudes of “clouds with silver linings” or “blessings in disguise.” The story becomes relatable when you apply it to situations in your own life.

For example, we are mid-move. A heinous process as many transitions are. So much upheaval and stress and not being able to find things and disrupting routines accompanied by a general disintegration of one’s sunny and steady personality. Speaking personally.

This week, a fridge was delivered and meant to fit between two existing cupboards. The fridge was a half inch too wide to fit in the assigned space. The modifications required to make it fit would have been amateur and tacky looking. Accch! We gave the problem twenty-four hours. And voila. We decided to take out the dysfunctional existing cabinet and plan to replace it with one that will be much more useful to our needs.

Earlier in the move, our painter tipped over a full gallon of dark blue paint on a light brown carpet. Acccch! I watched in horror as the deliciously dark paint seeped across and into the carpet. The funniest part was me bolting in a huff to a hardware store to buy “cleaning” products to remove the stain. Ya. That’ll happen. I returned the unneeded products the next day.

The solution? The carpet was eventually taken up and replaced with laminate flooring. It is a much more hygienic and sensible long-term outcome for our health and comfort. Our lungs won’t be aggravated by dust whenever we walk into a room. The “disaster” became a gateway to a better solution.

You may be thinking those changes cost money. You would be right. But here is another universal truth. Anything that makes your living space more comfortable and practical is an investment worth making over the long run. These changes add value. That is a win in my view.

In the case of both the ripped-out carpet and the dysfunctional pantry cabinet, the replacement will serve us much better. Our initial bad news became good news longer term.

Writer Rudyard Kipling summed up this phenomenon in our culture in his legendary poem, If, published in 1913. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/If%E2%80%94 “If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster, And treat those two impostors just the same.”

One element of learning necessary lessons to achieve maturity, Kipling suggests. I most heartily agree with him.

The Power of the Dog

I have said before that I will occasionally borrow from an author’s work that resonates or hits a particular chord in me. What follows is the poem The Power of the Dog by Rudyard Kipling. This little guy in the picture is the reason. If you own a dog, have ever owned a dog, lost a dog, lived with a dog, had a relative who owned a dog you were close to, or even considered having a dog in your life, this poem will resonate with you, too.

I am not one of those into the “my dog’s better than your dog” banter. My life is not centered around or consumed by this little fella. Yet. But in an attempt to appease the dog hunger in both my and my husband’s hearts created years ago when our beloved dog companions passed, we thought we’d foster for a little while to temporarily fill the void.

Snort. This guy was no sooner in the door than he was on my husband’s lap and nanoseconds later in his heart. A so-called “foster fail.” It happens frequently Maxine of Max’s Pet Rescue tells me. Maxine Hirsch has run her dog adoption rescue charity in the same Pet Smart location for the past 17 years.

Maxine is a transplanted Canadian lured like countless other fed-up,winter-challenged Northerners to sunny Florida climes. She has made this exclusive dog rescue (no cats) and her devotion to the homeless, stray, and displaced the center of her world. Many of her dogs come to her from owners who suddenly or otherwise leave the planet.

If there was an award for canine caring canonization, Maxine Hirsch would be a viable contender. She has a bevy of volunteers equally committed to the welfare of canines living in limbo. When Max can’t immediately find owners or fosters for her charges, she keeps them at home. That home has been known to occasionally be full to the rafters. Fourteen of them just this week. Plus her own two dogs.

Our foster fail came with a name we will not keep. As his character emerges, so will his name. For now, this seven-year-old almost eight-year-old mixed breed (Bichon and Pomeranian) is simply called Dog. What we do know is how loving and gentle and love-hungry he is. He’s found a good match.

Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936) had a special bond with his dogs. In this poem, he shares the joy a dog’s loyalty and devotion brings, but bids you consider a dog also has the power to break your heart when its life comes to an end. Oh well. We’ve been warned.

And what, you might ask, has this got to do with Writing A Book? Not a damned thing unless, of course, you will agree that writing is about life with all of its unexpected twists and turns and that is one of life’s finest domestic manifestations. Herewith, an ode to those heartbreakers.

The Power of the Dog

by Rudyard Kipling 

There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie—
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless, it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find—it’s your own affair—
But … you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!).
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone—wherever it goes—for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.

We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ’em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long—
So why in—Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?