All for one
Recently I complained to my doctor that I had a toothache, blocked sinuses, sore eyes and migraine. She said, “Charlie, it’s all in your head.”
That got me thinking, “It is ALL in my head. How I feel emotionally, physically, socially and professionally is a response to external stimuli. Countless people can be simultaneously exposed to the same stimulus, but everyone’s response will be unique.
Imagine a famous politician making an outrageously stupid public statement and millions of people responding with exactly the same comment. There would be no debate, no passion, no possibility of change. Social media would shut down and AI would disappear into its own disruptive orifice.
Spring is a hit for billions of birds all bent on building their own nest and rearing their special young. How funny would it be if a thousand cockies all tried to setup home on the same branch fork on a single tree. As it is disputes abound, always resolved quickly with no malice and many trees enjoy the company of chatty chicks for the season.
As I drive by the ocean of almond blossom along the Murray Valley, resembling an endless pink and white surf breaking on a red shoreline I imagine the whole compliment of millions of honeybees all converging on a single blossom. Step closer (I’m not allergic to bee stings or pollen) and nearly every flower gets individual treatment by a dedicated pollination specialist. I marvel at the politeness and cooperation of the drones unflustered as they go about their hectic rounds.
Back in my redneck days four of us were driving through the scrub back to camp after an unsuccessful pig hunting expedition. Out in the middle of a stubble paddock we spotted a dead tree with each of its four remaining branches adorned with a murderous crow.
Gently stopping the car, the driver instructed each of us to pick out a crow and on the count of three, fire. Four high-powered rifles rested on the bonnet, boot and roof of the old falcon, focused on their respective victims, waiting for the call.
Three! Booom! Followed by four triumphant calls of, “Got him!” as one oblivious crow exploded into a cloud of black feathers.
Individuality is what makes the collective work. We each have a role and for the production to be successful we must be true to our own script.
I have just returned from the open-air funeral service for old mate Pratty who was the epitome of the “loveable larrikin.” Pratty was truly one of a kind. He did it his own way, in his own time, always with a joke at hand and never shying away from a bit of good-natured banter. The publican maintained a stock of a specific dark beer that only Pratty drank, every night up until a couple of days before vacating his seat at the head of the bar.
Our town has a population of 400 and it was soul-stirring to see well over 100admirers see him off in style. Many of Pratty’s pub family toasted his life with a graveside stubby of the horrible black ink that had sustained him for many years.
A whole town united with respect, appreciation and admiration for a single bloke doing his own thing.