I’ve written about my neighbor Big Country in this newsletter, but I have another neighbor, Don. Just as hillbilly, just as nuts, and just as disconcertingly wise. 

While BC is jovial and, provided extreme caution’s applied, approachable, Don is not. He used to be, but something inside him’s soured, manifesting in ranting, reclusiveness, and hobbled posture. Whatever friends and family used to come around no longer bother. I’ve seen him chase them off, anyway. 

There’re any number of potential reasons why, and my aim isn’t to conjecture overly, or conjure a dark cloud over your morning coffee. I wish I could help Don. I wish I knew him better, or that he’d let me in, even just a little, but I don’t, and he won’t, and that makes me sad. He’s a good man, but that’s just how it is sometimes. 

I’m reminded of tendencies within myself, to withdraw, to feign strength, not to ask for help, to microscopically and insidiously become overrun, and how no wrong, no matter how egregious, prevents me from taking incremental steps towards where I perceive the good stuff to be.