Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

Part I: Awakening

In the silent hours of the night, I find myself kept awake by the weight of my fatherly duties. Chief among them is my desire to shield my son, to fortify our home against the unseen shadows that prowl just outside. This place, which I've paid for and maintained with my sweat and blood, must be a bastion, a sanctuary. So I am drawn each night to check and double-check the locks to ensure the safety measures are in place. My wife, Lisa, often dismisses my concerns as paranoia, but I argue that my vigilance is not unwarranted. After all, the news anchors, with their impeccable smiles, recount stories of the malevolence that permeates our world every night.

This house has witnessed many footsteps, but the most precious ones are those of my son, Lucas. Every morning, Lucas springs from his bed, rushing to the stairwell's brink, where he can glimpse the glow from the kitchen. His voice, tinged with curiosity, echoes through the house, "Dad?" Confirming my presence fortifies him against the imaginary monsters that lurk in the kitchen during the early hours. Only then, reassured of his safety, does he descend into my waiting arms. It is a sight that never ceases to fill me with awe.

We indulge in morning rituals, sharing laughter over cartoons and exaggerated facial expressions. His delight at my nostril-flaring antics is infectious; the image of my large nose resembling a bear's cave during hibernation never fails to elicit giggles. Then, as Lisa luxuriates in her morning slumber, secure in knowing her family's safety, we embrace the dawn together, a fortress against the world's uncertainties.

There's magic in our morning routine, creating our breakfast together, indulging in toast, waffles, or blueberries mixed in yogurt, and Lucas' eagerness to assist me in whipping up our signature fruit smoothie. His adorable habit of covering his ears when I activate the blender's frappe mode always makes me smile. Yet, amidst these simple moments, he expresses his desire to be like me when he grows up, which never fails to leave me in awe. His unadulterated authenticity, his open-hearted experience of the world - it's as if he embodies the Eastern philosophy of mindfulness, perhaps akin to Buddhism. He allows himself to experience every emotion in its purest form, uninhibited by societal norms. It's a reminder of the purity of childhood, of being utterly present in the moment, untroubled by future uncertainties or any lurking dangers.

And so, I share my aspirations with him, hoping to learn from his innocent wisdom. I want to embrace vulnerability, anchored in the present, unburdened by peripheral noise. Even though my words might not fully resonate with him, the moments we share in our domestic haven offer invaluable solace amid the cacophony of my adult responsibilities. 

The bills, work projects, frequent travels, employee management, neighborhood vigilance, and retirement planning often leave me yearning for his simplistic perspective. I aspire to dismantle the fences that confine us to existential dread to instead embrace the boundless potential of the present.

As I journey towards achieving mindfulness, Lisa often teases me about my proclivity to drift away from the present. Her gentle reminders urge me to reconcile my body and mind, striving towards a unified, seamless existence. My practice of Ashtanga Yoga and the recital of Sanskrit pose names may appear superfluous to others, but to me, they are stepping stones toward a holistic existence. It is a daily struggle, a constant mantra, inspired by Ram Dass' "Be Here Now," to stay anchored in the present, unperturbed by the unsettling forecasts about lurking dangers, looming earthquakes, or economic downturns. These fears often drive me to early morning workouts, a desperate attempt to channel the pent-up stress, a subconscious effort to impose control over the uncontrollable. Each airplane ride, each turbulence, serves as a reminder of my quest to transcend fear and embrace the present moment.

Part II: Insight

We live in a tract home, a testament to the transient nature of human existence. I often find myself contemplating the fragility of our dwellings and the friendships we forge here in California. The looming threat of the "big one," the catastrophic earthquake that could send this society, the fourth-largest economy in the world, spiraling into chaos, only underlines the inherent impermanence of our lives. The prospect of a massive disaster and its subsequent homelessness reminds me of Buddhist teachings on the fleeting nature of existence.

When I first became a homeowner, everything promised was the structure itself. The bare bones of the building stood there, devoid of any window treatments, flooring, or even a fence demarcating my territory from my neighbor's. Much like a fish in a glass bowl, I remember feeling exposed, perpetually under scrutiny. It raised the question - how would it feel to exist in a world devoid of boundaries, both physical and emotional?

These thoughts often took me back to my college days at The Ohio State University, where as an English major, one was required to delve deep into Robert Frost's "The Mending Wall." This exploration of boundaries, the idea that "good fences make good neighbors," has been the topic of countless debates and interpretations. But it wasn't until I met my neighbor, Tom, that I truly understood the profound depth of Frost's words from my life experience.

Tom, an older man when we first met, was resolute in erecting a fence between our properties. The visceral contrast between my younger self, optimistic and relatively unscathed by life, and Tom, a twice-divorced government employee nursing wounds from his past, was palpable. His life, characterized by disappointments, misunderstandings, and regret, bore a striking resemblance to Frost's poem, a testament to the need for barriers.

With the passage of time and my increasing maturity, I've begun to appreciate the complexity of Tom's outlook. His life, defined by bitter suspicion and an apparent need for control, exemplifies the challenges inherent in the human condition. His perceived need for natural or metaphorical fences speaks to his desire for security - a fallacy we often cling to in our quest for stability. Yet, this insularity can breed loneliness and discontent, as was apparent in Tom's demeanor.

Reflecting upon these experiences, I understand the wisdom inherent in Frost's poem. There's a delicate balance in our interactions with the world, a constant interplay between connection and isolation, vulnerability and fortification. The challenge is to navigate these complexities without losing ourselves, to draw from the wisdom of those around us, be it my son's untainted innocence, Tom's cautious pragmatism, or even my evolving understanding of existence. 

It's a reminder to stay true to ourselves while also remaining open to the world and the beautiful complexities it offers.