the sooner we head back to the caves, the better. And most of us are doing a lousy job of being perfect, but an excellent job of being miserable.Īnd no make-up or yoga pants or juice cleanse or private college or grad school or Paleo diet or test scores or attractive spouse or clever children or 2-car garage or 4,000 square foot home or Mercedes Benz or colored hair or bank account or successful career or skinny ass or perpetual smile is ever going to make us PERFECT.Īnd as far as I'm concerned. We have holy texts that guide us to be good, but none that I'm aware of that ask us to be God.īut we ain't Divine, people. The code for humans is so complicated now, it seems based on a pursuit of perfection we sought for ourselves, but had no realistic basis. Everybody try their emotional and physical damndest. It used to mean minding your manners, respecting those who were bigger than you, treating each day as a surprise package, waiting to be opened.

Now, depending on culture, religion, geography, and social and economic status, the code can be completely different for each person, and chances are, the human code for YOU is close to impossible anyway, and you feel as though you're failing every day. (I've pointed my finger at Viggo Mortensen's penis in an earlier review, and nothing happened. Our fingers used to do the talking, and I bet we were a HELL of a lot happier, too. Gone are the days of the finger point to the vagina, the penis, the fire, the meat, the water, the baby, the sky, the ground. Gone are the days of “Ugga, Ugga, Ugga” and all of our problems were solved.

Humans have strayed so far from the caves, our code for being human has become lost to us. The horse's trajectory is ruled by nature. A horse eats, it drinks, it sleeps, it plays, it procreates, it eliminates, it dies. Well, how can anyone argue with THAT? She's right. Horses know exactly what to do and they have more fun.” I don't want to come back as one, next time. She answered very matter-of-factly, “Being a person is too hard.

Why are you asking God to bring you back as a horse?” I switched gears quickly, got serious, and said, “Honey. I laughed out loud at her prayer, but then I immediately realized my mistake, when I saw her face. Once, when my middle child was 7 or 8 years old, I was listening to the usual rhythm of her saying her evening prayer, when she surprised me by adding, “And Lord, please remember, when I die, I want to come back as a horse.

Ordinary People by Judith Guest