The original Fighting Sullivan Blog began with a specific incident. I was walking down an alley to pick up a Zip Car and fell into a manhole. Not entirely into the manhole, to be honest. The manhole was leg sized, so my foot went down. But I must say the experience of having the ground beneath your feet (or, in this case, one foot) suddenly vanish is entirely disconcerting. I was MAD.
Who would leave an uncovered manhole in alley?
I was even madder because I was in the process of trying to do the right things in life-those socially acceptable things-and I had expected life to improve. The entirety of that story is for another day. The bottom line is that when I walked down that alley I was trying to live up to certain social expectations and, quite literally, engage in a personal transformation that would make me less of a fighter and more of a cooperator. You see, for much of my life I had thrived in conflict. Now I thought it was time for peace, and I was becoming very peaceful, very serene really, as I walked down that alley to get the Zip Car. I needed the Zip Car to go and see my therapist, who was helping me on the path to serenity. He promised a life that could be joyful, happy, and free. It all sounded so nice.
I was pursuing serenity in life, but then I fell into a manhole.
I was not seriously injured, though I did pull a muscle. But more so the manhole taught me the lesson: that, in the alleys and streets of the world, there will always be uncovered manholes. There will always be problems that need to be addressed. I took it upon myself to fight with the city (Washington, D.C.) to get that manhole covered. When I first called the non-emergency hotline, a representative of the city told me, "The city is not responsible for manholes in alleys. Those are private manholes." Private manholes? Who ever heard of such a thing? I had not. But I called each business abutting the manhole to tell them to cover it up. Each business declared it was the city's responsibility. I even tried Zip Car. At any rate, I began a fight, a struggle to cover up that manhole. It became an obsession, a singular purpose.
Tossing aside serenity, I fought the manhole and all it represented.
I even bought a cone and a hazard sign and put it next to the manhole. Every so often, someone would move the cone aside and I would go back into the alley and put it back. This went on for weeks. I should note that, at the time, I was unemployed, so I had the time and energy to devote myself to getting this manhole covered. Finally, one day, I returned to the alley to check on my cone and, indeed, someone, some entity, had repaired the manhole. It was no longer uncovered. It was no longer a hazard to others. To my mind, the fight to get that manhole covered was more worthwhile then any serenity I might have gained from, say, meditating on the nature of my navel, or doing deep breathing exercises. I fought the manhole and I won.
This was the beginning of Fighting Sullivan.
This was a minor victory in my list of battles, but the battle with the manhole was the genesis of Fighting Sullivan. The manhole was a symbol of the adversary: the thing that will catch you if you lose yourself to pure serenity and but blinders on to keep the ills of the world invisible. Around every corner, down every street, in any path that lies ahead, whether to the left, or to the right, there is a manhole lurking. We must be ready for it and we must be ready to fight. Not just for ourselves, but for all who may be threatened by the metaphorical manhole. This is the Fighting Sullivan Spirit. We are not serene. We are vigilant. And with vigilance comes a truly powerful engagement in life.
We find that by cultivating an attitude of vigilance, by cultivating the fighting spirit, we are actually -- happier! For it is not our nature to sit quietly in strange yoga postures. By nature, we are warriors.
Who would leave an uncovered manhole in alley?
I was even madder because I was in the process of trying to do the right things in life-those socially acceptable things-and I had expected life to improve. The entirety of that story is for another day. The bottom line is that when I walked down that alley I was trying to live up to certain social expectations and, quite literally, engage in a personal transformation that would make me less of a fighter and more of a cooperator. You see, for much of my life I had thrived in conflict. Now I thought it was time for peace, and I was becoming very peaceful, very serene really, as I walked down that alley to get the Zip Car. I needed the Zip Car to go and see my therapist, who was helping me on the path to serenity. He promised a life that could be joyful, happy, and free. It all sounded so nice.
I was pursuing serenity in life, but then I fell into a manhole.
I was not seriously injured, though I did pull a muscle. But more so the manhole taught me the lesson: that, in the alleys and streets of the world, there will always be uncovered manholes. There will always be problems that need to be addressed. I took it upon myself to fight with the city (Washington, D.C.) to get that manhole covered. When I first called the non-emergency hotline, a representative of the city told me, "The city is not responsible for manholes in alleys. Those are private manholes." Private manholes? Who ever heard of such a thing? I had not. But I called each business abutting the manhole to tell them to cover it up. Each business declared it was the city's responsibility. I even tried Zip Car. At any rate, I began a fight, a struggle to cover up that manhole. It became an obsession, a singular purpose.
Tossing aside serenity, I fought the manhole and all it represented.
I even bought a cone and a hazard sign and put it next to the manhole. Every so often, someone would move the cone aside and I would go back into the alley and put it back. This went on for weeks. I should note that, at the time, I was unemployed, so I had the time and energy to devote myself to getting this manhole covered. Finally, one day, I returned to the alley to check on my cone and, indeed, someone, some entity, had repaired the manhole. It was no longer uncovered. It was no longer a hazard to others. To my mind, the fight to get that manhole covered was more worthwhile then any serenity I might have gained from, say, meditating on the nature of my navel, or doing deep breathing exercises. I fought the manhole and I won.
This was the beginning of Fighting Sullivan.
This was a minor victory in my list of battles, but the battle with the manhole was the genesis of Fighting Sullivan. The manhole was a symbol of the adversary: the thing that will catch you if you lose yourself to pure serenity and but blinders on to keep the ills of the world invisible. Around every corner, down every street, in any path that lies ahead, whether to the left, or to the right, there is a manhole lurking. We must be ready for it and we must be ready to fight. Not just for ourselves, but for all who may be threatened by the metaphorical manhole. This is the Fighting Sullivan Spirit. We are not serene. We are vigilant. And with vigilance comes a truly powerful engagement in life.
We find that by cultivating an attitude of vigilance, by cultivating the fighting spirit, we are actually -- happier! For it is not our nature to sit quietly in strange yoga postures. By nature, we are warriors.
Image via Wikimedia Commons
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