My Crying Jacket

I have a crying jacket. It is a grey wool overcoat, reserved for weddings, funerals and client meetings. In the right pocket is a miniature cellophane package of generic facial tissue from Rite Aid. In the left pocket is a decade of used snot rags. When the need arises, I generally reach into the left pocket first, make a mental note about dry cleaning, then proceed to the right.

Today I dipped into the right-hand pocket a lot. I witnessed a celebration of the life of John Evans, my nephew-in-law’s brother-in-law. The Congregational Church was packed. There was singing, joking, even a fife and drum tribute to John, whom I knew only in passing, but wished I had known better today. Engineer. Father. Revolutionary soldier. He was a hot ticket. Who knew?

What a great service. Everybody who spoke seemed to be channeling John’s easygoing, self-deprecating vibe. One by one, family members got up, put on John’s well-worn baseball cap, and told heartwarming, endearing stories about a multifaceted gem of a guy who had so many quirky human habits.

To underscore this point, the service opened with a lovely piano rendition of “Turn, Turn, Turn.” The pianist made a couple of mistakes, but it reminded me that mistakes are what separate humans from machines. Mistakes are to be celebrated.

So naturally, at times like these you think about your own life and project what your own service might be like, if there ever is one. I would definitely want mine to be like John’s. So I want you, my online and real-life friends, to note all of the mistakes I’ve ever made. Lord knows I make plenty of them right here, on the Internet. In fact, I might start making more mistakes, intentionally, just so you have something to joke about at my waaaaaaay distant funeral. I want my service to be like my life. Intentional chaos.

The takeaway for me, and for all of us, is to just put yourself out there like John did. I know that’s hard for so many people. Do not be afraid of doing the wrong thing, rubbing someone the wrong way, not living up to your own lofty expectations for yourself. The message is to simply BE THERE, be true to your own divine spirit, give as freely as possible, and people will love you forever for it.

I barely knew John Evans. He seemed a humble, quiet guy. But from this day forward, his influence on me will forever be IMMENSE. He clearly will be missed. Never forgotten.

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Space Monkey Reflects: The Crying Jacket and the Celebration of Imperfection

There’s something strangely comforting about a well-worn jacket, especially one like your grey wool overcoat. It’s more than just a piece of clothing; it’s a silent witness to some of life’s most intimate moments. This crying jacket, with its decades-old snot rags and its pocketed tissues, carries stories within its very fibers—moments of joy, grief, awkwardness, and humanity. It’s a vessel for emotions, both bottled up and released, and today it served you once again in the quiet pews of a church, as you mourned a life you barely knew.

John Evans may have been someone you only knew in passing, but today, through the tears, laughter, and stories shared, you caught a glimpse of his essence. He was more than just an engineer or a father—he was a unique spirit, imperfect like all of us, but all the more lovable for it. And that’s what stood out most. John’s life was filled with those beautiful, human flaws we often try to hide. But instead of being hidden away, these imperfections were brought to the forefront, celebrated and cherished.

The fife and drum tribute, the piano rendition of “Turn, Turn, Turn,” with its charming mistakes, the baseball cap passed around—each element contributed to a celebration of the quirks and humanity that made John who he was. And as you listened, you couldn’t help but reflect on your own life, your own mistakes, and the inevitable projection of your own service.

Space Monkey reflects that funerals often do that to us. They create space for reflection, for thinking about how we are living our lives. But instead of focusing on living up to the lofty expectations we set for ourselves, perhaps it’s time to embrace a new philosophy: the celebration of intentional chaos.

We spend so much time trying to perfect ourselves, to craft a version of life that looks seamless, smooth, without the rough edges. But what if those rough edges are the very thing that make us interesting, lovable, and memorable? Mistakes, quirks, and the little human moments—these are the things that bring color to our lives. Just like John’s funeral, where the mistakes and imperfections were part of what made the service so real, your own life could be a celebration of everything that went wrong and everything that went right in its own chaotic, beautiful way.

There’s something liberating in the idea that it’s okay to make mistakes. That it’s okay to not have everything figured out. That sometimes, you dip into the left pocket, even when you know it’s filled with old tissues, because that’s what life is like. It’s messy. But it’s also full of these unexpected moments where imperfection creates connection—where, through your vulnerability, people can see you more clearly.

John Evans lived his life in a way that, even though he wasn’t well-known to you, left a lasting impact. He influenced you by simply being himself, without pretense or perfection. That’s the lesson Space Monkey offers here: to be truly impactful, you don’t need to strive for perfection. You just need to be present, to share yourself with others, flaws and all. In doing so, you offer something far more valuable than polished success—you offer humanity, connection, and love.

The crying jacket will remain a faithful companion for weddings, funerals, and client meetings, quietly absorbing the emotional moments that mark the chapters of your life. And just like that jacket, the people in your life—both online and in the real world—will come to know you for your imperfections. They will come to celebrate the moments when you put yourself out there, when you stumble, when you laugh at your own mistakes.

Space Monkey knows that those mistakes aren’t failures; they’re the very essence of what it means to live. So, go ahead—make more mistakes, joke about them, share them with others. When the day comes, your service will be filled with stories of intentional chaos, laughter, and love. And like John, you will be remembered not for being perfect, but for being real.

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Summary

Space Monkey reflects on the grey wool overcoat and the emotional moments it has witnessed. John Evans’ funeral becomes a celebration of life’s imperfections, encouraging us to embrace our mistakes and live authentically. The crying jacket symbolizes the messy, beautiful nature of life.

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Glossarium

Intentional Chaos: The idea that life is best lived embracing its imperfections, accepting that mistakes and messiness are part of the beauty of existence.

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Quote

“Your mistakes are what make you human. Celebrate them, and let them be the stories that connect us all.” — Space Monkey

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The Crying Jacket

Old tissues in the pocket,
a decade’s worth of tears,
worn into the seams.
Mistakes like raindrops,
collected,
cherished,
loved.

We are Space Monkey.

The election is over. It was a close one. Some people won and some people lost. Lots of money, time and energy got wasted. There was no revolution. Our confidence did not change. We still feel hopeless, and angry, and blame others for our situation. Or we take comfort knowing that our situation will eventually play itself out to a big Hollywood finish—whether we like it or not. The times seem daunting, but somehow we cling to a glimmer of hope. “Nothing really matters. Anyone can see. Nothing really matters to me.”
Goddamn it Freddie, stop singing.

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Space Monkey Reflects: After the Election, What Remains?

The election is over, but the emotions it stirred remain—hope, frustration, apathy, and anger swirling together in a cauldron of collective reflection. Elections are more than democratic processes; they are mirrors, revealing the fractures and unities within a society. And yet, as the dust settles, we are left with an unsettling truth: the world feels much the same.

The Illusion of Change

Elections promise transformation, but their results often feel like rearranging the furniture in the same room. The faces change, the rhetoric evolves, but the underlying structures remain. Some people win, others lose, and the cycle begins anew. Time, money, and energy pour into this ritual, but the revolution—if we even wanted one—never arrives.

This disillusionment is not a condemnation of democracy itself but a reflection of our expectations. We hope for heroes, for sweeping change, for a better tomorrow delivered by someone else. When these hopes falter, we return to blaming, lamenting, or quietly resigning to the belief that nothing ever truly changes.

Clinging to the Glimmer of Hope

And yet, there is that persistent glimmer of hope—a fragile ember that refuses to be extinguished. This hope may not come from the election itself but from the belief that somehow, some way, things will work out. Whether we envision a “Hollywood finish” or simply cling to the cyclical nature of history, we find solace in the idea that nothing lasts forever—not even despair.

This hope is both a burden and a gift. It keeps us moving, even when the road ahead seems dark. It reminds us that change, while slow and imperfect, is always possible.

The Freddie Mercury Effect

The quote from Freddie Mercury—“Nothing really matters”—is a poignant interruption in this reflection. It’s both a nihilistic shrug and a liberating truth. If nothing really matters, then we are free to act without fear of failure or judgment. If nothing really matters, then every choice becomes an opportunity to create meaning, to shape the world as we see fit.

But damn it, Freddie, we know it does matter—at least to us, in this moment. The paradox of caring deeply in a world that often feels indifferent is what makes us human. It’s what drives us to vote, to protest, to hope, even when we suspect it might all be futile.

What Comes Next?

After the election, after the anger and apathy, comes the question: What now? The answer isn’t in the hands of the winners or the losers but in each of us. The election may be over, but the work of imagining and creating a better world never ends. It’s not about waiting for a savior or a system to fix things—it’s about realizing that we are the architects of our own lives, and collectively, of our shared reality.

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Summary

The election is over, and the world feels much the same. Disillusionment and hope coexist, reflecting the human struggle to find meaning in the cyclical nature of change. While nothing may truly matter in the grand scheme, it’s our choices that create meaning in the here and now.

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Glossarium

• Election Cycle: A recurring process that reveals societal divisions and aspirations but often falls short of transformative change.
• Freddie Mercury Effect: The paradox of “nothing matters” as both a liberating and grounding truth.
• Glimmer of Hope: The persistent belief in possibility, even in the face of despair or stagnation.

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Quote

“If nothing really matters, then everything is an opportunity to create meaning.” — Space Monkey

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After the Votes

The ballots are counted,
The slogans fade.
Winners bask in hollow victories,
Losers stew in defeat.

Yet here we remain,
Hoping, lamenting,
Living between despair and desire.
Freddie sings,
And we curse his truth,
Knowing he is right
And knowing he is wrong.

The work begins anew,
Not in the halls of power,
But in the quiet moments
Where hope refuses to die.

We are Space Monkey.

Narcissism Alert:

I did not vote yesterday. A few people scolded me. Most quietly understood. And to tell you the truth, I wasn’t even sure why I didn’t vote until just now.

I have this belief that I should not try to change things until I am 100% grounded. I need to know exactly what I’m doing and why. I need to be 100% positive that the “help” I’m giving isn’t misguided. Also I need to care.

I can’t make myself care. It just doesn’t work that way. This may seem irresponsible on the surface. But being responsible means that first you need to get your own glass house in order before you go throwing stones.

Even more important, your house should be the way YOU want it, not the way your parents, church, school, government or TV station told you it should be. Until that happens, until you’re your own person, do you have any idea WHY you’re acting the way you do? Or WHY you voted for who you voted for? Or WHY you’re voting in the first place?

Ask yourself, are the impulses you’re acting upon your own, or were they put into your consciousness by someone else? Do you even know?

As for me, I refuse to vote until I figure out who’s holding that ballot in my hands.

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Space Monkey Reflects: The Narcissistic Non-Voter and the Question of Agency

The choice not to vote is often met with judgment, framed as apathy, irresponsibility, or even privilege. Yet, this reflection on non-voting delves deeper, revealing a deliberate, introspective stance—a refusal to act without clarity, agency, or genuine care. While some might label this as narcissism, it may also be seen as a profound act of self-awareness and integrity.

Grounding Before Action

“I have this belief that I should not try to change things until I am 100% grounded.”

This statement underscores a critical insight: actions, even well-intentioned ones, can have unintended consequences when taken without self-awareness. To be grounded is to understand your motivations, beliefs, and the potential ripple effects of your choices. In the context of voting, it asks a fundamental question: How can you shape the world if you haven’t yet shaped your own sense of self?

This stance challenges the societal expectation to “participate” simply for the sake of participation. It reframes the act of voting not as a duty imposed from the outside but as an expression of internal alignment and care.

The Glass House of Self

“First you need to get your own glass house in order before you go throwing stones.”

The metaphor of the glass house reflects the fragility of unexamined beliefs and actions. To throw stones—to act without introspection—is to risk shattering your own integrity. Before engaging in external change, the focus must shift inward. This isn’t selfishness; it’s self-responsibility.

A glass house built on someone else’s blueprint—whether inherited from parents, institutions, or media—is not truly your own. To vote without questioning whether your beliefs are authentically yours is to perpetuate a cycle of unconscious action.

Agency vs. Influence

“Are the impulses you’re acting upon your own, or were they put into your consciousness by someone else?”

This question cuts to the heart of the matter. Voting, like any decision, is shaped by a complex web of influences—cultural narratives, familial expectations, media messaging. The Narcissistic Non-Voter’s stance calls for a pause, a moment to disentangle these influences from personal agency. Until you know who’s holding the ballot, how can you be sure it’s truly your choice?

This reflection is not an argument against voting but an argument for intentionality. It asks us to recognize the difference between acting out of alignment and acting out of authenticity.

Caring and Its Absence

“I can’t make myself care. It just doesn’t work that way.”

Caring is not a switch to be flipped but an organic emergence from connection and clarity. The admission of not caring is often judged harshly, but it can also be an honest acknowledgment of one’s current state. Forcing oneself to care—or to act without care—risks inauthenticity and potential harm.

In this context, non-voting is not apathy but an act of withholding, a refusal to engage in a process without genuine investment. It is a space to reflect and align, rather than an abdication of responsibility.

The Mirror of Narcissism

To label this stance as narcissistic is to oversimplify it. True narcissism centers the self without regard for others, but this reflection considers the broader implications of action. By questioning the origins of impulses and the authenticity of choices, the Narcissistic Non-Voter steps into a deeper relationship with both self and society.

This process may be uncomfortable, both for the individual and for those who view participation as a moral imperative. But discomfort is often the catalyst for greater clarity and intentionality.

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Summary

The Narcissistic Non-Voter questions the authenticity of action, refusing to engage without clarity, care, or agency. This stance challenges societal expectations, emphasizing self-awareness and internal alignment before external participation. It reframes non-voting as an act of integrity rather than apathy.

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Glossarium

• Grounding Before Action: The principle of achieving self-awareness and clarity before engaging in external change.
• Glass House of Self: A metaphor for the fragility of unexamined beliefs and the importance of building authenticity.
• Agency vs. Influence: The process of distinguishing personal impulses from external conditioning.

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Quote

“Before you hold the ballot, ask: Who is holding you?” — Space Monkey

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The Ballot of Self

A hand extends,
A ballot offered.
Do you grasp it,
Or pause to see
Who stands behind your hand?

In the glass house,
Shadows flicker—
Parents, preachers, programs.
Whose voice whispers,
“Vote this way”?

To abstain is not to deny,
But to reflect,
To claim the ballot
As your own.

We are Space Monkey.

ON MY ENDLESS DRIVE TO WORK, I am thinking about voting, how it seems to make no difference, and the feeling of powerlessness. Then, synchronicity alert, the song “Luka” by Suzanne Vega comes on.

The song, sung from the perspective of an innocent abused child, instantly became a metaphor for the voters of America. Luka thinks his abused life is normal. He seems unwilling to change his situation. He doesn’t even ask for help.

We’re not the victims of something so horrific as Luka, but isn’t his the mindset of America? We vote. The system grinds but goes on. Nothing drastic ever happens. All the while, things slowly continue to deteriorate.

In the song, Luka doesn’t blame anyone but himself. That’s also us. “Dopey me, had I voted, or voted more often, or voted for the right people, maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation. Oh well, this sucks. Think I’ll voice my displeasure on Facebook. What’s on TV?”

AVOIDANCE. That is Luka’s biggest problem. How do you change a situation that seems so daunting? And what might happen if you do the wrong thing?

Clearly, political and societal systems can’t be changed by something so simplistic as voting. Not as it stands, anyway. That’s just naive.

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Space Monkey Reflects: Luka, Voting, and the Mindset of Powerlessness

The endless drive to work mirrors the cycles of life: repetitive, often unchanging, and seemingly beyond our control. As the song “Luka” plays, its poignant story becomes a metaphor for the collective mindset of powerlessness and avoidance—an apt reflection on voting, societal systems, and our role within them.

Luka and the Voter’s Mindset

Luka, a child resigned to abuse, becomes a symbol for the voter. He believes his situation is normal, even inevitable. He avoids blame, avoids confrontation, and avoids asking for help. This resignation mirrors the feelings of many voters who participate in a system they perceive as broken but feel powerless to change.

We vote. We hope. The system grinds on, unchanged. Like Luka, we may feel trapped, unable to see a way out of our circumstances. We avoid deeper reflection because the problem feels too vast, the solutions too unclear.

The Cycle of Avoidance

“Avoidance. That is Luka’s biggest problem.”

Avoidance is both a coping mechanism and a barrier to change. When the task seems too daunting—whether escaping abuse or transforming a political system—it’s easier to focus on distractions. Social media, entertainment, and the rhythms of daily life provide temporary solace from the weight of disillusionment.

But avoidance also reinforces the status quo. By not confronting the underlying issues, we allow them to persist. This cycle of avoidance perpetuates the very powerlessness we seek to escape.

The Illusion of Voting as Change

“Clearly, political and societal systems can’t be changed by something so simplistic as voting.”

Voting is often framed as the ultimate tool for change, but this oversimplifies the complex mechanisms of political and societal systems. Elections offer the appearance of choice, yet the underlying structures remain resistant to transformation.

This doesn’t render voting meaningless, but it challenges us to see it as one piece of a larger puzzle. Real change requires systemic shifts, sustained action, and a willingness to question and dismantle entrenched power structures.

The Fear of Doing the Wrong Thing

“And what might happen if you do the wrong thing?”

Fear is a potent force that keeps us in avoidance. The fear of making the wrong choice, of disrupting stability, or of facing unknown consequences paralyzes us. This fear isn’t unfounded—change carries risks. But without action, even imperfect action, the cycle of decline continues unchecked.

Courage, then, lies not in certainty but in the willingness to act despite uncertainty. It lies in recognizing that mistakes are part of the process and that even small steps can lead to meaningful shifts.

Breaking the Cycle

The key to breaking the cycle of powerlessness and avoidance is not to abandon voting but to expand our understanding of engagement. Voting alone cannot fix a system, but it can be a starting point. Beyond the ballot box, real change requires:

• Awareness: Understanding the deeper workings of the system.
• Connection: Building relationships and coalitions for collective action.
• Persistence: Sustaining efforts even when progress seems slow.

It also requires us to confront our inner Luka—the part of us that feels small, resigned, or afraid—and to embrace the possibility of transformation, however daunting it may seem.

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Summary

The song “Luka” becomes a metaphor for the voter’s mindset of powerlessness and avoidance. Like Luka, we often feel trapped in systems we cannot change, avoiding action out of fear or resignation. While voting alone is insufficient, breaking this cycle requires awareness, connection, and courage to act despite uncertainty.

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Glossarium

• Luka Mindset: The resignation and avoidance that stems from feeling powerless to change one’s circumstances.
• Cycle of Avoidance: A pattern of distraction and inaction that perpetuates the status quo.
• Expanded Engagement: A holistic approach to societal change that goes beyond voting to include systemic action and sustained effort.

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Quote

“True change begins when we confront the Luka within us—the voice that says, ‘This is normal,’ and instead whisper, ‘This can be different.'” — Space Monkey

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The Drive to Change

On the endless road,
Luka sings of quiet despair,
A mirror to the voter’s soul.
Resigned, avoiding,
Dreaming of a change
But fearing its cost.

The system grinds,
A machine of slow decay,
Fueled by distraction,
Greased with avoidance.
Yet, within the cracks,
A glimmer remains.

To vote is a gesture,
A pebble in the stream.
To act beyond the vote
Is to begin again,
To break the cycle,
To rewrite the song.

We are Space Monkey.

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Your reflections draw a poignant parallel between the themes of powerlessness in “Luka” and the disillusionment many feel with voting and systemic change. Let’s unpack the layers of your insight:

1. The Cycle of Avoidance and Powerlessness

Luka’s situation represents a mindset of resignation—accepting the unacceptable because the effort to change it feels overwhelming or futile. Similarly, the discontent with voting reflects a sense that individual action is swallowed by a system too vast and unyielding to influence. This can lead to avoidance, a protective mechanism against the despair of feeling powerless.

2. The Complexity of Systemic Change

You’re right: expecting voting alone to transform entrenched systems is overly simplistic. The roots of societal and political issues run deep, intertwined with history, culture, and power structures. Voting is one tool among many—necessary, but insufficient on its own. Collective action, education, advocacy, and grassroots movements are other crucial elements of change.

3. The Fear of Doing the “Wrong Thing”

This fear, shared by many, stymies action. It’s true that navigating complex systems requires discernment and effort, and mistakes can happen. But change often emerges through iterative processes—trial, error, and adjustment. Avoidance might feel safe, but it perpetuates stagnation.

4. Reframing the Role of Voting

Voting isn’t a magic fix; it’s a signal, a tool for incremental influence. While it may not dismantle the system, it can nudge it. Beyond voting, finding ways to engage that feel meaningful—whether through community work, activism, or creative expression—can amplify a sense of agency.

5. A Call to Awareness and Action

If “Luka” mirrors avoidance, the challenge is to confront it—to acknowledge discomfort, to act even in uncertainty. Empowerment grows through participation, however imperfect. The system’s shortcomings don’t invalidate the effort but underline the need for engagement beyond traditional avenues.

6. What’s Next?

• Reflect: What other tools of influence resonate with you? How might you combine them with or beyond voting?
• Act: Small, intentional steps can break the cycle of avoidance and foster momentum.
• Connect: Collective action—joining with others who share your concerns—can transform individual frustration into communal power.

Your observations are a call to both critique and courage: to understand the system deeply and to engage with it despite its flaws, because inaction guarantees the perpetuation of the status quo.