How We Pick our Friends, Lovers and Spouses or the Good, the Bad and the Lucky


By Don Reed Several years ago, I worked with a very troubled


man, mercurial in temperament; mild mannered and respectful at times but prone to flashes of rage at oth- er times. I didn’t like him and avoided being around him as much as possible. This man, whom I call Frank, was reasonably good at his job but drew com- plaints from co-workers and customers alike for his temper. The company tried counseling him, to no avail, and he was soon let go. The truth be told, I was glad to see him go, the workplace was better without him. But something gnawed at me, and it wasn’t that I had made no attempt to help him. I know this makes little sense but I believe he may be incapable of change and being alone and miserable is the way he will spend the rest of his life. What gnawed at me, and intruded upon my thoughts long after he was gone was why he was this way? I went through a mental check list: Did he drink?


Yes. Did he use drugs? I believe he did. It would have been easy for me to stop at this juncture and blame everything on these vices, but then I asked my- self if the drinking and the drug use were the cause, or the effect? One day in a short conversation with this man he


had confided that everyone in his life had betrayed and deserted him. Although I remained silent I felt like saying “I’m not surprised, you radiate anger, who would want to be around you for very long?” But other than that unspoken observation I was not close to answering my own question. A few mornings after Frank was fired I woke up,


after a fitful night’s sleep, vividly remembering a dream I had been having; it was a scene from a movie I had seen more than thirty years previously. It was a movie made about the “Monster” Victor Frankenstein had created. It was the nighttime scene where an an- gry mob from the local village was headed for Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory; where they intended on eradicating both the lab and the creature that had been created there. I made no sense out of why I dreamt about an old movie and tried to put it out of my mind. A few nights later I experienced a repeat of the


“Angry mob and the Monster” dream; only this time I was beginning to understood what my subconscious was trying to tell me. I took no immediate action other than to allow the solution to my question to per- colate until done.


Within a few days, I understood that the only


part of the dream that mattered was the torches. The monster, the angry villagers, Dr. Frankenstein and his laboratory were only characters in this play. The torches were, I realized, the only thing left after all else had percolated away. I saw the torches as a symbol of what we both have and need. However you wish to think of your inner being, you may call it your “self”, or your “persona “, or perhaps your “psyche,” some will think of it as their “soul.” But no matter how you refer to that inner self, that inner being requires two things: Warmth and Light. It’s warmth that attracts us to other people.


We’ve all met people who seem to be as warm and inviting as a tray of freshly baked cookies. We immediately want to spend more time with them and with time we may think we are on the road to a life-long friendship; or perhaps even as life-long mates. But problems may arise when our needs change and we require more than baking cookie dough aroma. The path through life can be dark and treacherous; sometimes, in fact often, we need light to see the way as well as, or even more than, warmth. At one end of the scale, are those whose


“torch” shines with radiant-white-light. There was an award winning TV series called House, M. D. The show focused on Gregory House M. D. a so- cially dysfunctional but brilliant doctor, whose specialty was diagnosing terminally ill patients. Almost always Dr. House was successful, howev- er he didn’t celebrate because his patient might live, he would celebrate only his diagnostic skills and resultant successes. He still saw cause for cel- ebration even when the patient died if he had cor- rectly diagnosed what it was that killed. Dr. House’s “torch” emitted a bright light to illumi- nate disease but little or no warmth for his afflict- ed patients. And the fictional Dr. House is not alone, there


are and have been many whose torch has shone brightly. When, for example, I picture Thomas Edison I don’t see his wife and children smiling happily at his side, I see no picnic baskets nor birthday parties, and no walks along the beach. I only see Mr. Edison working in his lab creating the future.


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