Here’s a story about a person who couldn’t make up their mind whether life was good or life was
bad, who waffled on his outlook, sometimes grateful and sometimes bitter, nothing consistent, a
constant fluctuation of mood and disposition. Compared to others, his life might look grand,
privileged, perhaps even envied. He knew this yet such comparisons didn’t help resolve the
discontent he felt. As always, he questioned whether others felt this way, whether this roller
coaster of thoughts and feelings was simply the human condition or whether he’d entered a
stage of life some have referred to as a funk. In a funk. Not the good funk, not the groove funk.
The other funk, the stunk junk gunk clunk bunk kinda funk.
Then on his way home in his car one day he started talking to himself. It actually felt good. It
began with his coaching the driver in front of him, cool and calm at first, then when the drivers
around him started hesitating, he started to curse rather than encourage. He realized that within
the confines of his vehicle, particularly when alone, he could say anything. IF observed people
would think he was on his Bluetooth phone, talking to someone at a distance. Reality check. He
was talking to himself though the topic was drivers around him. He realizes these are the seeds
of road rage, stories abound of people losing it in their cars. If unchecked, the raging self- talk
could morph into action if he ever lost it and left his car. This had never happened. His coaching
and cursing other drivers remained unheard, unrecognized, ineffective other than what soon
morphed into a form of entertainment, a way of engaging and entertaining himself while driving.
It dawned on him that this was the reason the automobile remains dominant in his culture.
Where else can one find such a private luxurious space, a place to rant and ramble, to listen to
tunes and set the heat or cool at whatever temp feels good, a place where in his case, he felt in
control. And isn’t feeling in control one of the fundamentals of some kind of good existence?
Control…the root of the funk, the good funk and the gunk sunk bunk funk. Kinda like good shit
bad shit and all the shit in between.
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