The Loupe Man

Remember the old days? The days when it took 6-8 weeks to get something by mail order? Well, those days are still among us.

See, I have a watch.

Unfortunately, this watch was defective. The crown was loose, allowing the date mechanism to change on an hourly basis. Frustrating stuff. Fortunately, we live in an age where you can still get your things repaired instead of replaced.

Being a good, eco-conscious citizen, I decided to take it in for repair.

Watch shops aren't terribly easy to find. Well, they are, but half of the shops in Beaverton seemed to be either closed or out of business. Fred Meyer to the rescue.

Fred Meyer--that superstore of all things home and household--has a watch repair guy on staff. Yes, ladies and gentleman: a genuine repair guy. Loupe and all.

I handed him the watch, and--lo and behold--he couldn't fix it. Not on-site, anyway. Apparently, replacing internal components is a surgical operation of monumental proportions. He said he would send it away to "The Shop" and get back to me.

This was mid-January. A loooonnnng time ago.

You see, I'm not used to waiting.

And face it--this is an age of two-day free shipping, with magical warehouses that operate 24/7 and have zero turnaround time. This is an age of McDonalds, with service efficiency that borders on perfect. Low margins, high volume. That's the name of the game.

Nobody told Freddy's.

Two weeks later

I went back to the store. Surely, my watch had been repaired and he'd just forgotten to call me. Nope.

Four weeks

I received a call. "The Shop" had evaluated my watch and plotted a course of action. $118 and change to repair. I felt seriously committed at this point. They would fix it or I would die a disillusioned death.

Six weeks

I returned to the store with renewed hopes. The man with the loupe dashed them again without sympathy or fanfare.

Eight weeks

I flung myself upon the mercies of God. If it was His will, I would face death without my watch: the glories of Heaven being superior to the fickleties of Earth. He was silent on this point. I continued to wait.

Ten weeks

I sat subdued in a bean bag chair, reading a travesty of modern fiction. To what depths I had fallen! Every fifteen minutes, I rummaged around in my pocket for my iPhone: to check the time. Watches were invented to solve this problem, but I had no watch. Fred Meyers had taken it from me.

The phone rang.

I answered.

It was the man with the loupe! My watch had returned!

And now--here I sit. Ten weeks of patience have paid off. However, I do not plan to revisit the watch repair man at Fred Meyers. It would take a better man than I to endure that process again. Consider yourselves warned.

Until next time,

- Daniel

The Hurt and the Lonely

People cause pain. Much of the pain in your life is caused by people: yourself or others.

A logician might come to a hasty conclusion. If people cause me pain, and pain is bad, then I should not associate with people (as though people were like hot stoves or mountain avalanches).

But what is worse? To be lonely or to be hurt?

The lonely man loses much, because he has disassociated from the ebb and flow of his fellow man. He has lost the opportunity to love others, and be loved by others.

The hurt man loses little, because for every person who stabs, there are two others who heal. He is an interesting man, full of experience and memories, able to instruct and inspire. The hurt man still capable of love has lost little indeed.

And yet the hurt man often turns into the lonely man. This is because--once hurt--his reaction is to withdraw from others. To hide in his castle and mend his wounds. Assuming this can be done. Sometimes, the wounds run so deep, they turn into scars. At this point, the hurt man must make a decision. Will he let others love him in spite of the scars, or will he sequester himself in his castle, like Beast before the Beauty?

I don't think there's a clear transition between the hurt man and the lonely man. However, one day, the lonely man wakes up, and sees himself as alone. He sees the friendships he has discarded or ignored. He sees the friendships he rejected. He sees that his acquaintances are few and his friends are fewer. He realizes that he is at a crossroads.

Will he take the road less traveled by? Will he learn to love in spite of his scars? Will he do the hard thing? The right thing?

He feels unlovable. He feels unworthy. He feels grateful for his friends and lover, but not strong enough to seek out more friends. He knows he should, but thinks he can't. He prays, he pleads, he digs deeper into the hole he has dug. He feels destined for a life on the fringes.

But there is hope. He may be entirely correct, that he--in and of himself--cannot love. However, those who are loved can learn to love by example. Even the man without friends has a loving Creator. Most of us have other friends as well. They can teach us to love.

Do you dare try?

Until next time,
- Daniel