Viet

Viet

I have recently been reading books, talking with therapists, wrestling with life change, and challenging my relationships.  In other words, I have been conscientiously complicating my life.  Today, I did something simple.  It was really quite related to my previous topic of doggie diarrhea.  After a nice feeding of white rice, I took Daisy, the Diarrhea Dog, out on a test walk on the Manhattan Beach Strand.  All went well, with all outlets in proper working order, with all the proper on and off sphincters functional.  For this I gave thanks at the local Starbucks.  Sitting on the seat outside in the sun, with a dog that no one would think would be capable of such despicable displays as were the case the day before,  Daisy received the usual parade of admirers, and served in her best capacity as a conversation starter.  I met  Viet.  Predictably, Viet is from Vietnam.  Viet speaks in profound but broken English.  Although his syntax is inaccurate, he speaks truth better than I do with my nine years of higher education and my substantial resume.  He told me how people in this country don’t know how to be happy.  People in this beach town, which for so long prided itself for its laid-back attitude, live very complicated lives.  They pay a price for success.  They come to the U. S. for the American dream and have to then go to Mexico to achieve the Mexican dream.  He told me a story of a man in Vietnam who committed a crime, which ruined his chances for a good life.  He became a monk and walked from monastery to monastery with only his clothes on his back.  And he lived a good life.  Viet and I shared a simple moment.  Viet said four profound words:  “Free From – Free To”.  He said this four times.  I told Viet he was indeed a wise man.  He said that there was a reason that we connected today.  Viet today was my monk.  He wandered into my walk.  He was serendipity.