All across town, the scales are falling from the eyes of Seattlites, and the truth is being illuminated. People are becoming aware of a grave deficiency here in our fair city: a serious shortage of townhomes. Otherwise reasonable people are migrating to the dark side, and destroying winsome older homes in favor of multiplexes and clapboard. Truly, townhomes are cropping up like rabbits in the springtime, and my neighborhood of Wallingford is in no way immune.

One morning last summer, I walked out of my charming 1920’s brick apartment building, full of character and humble fortitude, to find the house across the street gone. Bulldozed. Flattened. Nothing but rubble. When did that happen? I missed the old house. True, it was a bit dilapidated and probably moldy and rotten… but I liked to believe that it had good bones, and could have been resurrected with some tender loving care. A Craftsman home should never be torn down – it’s like shooting a bald eagle. Or a unicorn.

Over the past year, in the place of the charming old decaying house, I have watched a 4-plex take shape. But not just your run-of-the-mill townhome: this place is a palacial monstrosity, an anachronistic Cair Paravel, complete with faux stone walls and steep-sloping gables. No amount of landscaping is going to make this chateau less conspicuous; it is atrocious.

Just last week, they tore down the house next door to the recently developed eyesore, intending to build another multi-residence home. It makes me sad.

But you know what would redeem it all? If they tore down MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR’S HOUSE. There have to be at least 20 people living in that single-family dwelling place. The drug dealers. The obscenity screamers. The crooks who were arrested for having 33 stolen side-view mirrors in their basement. I blame my frequent car theft on them – or at least on some of their “clients.”

They deserve a townhome.

But it’s excruciating to be confronted with the possibility of death too early. I hate cancer.

Secondly, the kamikazes on razor scooters. Parents, please rein your children in.

C of all, the Ballard dads. You know who I’m talking about. The men that put other men to shame because they’re out pushing their kids in chariot strollers, wearing cool shoes and funky glasses, and you know that they’re picking up dinner on the way home to bring to their wife in their Craftsman house that they renovated with their own two rugged hands. Men, you renew my hope in the “man” part of “mankind.”

And lastly, my favorite wonder: people who look like their dogs. HOW DOES IT HAPPEN? Do people choose a dog that looks like them on purpose, or after a certain amount of years, does the dog start to rub off on them? Because I’m pretty sure that the dog doesn’t know how to change his appearance to look like his human.

The proverbial “they” say that there’s someone for everyone. If that’s true, I cannot wait to see the people who belong to these:

And this one? This one just holds too many possibilities. It’s almost too good to be true. I think I go to church with this one’s soul mate.

And now. What to write about?

How about bitterness. I guess that’s just as good a place to start as any. A real “upper,” and really, who doesn’t want to immerse themselves in the topic of rancor and venom?

Here we go.

Native American folklore includes the story of a man who struggles between good and evil, positive living and negative destruction, building up and tearing down. He tells his son that he has two wolves fighting within his heart: a good wolf and a bad wolf. His son’s eyes grow large as he asks, “Which one will win?” The father replies, “Whichever one I feed.”

Throughout my life, I have had a tendency to bow toward bitterness. Whenever life dealt me disappointment, I went one rung further down on the ladder toward cynicism and despair. I started to wholeheartedly believe that God had it out for me, and that I should just go ahead and expect failure and misery. It’s easier that way – low expectations leave no room for the shock of the anticlimax. It’s not that I saw the glass half empty; on the contrary, I saw it half full… of poison.

The tricky thing about bitterness is that in the end, it only hurt me. I was down all the time, and pulling others down in the process. Oh sure, cynicism allowed for some witty comments, and people were often drawn to my “realism.” I stated things exactly as I saw them, compulsively wrung all buoyancy out of situations, and thus maintained control over my life and circumstances. Don’t get your hopes up, and you’ll never be let down, I thought. Do not want. Do not hope. Do not look forward to things. Do not desire. To admit that I wanted something, to admit that something was important to me, was to reveal a vulnerability that I was not comfortable with. And so I chose the safety within the hard shell of petulance.

It’s funny – I think that some people actually want you to be bitter, and so they encourage it. Aren’t you angry? Can you believe he did that? What an ass. It’s not fair! You are SO right to feel that way. Bitterness begets bitterness. Acidity and malice are the natural products of hostility. Let’s all be bitter together. After all, it’s more fun that way – misery loves company.

But enough is enough. Relatively recently, I decided that I didn’t want to be bitter anymore. This came at an unexpected time, a time when I had a lot of reasons to be angry. I had been wronged, and I had been hurt. I had let my guard down for a time, and it came back at me in the form of a bitch-slap to the heart. What better time to positively loathe life?

But no. No more. I do not want to spend my life raging against the world. And so I am learning how to choose joy each and every day. It’s a discipline, and it’s often incredibly difficult. My bitter wolf rears its head on a daily basis, howling for attention and some good lovin’. But instead, I am choosing to foster and strengthen the “good wolf.” And slowly but surely, by the grace of God, this positive force is gaining backbone and resilience. I have so, so many reasons to be joyful.

I am learning how to state what is important to me. I am allowing myself to feel, and to unapologetically desire. And I am hopeful that these dreams will take form someday.

All of this with a smile… and the occasional sneer. :)