Dissatisfaction is a Killer Whale

My friend Brian, writing  "Poor Us" in his blog today says that no one will feel sorry for him because his mountain cabin doesn’t have an actual view of the Metolius River like many of his neighbors do. He points out, quite correctly, that man is never satisfied and suggests that even a Calcutta slum dweller after a few years living in this cabin would begin to complain that he had no view of the river. Brian has stumbled onto a psychological truth discovered by Professor Herzberg years ago and explained in his books on motivational theory. Herzberg points out that the human mind tends always to slide towards dissatisfaction. A victory, a new acquisition, even a cabin in the mountains of Oregon will only give one a slight boost above that line that demarks satisfaction from dissatisfaction. As Brian found out, satisfaction doesn’t last. Our base desires keep us on the slippery slope to the land of, “I want more.”
I was actually feeling a bit sorry for old Brian this morning after reading his blog. It was raining and I was standing on the deck at Lummi Island in my rain suit looking across the water, noting an eagle or two glide by, wondering if Mt. Baker would come out later and wishing that I could chop down a few of the neighbor’s trees to improve my panorama to a full 180 degrees. Later, washing windows I hankered for a better squeegee and wondered why I hadn’t gone for the 60 gb iPod. Queen was playing at the time on Shuffle Mode. I mean I like, “It’s a Hard Life,” but I was curious about what Shuffle had planned for me, so I hit the skip button hoping my current favorite Jason Mraz might be next. No luck. It was Phoebe Snow. Of course, I enjoy Phoebe as well as the next guy but...there was this slapping noise. I looked up. It was Linda clapping her hands to get my attention. Darn earbuds. You can hear over them. I should have been wearing my Bose Sound Reducing Headphones. She motions for me to turn off the music. It takes me awhile to get my dirty gloves off because I forgot to mention that I am now weeding the flower beds. “Let’s go for a bike ride,” she says. “Well, wait a minute,” says I. “I want to pull just a few more weeds. We’ll go soon.” “But I’m all ready,” she says stamping her little foot. “I want to go now.”
Soon we are cruising north on Nugent Rd. The rain is gone. The sun is breaking through. Patches of blue appear to highlight the cumulous buildup over the Cascades. A kind of gray mist obscures Orcas Island. We pedal up the hill and stop for a drink. “Glorious day,” says Linda who is all Lummilike and feeling smug because she’s on what she thinks is the greatest bike ride in the world. “Yeah,” I reply. “But, I’d sure like to see some whales.” We cruise down the hill past the Willows Inn gathering speed and then coasted out to where we normally rendezvous just short of the Two Saab House. (We call it the Two Saab House because Gene and Peg each have a white Saab. Apparently, they got one and that wasn’t enough and they got another one). Suddenly, I noticed a tall dorsal fin rise out of the water not a hundred yards offshore. “Orca!” I’m hollering and waving my hand so Linda will hurry up. She squeals to a stop and we watch several whales breach right in front of us. We pedal hard past the Two Saab House to get a better view and we watch about a dozen Orcas playing lazily in the Sound. They make this very loud noise when they blow that sounds like, “Huffff.) It was quite spectacular to see them so close to shore. Then, we saw some dolphins closer in and heading the other direction. Whales and dolphins! Too much. Right then I flashed on poor Brian carrying his chair and cushions and magazine and paperback book and juice all the way from his cabin to the river so he can see it  and I thought, “Man, I am really lucky. I wish poor Brian could be here to see this.”
But he wasn’t and we climbed back on the bikes and followed the dolphins all the way to Village Point. On the way we saw an otter and then in Lego Bay, just twenty feet off shore a big old seal doing a breast stroke, hiding from the killer whales. What a day!
I’ll probably never see those whales again.

Comments

[Brian]

Great. Now I feel even sorrier for myself. I'm looking out my office window at trees (again! can't get away from the damn things!)and not orcas breaching. Where are the orcas?! Why can't I see them like you can?! Oh, maybe because I'm in the Willamette Valley and you're in Puget Sound. Poor me...

[Shawn]

That sounds like the coolest bike ride in the world!!