And We Slip at Last Into Place

They told the restaurant staff what was happening, and the staff quickly locked the doors and turned on the local news.

Outside, the sirens of emergency vehicles wailed. Inside, they watched the news with rapt attention. Reports said that an unknown number of people on campus were shot. Also unknown was how many gunmen were involved.

Was it a lone wolf, or several?

And then one of the young ROTC men picked up his phone and texted his family, to let them know he was off campus. To say that he was safe.

That young man was my son.

Rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf

A flurry of text messages followed between my son, wife, and me.

“My car is on the opposite side of the campus. My plan is to stay in place until further updates,” my son texted.

“Good plan,” I replied.

“The news is saying no second suspect,” my son texted, along with, “I’m still waiting for an update. My companions are going to ask the police if it’s safe to retrieve our things. If not, they’ll come back and we’ll head somewhere where Dad can pick us up or something.”

“OK, sounds good,” my wife replied.

I started receiving a flood of text messages from concerned relatives as far away as Boston. Apparently, the shooting already made the news everywhere.What a sad commentary on American life.

People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf. —George Orwell

I switched on the local news and watched the overwhelming law enforcement response to UNLV, followed by a wave of ambulances. We learned later that two police officers on campus engaged with the suspect. Video showed one officer falling to the ground, recovering, and eventually shooting and killing the gunman. It’s always a tragedy when life is lost, but I’m thankful for the men and women who risk everything to keep us safe.

I thought of my law enforcement career.

More than once I found myself responding to critical incidents, including one episode with a mentally ill gunman. Such calls were always scary, yet one’s training took over and it wasn’t until many hours or days later that the stress and shock of such confrontations hit you.

When the shooting at UNLV unfolded, the old cop in me wanted to respond and make sure my son was safe. But who am I kidding? I’m a retired relic. Best to leave it to the younger, able-bodied police professionals.

Thanks to their rapid response, the gunman was stopped before more lives were lost.

Unable to go back on campus and retrieve his car, my son texted and suggested I pick him up. Traffic was a nightmare close to campus, and he decided to walk down South Eastern Avenue. I knew he was in uniform and that part of the area he’d be walking through was sketchy. It worried me, even though my son is well over six feet and a black belt in Tae Kwon Do.

Fortunately, my son made his way south and I was able to pick him up.

More details emerged on the news that evening and the following day. About how the gunman was a former professor from North Carolina. How he’d applied in 2020 with UNLV for a teaching position but was denied. And that he was viewed by past students as eccentric but “super nice.”

It made me wonder how some people become so lost.

But I guess it doesn’t matter anymore

Years ago, the rock star Don Henley recorded a song titled “New York Minute.”

The song opens with the following lyrics:

Harry got up dressed all in black
Went down to the station
And he never came back
They found his clothing scattered somewhere down the track
And he won’t be down on Wall Street in the morning

He had a home
Love of a girl
But men get lost sometimes as years unfold
One day he crossed some line and he was too much in this world
But I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.

I don’t know what snapped with the professor who showed up at UNLV to kill fellow educators. Perhaps he was angry about UNLV not hiring him. Maybe his life didn’t unfold as he hoped it would.

Somehow, he became lost.

But men get lost sometimes as years unfold
One day he crossed some line and he was too much in this world
But I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.

Life can change in a New York minute.

One day everything is going fine. And the next, your boss informs you that your position has been eliminated. Or your spouse wants a divorce. Or you retire and in a few years feel completely irrelevant.

Some people seem to weather the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” and soldier on. They regroup and find a way forward.

Others become hopelessly lost.

Ill-lit stairway of our life

After I retired a few years ago from a 26-year career in law enforcement, I was blissfully free to pursue my creative life.

Where once I arose early to attend police department roll calls, and then assume many duties as a busy police chief, now I spend mornings with books and coffee in the oasis of my backyard. It’s sort of a monastic practice, where the rising sun and birdsong coalesce with whatever words I’m reading, and I feel like my life has slipped into a blessed rhythm of intellectual enrichment and personal expression.

I write stories and essays that capture the deepest regions of my mind and soul.

Sometimes my morning rituals border on spiritual awakenings, where I feel a sense of peace, purpose, and joy. The late English philosopher Roger Scruton captures a bit of what I experience in the following words:

Anybody who goes through life with open mind and heart will encounter moments that are saturated with meaning, but whose meaning cannot be put into words. These moments are precious to us. When they occur it is as though, on the winding, ill-lit stairway of our life, we suddenly come across a window,…through which we catch sight of another and brighter world—a world to which we belong but which we cannot enter. There are many who dismiss this world as an unscientific fiction. I am not alone in thinking it real and important.

I feel an immense sense of gratitude.

I’ve been blessed to have a loving family and good people who took me under their wings and mentored me. And I know not everyone is so fortunate.

The line between becoming a well-adjusted, relatively happy person and someone whose soul descends into bitterness and hatred, is often a narrow line.We forget that there are people among us whose lives are hanging by a thread. A smile or single act of kindness could make all the difference between finding hope or giving up.

And once people give up, the ensuing darkness can lead to tragic consequences.

A geography of the soul

Today I took my son to breakfast at the local diner.

The place was full of chattering patrons enjoying their eggs, pancakes, coffee, and Saturday morning banter. And then a waitress bellowed, “Can I have everyone’s attention!”

The restaurant fell silent.

“Today is Mario’s birthday, and I’d like you all to join me in singing Happy Birthday,” the waitress said. I gazed over at Mario. He’s a skinny kid in his early twenties, and his mannerisms and unique speech patterns track with someone on the spectrum. He has served my son and I in the past, and he’s always exceedingly professional and pleasant.

We all joined in and sang a robust Happy Birthday, whilst Mario beamed at the front of the restaurant.

When we finished, everyone applauded and Mario shouted, “Thank you, everybody, and I wish you all a wonderful holiday season!” It struck me that Mario, despite exhibiting mild, autistic traits, is emotionally beyond his years.There’s a serenity to his presence. He has already found his way in life.

He is a peaceful soul.

There is an internal landscape, a geography of the soul; we search for its outlines all our lives. Those who are lucky enough to find it ease like water over a stone, onto its fluid contours, and are home. Some find it in the place of their birth; others may leave a seaside town, parched, and find themselves refreshed in the desert. There are those born in rolling countryside who are really only at ease in the intense and busy loneliness of the city. For some, the search is for the imprint of another; a child or a mother, a grandfather or a brother, a lover, a husband, a wife, or a foe. We may go through our lives happy or unhappy, successful or unfulfilled, loved or unloved, without ever standing cold with the shock of recognition, without ever feeling the agony as the twisted iron in our soul unlocks itself and we slip at last into place. —Josephine Hart

Mario’s impromptu birthday celebration was a wonderful moment, especially after the stress and tragedy of the incident at UNLV. It made me realize that despite life’s ups and downs, most of us are still able to find the path to ourselves.

We suffer life’s hardships and indignities, but eventually, we find our way.

We accept our strengths, weaknesses, successes, and failures. With time and maturity, we deepen our gratitude and love for family and friends. We make it to retirement and get to settle deeper into ourselves, along with our passions and pleasures.

But sadly, some are less fortunate.

Like poor Harry in Don Henley’s song “New York Minute,” he dresses in black, throws himself in front of a train, and gives up on life. Or the bitter and broken professor who showed up at UNLV with a gun, bent on hurting others, only to die knowing deep down that he fatally hurt himself.

The geography of every person’s soul is different.

To reiterate the Irish writer Josephine Hart’s beautiful words, “…we search for its outlines all our lives.” But with time, effort, and patience, we can trace its contours and find our peace.

After a lifetime of struggle, uncertainty, tears, and laughter, we can become who we were meant to be. We figure out the geography of our soul.

And we slip at last into place.

Before you go

 

I’m John P. Weiss. I write elegant stories and essays about life. If you enjoyed this piece, check out my free weekend newsletter, The Saturday Letters.