The Inner Mountain Man

I've always had a small, deep-seated insecurity that my wife might like me better as a clean-cut, suit-wearing kind of guy. You know, someone who exudes power, success and confidence. A guy who drives a dark, luxury car and only does so while wearing leather gloves. Someone with an interest in fashion and art. Someone who owns a scarf. Someone who would never be caught dead eating with his fingers like some kind of animal. I have no genuine interest in power or monetary success so I knew an image like that would be a stretch for me. Plus, I really hate to iron.

During the last week, you may or may not have read about the steak and eggs incident. Actually those were two isolated incidents, but I don't think you can write about steak and eggs separately when both are on the figurative plate - they're just too irresistible.

The other day we were walking through Wal-Mart past the little heating island of rotisserie chickens and Jenny said, "You should just take a whole chicken to work for lunch and eat it with your fingers!"

I can't even describe how happy that advice made me.

To give you a little background, I used to be into hunting and guns. I think most young boys go through a phase of shooting birds and indulging in their morbid curiosity by pouring salt on snails. I think I was about 13 or 14 when I started to grow out of the phase. The appeal of hunting has left me almost entirely. A crucial transition was reached, and I was suddenly much more fascinated with the beauty of living birds in flight -- I no longer pictured them as moving targets.

That trend has continued, and as the years pass I find that my trigger finger becomes more somber by the day. On Friday, I realized how far I've come from that relatively bloodthirsty 9-year-old. I got out of the elevator on the 4th floor of our office and was surprised to find a large black spider crossing the elevator lobby. I almost felt like I was "supposed" to smash it, but I was so intrigued by its journey that I just watched it for a minute. It finished the long trek across the tile and disappeared into a crack.

I haven't gone vegan nor do I feel the urge to embrace a tree. I do, however, have a newfound respect for life and no longer want to do harm.

Then again...

There does seem to be something primal lurking within me. For example, when I went on the weekend "Man-venture" with Todd, Josh and Spencer, I crossed my fingers that someone would hit a rabbit while driving. I know it's horrible to wish for the death of a cute little bunny, but honestly I did. I wanted to skin it and roast it on the fire. I wanted to tear meat from the bones. I wanted to eat with my hands. I wanted blood to trickle down my chin. I wanted to be covered in dirt and soot. I wanted to blacken the underside of my fingernails. I wanted to push down trees and shoot the moon suspicious glares.

I could practically feel my beard growing.

That tiny mountain man within has gotten a lot quieter throughout the years... but he's still there. Last week Jenny again gave me the wonderful gift of acceptance when she told me that she is well aware of that side of me. In fact, she told me that the Grizzly Adams gene does NOT turn her off.

She actually kind of likes it.