“The Liver Philosophy”

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Through uncertain times, I usually immerse myself in stories. I find strength in words and usually balance out my screen time with some reading. I offer this to you, reader. You were searching for something and I hope you are satisfied.

I wrote this short story six years ago–worked on it through various forms for over ten. I’ve revealed it annually at the start of each school year. My students don’t know that I am the author. We dissect it for literary elements. They discuss its concepts openly and write about it. After a few days, I finally reveal that I wrote it. It never fails to spark interesting conversation. I use it as an opportunity of equanimity. They get to grade me.

Ultimately, the theme of this story is what I’m about. I feel like I exist to help people discover their essence. Whether it’s through one of my stories, simply listening when someone needs, or guiding someone to witness their own talents, I enjoy being the “compost”–a catchall, nutrient-rich space for people to grow.

We are being called to retreat and reflect. In modern times, we binge and that is so tempting right now! I hope this story inspires you to truly ask yourself what you’re here for–then be mindful of what you choose to binge the next few weeks or months. We are being given a once in a lifetime opportunity right now. What are you going to do with it?

The Liver Philosophy

by E.B. Livings

“Are you a liver?”

Before I could muster up an answer, I paused long enough to replay the entire conversation through my blurry mind. I knew that to answer this question would completely redefine my life’s path. Never could a single moment radically morph my perception more than the few seconds it took for him to ask the question.

What they don’t tell you when you are growing up is that there are millions of possibilities. Literally. This is not a figurative form of speech. There are thousands of religions, philosophies, choices, and consequences. The possibilities are truly endless and yet an individual is usually only exposed to a few during their formative years. Perhaps this is why most people do not search through the options. Starting with one question could spawn a multitude of inquiries that never lead to a finite answer.

I strayed. I questioned. I searched. I was lost without a GPS.

When I needed a guidepost, I emailed the one person whom I could trust: my Uncle Thomas. He was in the Navy and stationed somewhere in the South Pacific.

The plea simply asked, “What do you believe?” I could only imagine how randomly awkward the message seemed to an adult going about his daily routine. Just think about how you would respond to such an intensely in-depth question.

He couldn’t. I received an email that said he needed some time to think about it. I replied that the reflection was necessary and I wanted an appropriate answer. The wait was not a worry.

Months clicked by on my calendar app and I never saw a response in my inbox. I nearly forgot about the whole ordeal until the night after my sister’s wedding reception.

The two of us found ourselves at my parent’s kitchen snack bar. Everyone else had gone to sleep and we found the nocturnal hours coaxing our conversation.

“About that email,” my uncle blurted. I suddenly felt mortified that I had ever sent such a personal inquisition.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” I tried to laugh it off.

“No, no. I thought about it,” he replied genuinely. “I thought about it a lot, and here’s what I came up with.”

He paused and I clung to the empty air like a coach gripping the clipboard while he waits for the ball to sink into the net at the buzzer for a game-winning shot.

“The liver philosophy,” he stated quite proudly.

I felt like the ball hit the backboard and was now going around the rim.

“The…um…liver philosophy?” I asked.

“Yes. The liver philosophy. You see, every day on base they served meat,” he continued, “sometimes chicken, sometimes beef, sometimes pork, sometimes fish…”

The ball was going around and around the rim. Would it fall in or spin off into the dreadful bounces of failure?

“But every day on base, they served liver. And no one would ever eat it,” he explained. “It is full of protein and really good for you, but no one would touch it. So finally, I thought to myself, ‘I’m going to eat that liver, and I’m going to like it.’ I poured a little Worcestershire sauce on it and I took a bite. And you know what? It wasn’t half bad. Then it hit me, the liver philosophy – doing something that you know is good for you even if no one else gets it.”

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me, I thought.

He could sense my apprehension.

“But that’s not all,” he said as he reached for a pen that was sitting on top of a stack of old mail. He wrote the word LIVER in all capital letters on the back of a torn, used envelope.

“What are the first four letters?” he asked.

“L – I – V- E,” I spelled aloud. “Live.”

“That’s right,” he answered. “And when you truly LIVE, you become a LIV-ER.” He paused for effect. “The Liver Philosophy.”

Swoosh. Game over.

He could tell that the message was received. He waited for another second while my eyes seemed to process this profound information before he asked,

“Are you a liver?”

My Not-So-Silent Secret Struggle

If parents would have a meeting to share anonymously, it may go something like this…

By E.B. Livings

Welcome. We are all friends here. Anything shared should be understood with the utmost respect.

If this is a sacred space (I mean, it’s the Internet, right?), then I’ll just open up the meeting.

I struggle with this demon that most parents discover once their children turn about four. The evil spirit that erupts from your lungs and through your vocal cords after the repetition and defiance that challenges every morsel of your will power to remind yourself that, you are, in fact, the grown-up.

I’m talking about being a yeller. That visceral, insidious sound that escapes my mouth daily. It would astound most adults or even my high school students who are around me regularly that I repeatedly lose my ever-loving mind often. It’s the shameful secret I dread about myself. I am a yeller.

Like. My mom calls to check on me because she hears me from miles away. My neighbors give me the understanding nod or purposely avoid eye contact.

I’ve tried to fight it for years. I let go and let it out because I thought it would make me feel better. It just makes me feel worse.

I have, however, found new ways to cope that have alleviated this tendency:

A) speaking in a terrible British accent

B) turning the situation into a musical

The British accent. It takes some commitment. Once your jaw is aligned, every sentence seems quite strategic. Not only does this diffuse the situation because this can turn your children into fits of laughter or groans (either way it’s not fighting!), but it also makes yelling quite difficult.  And it sounds rather ridiculous. More laughter. Even if it’s from you, which is golden.

This break can prevent you from causing the next natural disaster in your home. The “Pause” button for yourself if no one else is around to give you the reminder.

This other trick I do can sometimes back fire, but at least it is done with pizazz. I take whatever I’m crabby about and turn it into a musical. I just sing my irritated suggestions or frustrations. It often feels like, “I’m defying sanity” [queue Wicked soundtrack]. The catch to this method is the response of the children. Sometimes their agitation will send me from Mary Poppins to Maleficent and then I’m back at square one.

I engage in many activities in hopes to deter this dreaded relapse. I pray often. I do yoga daily. I run or walk daily. I eat well. I avoid alcohol [the wine made it worse. Sorry. I said it]. And still, I end up yelling.

Chalk it up to having four sons close in age. Chalk it up to reminding me I’m human. I try to emphasize to myself that it’s just a phase, or the other golden cliche, “This too shall pass.” I just wish it would pass as fast as a cold front in South Louisiana.

I don’t want to wish away their childhood. It’s the closest thing to innocence that’s left. I just yearn to learn how to deal with it better sometimes.

I’ve come to realize that usually once I voice my issue, really admit it aloud, the problem starts to resolve itself. Hopefully this is that first step in taking a breath of clarity rather than breathing out a breath of fire. Although that would actually be kind of cool.

So there’s my secret. Does anybody else have anything they need to talk about?