Maybe (Maybe Not): Second Thoughts from a Secret Life - Softcover

Fulghum, Robert

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0804111154 ISBN 13: 9780804111157

Publisher: Ivy Books,U.S., 1995

Synopsis

THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
I once began a list of the contradictory notions I hold:
Look before you leap.
He who hesitates is lost.
Two heads are better than one.
If you want something done right, do it yourself.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Better safe than sorry.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
You can't tell a book by its cover.
Clothes make the man.
Many hands make light work.
Too many cooks spoil the broth.
You can't teach an old dog new tricks.
It's never too late to learn.
Never sweat the small stuff.
God is in the details.
And so on. The list goes on forever. Once I got so caught up in this kind of thinking that I wore two buttons on my smock when I was teaching art. One said, "Trust me, I'm a teacher." The other replied, "Question Authority."
[signature]
Fulghum

About this title

About the Author

Robert Fulghum is a writer, philosopher, and public speaker, but he has also worked as a cowboy, a folksinger, an IBM salesman, a professional artist, a parish minister, a bartender, a teacher of drawing and painting, and a father. All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten has inspired numerous theater pieces that have captivated audiences across the country. Fulghum is also the author of many New York Times bestsellers, including It Was on Fire When I Lay Down on It, Uh-Oh, and Maybe (Maybe Not), as well as two plays: All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten and Uh-Oh, Here Comes Christmas. He has also written two novels: Third Wish and If You Love Me Still, Will You Love Me Moving?

From the Back Cover

THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLERLook before you leap.
He who hesitates is lost.
Two heads are better than one.
If you want something done right, do it yourself.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Better safe than sorry.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
You can't tell a book by its cover.
Clothes make the man.
Many hands make light work.
Too many cooks spoil the broth.
You can't teach an old dog new tricks.
It's never too late to learn.
Never sweat the small stuff.
God is in the details.
And so on. The list goes on forever. Once I got so caught up in this kind of thinking that I wore two buttons on my smock when I was teaching art. One said, "Trust me, I'm a teacher." The other replied, "Question Authority."
[signature]
Fulghum

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Maybe (Maybe Not)

Second Thoughts from a Secret Life

By Robert Fulghum

Random House Publishing Group

Copyright © 1995 Robert Fulghum
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-8041-1115-7

A rabbi and I once engaged in a friendly intellectual hockey match trying to choose a single word to summarize human wisdom. He submitted a Hebrew term—timshel. It’s found in the oldest story in our common literature—in Genesis—the book of beginnings.
 
After being expelled from the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve had two sons. The elder was called Cain. He was the first man born outside of paradise.
 
In time Cain grew up and cultivated his land and brought the first fruits as an offering to God. The offering was rejected. Jehovah explained to Cain that he was tangled up with evil—it lurked around his door. “But,” Jehovah said, “you may triumph over evil and have abundant life.”
 
That’s a crucial sentence—the last thing Jehovah says to Cain.
 
“You may triumph over evil and have abundant life.”
 
The critical word is the second one, the verb—may.
 
Timshel in Hebrew.
 
This term has vexed scholars and theologians for a long time. It sits in the middle of a passage considered one of the five most difficult in the Scriptures to translate and understand. In context it has varied meanings, especially in this interchange between Jehovah and Cain.
 
Timshel has been interpreted to mean “you shall”—that’s an order, a command. Timshel has been interpreted to mean “you will”—which implies predestination. Timshel has even been interpreted to mean “you cannot,” which suggests hopeless dependence. All these interpretations define a relationship with God that leaves little freedom.
 
My friend the rabbi feels that the practical meaning of that passage of Scripture concerns vitality—meaning “Don’t be dead,” or “Don’t be a passive victim—be active—be alive.” He reads it as good advice: There is this problem with evil—you really should deal with it.
 
Carry that one step further—if you should, then you may.
 
To interpret timshel to mean “you may” is to use a word that implies the possibility of choice. This is not a matter of theological hairsplitting. I think a strong case can be made that human beings have at least acted as if “you may” was the correct interpretation—acting as if our destiny is in our hands.
 
Whatever we may think or believe, what we have done is our story.
 
You don’t need to be a theologian or belong to any particular religious group to enter this discussion, but you do come down somewhere on this issue of what’s possible in your life by how you in fact go about your life. You live this truth, one way or another.
 
In modern English, timshel means “it may be,” or, simply, “maybe.”
 
Maybe. There’s our word.
 
The wisest answer to ultimate questions.
 
A word pointing at open doors and wide horizons.
 
 
I do not believe that the meaning of life is a puzzle to be solved.
 
Life is. I am. Anything might happen.
 
And I believe I may invest my life with meaning.
 
The uncertainty is a blessing in disguise.
 
If I were absolutely certain about all things, I would spend my life in anxious misery, fearful of losing my way. But since everything and anything are always possible, the miraculous is always nearby and wonders shall never, ever cease.
 
I believe that human freedom may be stated in one term, which serves as a little brick propping open the door of existence: Maybe.
 
 
Suppose that everything going on in your head in twenty-four hours could be accurately recorded on videotape. Your night dreams and daytime fantasies, conversations with yourself and appeals to the gods, the music and memories that float about, and all the loony trivia that ricochets around in your mind.
 
Suppose all this material could be played in a theater—with multiple screens and a multitrack sound system. A pretty sensational show, I’d guess. MTV, X-rated video, Science Fiction Theater, Harlequin Romances, CD-ROM, and the National Enquirer combined couldn’t compete with what goes on behind the closed door of the secret side of our minds.
 
The operative word here is “secret.”
 
Public lives are lived out on the job and in the marketplace, where certain rules, conventions, laws, and social customs keep most of us in line.
 
Private lives are lived out in the presence of family, friends, and neighbors who must be considered and respected, even though the rules and proscriptions are looser than what’s allowed in public.
 
But in our secret lives, inside our own heads, almost anything goes.
 
We alone are answerable for what we think and do when nobody else is around or involved. Categories of “fact” and “fiction” are irrelevant in here. Are dreams true? Is what you imagine accurate?
 
Inside these tight boundaries of flesh and bone is a borderless jungle in which clearings exist. In these open spaces, there may be an amusement park, a zoo, a circus, a library, a museum, a theater, or a landscape stranger than Mars.
 
We refer to ourselves in first person singular—“I”—but inside, it’s more like first person plural. Most of the time, my inner life seems like a ventriloquist act. A ceaseless dialogue between Me and my dummy. Oddly enough, the dummy is smarter than I am.
 
It seems as if my dummy and I have lots of company. There’s quite a crowd in here with us. A child and its parents. A wise old person. A mechanic, demons, a fool, a scientist, comedian, musician, dancer, athlete, magician, professor; a Romeo, censor, police officer, fire fighter, and multitudes more. The population of a small town inhabits the landscape of these disunited states of myself. And the town meeting is always in session.
 
I can fully relate to the occasional stories in the tabloids about multiple personalities. This is not news to me. In the best sense of the word, I run an asylum—a safe refuge—in my mind. And it’s not a problem. As long as I keep the shades drawn and the doors closed, and don’t let anybody loose, all is well. As long as I’m firmly in charge of my secret life, the world sees me as sane and functional. Am I? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.
 

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Maybe (Maybe Not) by Robert Fulghum. Copyright © 1995 Robert Fulghum. Excerpted by permission of Random House Publishing Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Edition details

• Publisher: Ivy Books,U.S.
• Publication date: 1995
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0804111154
• ISBN 13: 9780804111157
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• Number of pages: 240