As a student of philosophy and law, and as a practicing lawyer for about 40 years (focussing primarily upon the administration of estates and the perpetuation of wealth) I am well positioned not any more than anyone else to comprehend the importance of living but rather to advance the pragmatism of living. Like it or not life requires thinking and application – and dealing with realities. The scope is far more than a distinction without a difference – the disparity between knowing you should do something and understanding how and why. Of the three certainties in this universe – namely birth, death and life – only the latter is within your own domain and – most tellingly – within your choice and influence.

The invitation of magnanimity or beneficence comes with a cost. That much is understood. It is also accepted that such purposeful ambition is normally directed at those from whom a favourable response is likely or expected – either because of a pre-existing contractual association (sometimes called the “consideration” for the promise – that is, “the price for the goods“), the intimacy of the relationship or because of the weight of some prior arrangement (commonly called a “quid pro quo” – “this for that” or less charitably outright barter as in “tit for tat” or even less desirably as “one hand washes the other” – but no longer archaically as a pharmaceutical substitute). What however isn’t so readily apparent is the subterfuge which may surround it. It is this peculiarly nefarious character which contaminates and may even impede the requested generosity.

The cold north wind has been howling relentlessly all day – though the azure sky was with equal tenacity cloudless and crystal clear. The high pressure created an uplifting and incomparable atmosphere. There were few people walking and cycling along the path this morning. Presumably they were less adventurous during this bracing period. A number of people were drawn – as was I – to the beach to look at the high waves and the glittering sunshine on the white sand and turquoise sea.

After a remorselessly sleepless night, having been up and down literally every hour on the hour at ten o’clock, eleven o’clock, midnight, one o’clock and two o’clock, I hadn’t the least expectation this morning when at last I awoke from an undisturbed four-hour sleep that there would be anything of a singular nature today. It may have counted as a signal of novelty that I diminished the customary size of my steel cut oats to one-quarter cup instead of half; or that I began my breakfast with a Sumo orange instead of a green apple. But I wasn’t prepared for anything outrageously different. I still had my poisonous antidote of walnuts and maple syrup. The invariability of my morning was only fortified by the plainness of my bicycle ride. The world – though unprovocative – appeared mundane to a fault. The sidewalk was characteristically flat and uniform.

Recently we met our neighbours George and Bobbie from Maine. We are all of an age. They kindly invited us to breakfast with them at their place this morning. The day began under gloomy weather – in addition to bearing the reserve befitting a Sunday – all of which suited me well. Otherwise I might have resented missing a moment of sunshine or my constitutional morning bicycle ride (a deprivation I happily endured because I recognize the need for a break from my exercise routine which is beginning to affect me adversely).

There’s something decidedly authentic about a swim in the sea. Its irrepressible allure is even more magnetic when the source is practically at one’s door. In the middle of January on Longboat Key the ambient temperature is comfortable – which is to say the sea water is not exactly like soup. Thus in spite of the blue sky and yellow sunshine today I hadn’t initially been consumed by the undying necessity to walk among the sea grasses and fine white sand to approach the Gulf of Mexico unannounced so to speak.

I ate my breakfast too quickly this morning. It impaired the tranquility of my bicycle ride. The wind was powerful from the east, the sun shone like oven heat upon my face. I was distracted by the urgency, not yet focused. Who are these people passing by? Do they live nearby? Have they just arrived on the island full of excitement and energy and purpose? I’m starting to blend in with the wallpaper.

Of all the gems and bijoux I’ve ever had DJA is the only one irreplaceable. He is the keel of my meaning. I won’t deny I can at times be more ornamental than he; but he is what fastens the foundation and keeps us afloat, going in the right direction with the wind always at our backs and in our sails. When the sun sets and the gloom of the evening overtakes, the diminished brightness of the day narrows the perspective and highlights what is crucial. There is no one else left in the room.

There are as many ways of interpterting the world as there are of looking at it. My friend FBF prefers the broad view, seeing as much as possible, doing as much as one can, extending the exploit to the edge of whatever elasticity prevails, enduring the necessity of the race for the strength of the strain. His is a limitless horizon as much of his own making as nature and circumstance choose to afford him. His passion nonetheless admits the obligation of servility “because we all serve someone“, whatever narrow focus of performance one has sought in this life – in his case medicine.

You might be a rock ’n’ roll addict prancing on the stage
You might have drugs at your command, women in a cage
You may be a businessman or some high-degree thief
They may call you Doctor or they may call you Chief

But you’re gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed
You’re gonna have to serve somebody

Gotta Serve Somebody, Bob Dylan

Engineering the correct regard for one’s life is no mean task. The are two options: recapitulate or capitulate – summarize or surrender. When blathering with Dr. George by the pool today he astonished me by not knowing the name of the model of vehicle (Enclave or Encore) he had just purchased in December before coming here from Maine for the winter. He did however quite succinctly recall what some old fellow had told him over fifty years ago while waiting for a bus in Yugoslavia.