No doubt you have overheard it promoted to someone who has recently suffered a loss or set-back that they should do something to take their mind off it. Very often the politic proposal is to do something which is for the benefit of others rather than oneself. This is clearly a device designed to distract the injured party from his or her own misfortune. Strangely enough it unremarkably unfolds that industry directed to the betterment of others vastly uplifts oneself.

There are of course exceptions, those who are steadfastly dedicated to their own vexation and who are extremely reluctant to divert themselves from the preoccupation. Generally speaking however the subterfuge works even though it smacks of nothing more artful than putting on a happy face. Besides one can appreciate the return on the capital investment. Putting others before oneself, acknowledging that there are so many others whose condition is far worse than one’s own, and merely distancing oneself from the knots of one’s own sometimes stodgy existence is easily more profitable than cultivating an unhappy circumstance. This is not to say that the task is undaunted but there is a good chance it will provide at least temporary relief, by which time the strength of the original incident may have subsided. And even if not, there is seldom anything lost in so altruistic a venture.

Along this line of self-imposed deceit are other prescriptions such as learning to “rise above it”. This too is mildly Machiavellian though once again oddly successful. This is an especially cerebral misrepresentation, more in the nature of a private act of deliberation than an overt act of public kindness. Nonetheless almost by virtue of its enigmatic lineament it appears to vitalize one’s resolve. There is additionally something terribly civilized about it as well, stoic in a word, right up there with the “stiff upper lip”! One can readily enlarge upon the tact by vouching for its conspicuous maturity, capturing as it does a good deal of the philosophical element, the randomness of life and so on. In short it purveys every hint of sophistication, dare I even say Sophistry? This particular device has a leg up on the less empowering adage that “it could happen to any one of us” which when you think of it is hardly relieving and instead seems to convey some entitlement to adversity.

A more passive remedy for one’s personal troubles is – if you’ll forgive the temporary lapse into the vernacular – the adoption of something approaching “Don’t let the bastards get you down!”. In spite of its aggressive tone, it is of course little more than snapping one’s fingers at the dragon, a mere “Pshaw!” in the face of the devil himself. The dissimulation here is the pretense to be unmoved by seemingly insurmountable obstacles. While it may put too fine a spin on it, if your calamity is ostensibly at the hands of others, you might even consider going the extra mile by proclaiming that it is the privilege of the masses to mock their betters! This particular arrogance really rubs their collective noses in it while indirectly avoiding the decided indiscretion of having to stand on others to make yourself taller. It’s almost a trivial concession which has the effect of deflating the opposition, certainly a dismissive act of the most extraordinary order!
Some measures are more generic, things like “Into every life some rain must fall!”. This I find has the poetic bent to it, though as a result it is equally dispiriting in my opinion. Ever it was that resort to poetry so often accompanies a heightened level of despondency. Waxing poetic with one’s eyes uplifted and distantly focused on the stars was never my idea of getting through a rough spot; rather it appeared more like caving under the weight of it.

I suppose I could go on recounting those many other exhortations which often flow so freely from the mouths of others, those innumerable proverbs which are invariably designed to separate you from the poignancy of your own bad luck. Yet it probably matters very little in the end how one packages the condensed saying. What does matter is that – by deceit, logic, arrogance, poetry or otherwise – one manages to insulate the problem and isolate oneself from it. It may seem a glaring oversight on my part to have failed to mention the possibility of confronting the problem head-on and dealing with it, but that can be such a consuming undertaking, very often at the risk of devouring oneself in the process. In any event, what I am talking about here is merely a bit of taradiddle, a little white lie just to get one through the initial difficulty. There will always be time to go right deep down into life’s misery.

It is hardly enlightened to observe that – especially in Western society – most people have a deep affection for the things they own. Materialism seems to be part and parcel of life in the so-called modern world. The automobile in particular has long been acknowledged as exemplary of this fundamental disposition. But the affiliation goes far beyond what is at its worst mere unilateral idolatry. The ownership of a car, to continue the metaphor, can set up fairly significant barriers between oneself and other human beings. While it might at first be speculated that only those who enjoy the ownership (or lease) of the recognized high-end automobiles are likely to turn their respective noses well into the air, the truth is that there are as many divisions of ownership class as there are automobiles. Each brand carries with it its own entitlements (and causes for segregation). So, for example, the operator of an energy-saving small machine is just as probable to sneer at gas-guzzling SUVs. Likewise the owners of practical and economic cars are no doubt ill-disposed towards the owners of excessive and opulent ones (my preference, by the way). Then there’s the German vs. North American thing; propane vs. fuel, and so on. There’s simply no end to the forces which drive automobile owners apart and consequently provide ample fodder for indexing and honking horns when perturbed by a bit of bad driving on the part of another.

But picture my embarrassment to discover that this controversy had somehow made its way into the realm of bicycles. After all, even admitting (as is true) that there are cheap and very expensive bicycles out there, I never imagined that the brethren of the saddle would tarnish the fraternity by allowing a bit of metal to come between them. Yet it is so! Recently, as is my wont, I have taken to the country roads in an endeavour to engage in some healthy out-of-doors exercise on my bicycle. Now, I must explain immediately that my bicycle is not one of those racing bikes. Oh, no! Those days are long gone! At the age of sixty years, and having been on the operating table once already for open-heart surgery, my interest in speed and sleek has been replaced by high handle bars, balloon tires and (if you’ll forgive me for lapsing into the vernacular) a fat-ass seat (not mine, I mean, but the saddle). There was, however, a time when I thought nothing of spending an entire day on my bicycle climbing the hills in the Gâtineau Park, sporting clipped shoes, silk-like pants and a lock and chain about my waist. Now (though I wear a helmet to avoid being thought completely uncool) I tend to look rather more like a tourist from Florida on an early morning expiation along the beach before settling back into lunch and a mid-day cocktail . Nevertheless, I would never have thought that either my bike or my appearance would have alienated me from the world of which I have been a part for so many years. Wrong! Let me now catch sight of a cyclist on one of those racing machines coming towards me on the highway (I always ride against the traffic because my Fat Frank tires – that’s truly what they’re called – enable me to take to the gravel when a car flies by), and I can guarantee that the fashionably clad fellow (perpetually wearing dark sunglasses and the deadpan visage of a sheep) won’t so much as acknowledge my existence as he sails past. For the longest time I made what turned out to be the undignified effort to say a cheery hello, never succeeding in any correspondence. Now, adulterated and bent as I am by past experience, I pretend to out-do their snobbish ignorance by doing the same (though I suspect they only interpret my avoidance as deference).

The other side of the coin is, as you might expect, that when the on-coming cyclist is someone who is clearly doing the cycling for the enjoyment (and not the punishment, as seems to characterize the racers) and is more often than not clad in something anyone of us could find in a bottom drawer at home, the reception and communication is a great deal more enthusiastic. Birds of a feather, and all that, I suppose. Those of us who ride clumsy old bikes, or what were once called cruisers, relate to one another instantly, and – more to the point – charitably. As a result, I’ve given up being concerned about my fellow creatures, at least when they’re wearing skin-tight one-piece multi-coloured outfits and riding bicycles with wheels the width of my thumb. Regrettably, however, I am unable entirely to abandon the pretense of not having even noticed them. Seeing through people takes years of practice, and having been removed from the urban scene for thirty-three years I find it difficult to adopt that unpleasant posture. I am soothed in my commitment only to think that I didn’t even glance at them as they whizzed past!

If ever we spoke the truth about one another, the conversation would be considerably more entertaining. To sterilize our comments is equivalent to removing all the fat from the gravy, it just doesn’t taste as good. The unfortunate part of such a candid posture is that it invariably dwells upon what are considered by many to be the more undesirable elements of another’s personality. Can you imagine, for example, what you’d be inclined to say if someone asked you how your family were? Of course the immediate inclination is to gloss over the matter entirely by saying they’re all fine, but that really tells the listener nothing. How much more engrossing it would be to say, “Well, my husband has become a certified alcoholic; we now know with certainty that my nephew will never marry; my mother is driving me crazy; I haven’t spoken to my sister since the fracas last Christmas; and my aunt who lives with us is a complete jerk!” Such an overview provides numerous avenues which to explore in further detail; cuts to the chase, so to speak, broadens the horizons. I mean, why bother with all that namby-pamby stuff about how excellently well everyone is doing? None of us lives in a cartoon world of defined edges and limits; we’re all constantly overflowing and making a mess of things, if the truth be known.

Among friends a juicy bit of gossip goes a long way to keep the fires of interest burning. Indeed, it is the essence of communication that one should communicate not only fact, but information. To teeter on the brink of propriety (which normally means saying nothing but platitudes), as though that somehow meets the challenge of living, is an entire mistake, not to mention completely boring. And who do we thinking we’re kidding anyway? Most people who know anything at all about us have a pretty fair idea what’s really going on. To avoid the reality is not only insulting to the other party, but it needlessly and painfully protracts the conversation to the point of abandonment (assuming, that is, that one or both parties doesn’t finally break the ice and interject some common sense into the proceedings).

There are many ways to be candid and informative without being rude and aggressive. Like so many other things in life, it all depends on how you look at it and what you’re looking for; viz., Do we see what we believe, or do we believe what we see? That’s the crunch of the matter when you think about it. Is Little Johnnie what we hoped he would turn out to be, or is he one greedy number intent on stealing whatever he can from you or anyone else who dares to come within his sphere? That may be pushing it, but I use it only to illustrate the point. Naturally, more refinement in our discernment of others’ characters not only softens the social blow, but is more enlightening. And what’s wrong with throwing in a bit of wisdom when it comes to thinking about our friends and relations! You never know, we may even in the process end by convincing ourselves of the legitimacy of what was once so annoying about them. It is always perilous to apply intelligence to the castigation of others. Tends to open up other possibilities for fault, not exactly what one likes to discover after a prolonged cultivation of dislike based upon nuance and prejudice only.

I shouldn’t harp on the distasteful elements of those whom we know. One could just as easily talk about a happy relationship. But I’ll leave that chapter for another day. Far more amusing to squander one’s efforts on the short-comings of others, if for no other reason than that we have such a vast resource upon which to draw. After all, scuttlebutt is by far more engaging than that perfectly dry stuff about charm and pleasantness and lasting devotion, which all tend to be so glossy and superficial.

Like it or not, we’re part of the animal kingdom, and as brilliant as we may wish to fancy ourselves, it takes but a scratch of the surface to reveal the driving instincts of our being. I’m not for a moment suggesting that everything below the surface is damnable, but rather that our essence is not something with which we clothe ourselves, it is a flavour which is ours alone and which makes us what we are. And it doesn’t make one a nosy-parker to discuss it. I prefer to look upon it as an artistic duty to seek from life the meaning that it has, not the meaning I’d desire. Funny, too, how connecting oneself with the basic fundamentals of life, as earthy as they may be, is oddly more uplifting than treading about in an ethereal rarefied atmosphere where we more likely to fall through the gaps.

Some people enjoy the privilege of an exceedingly charmed existence. One can only hope for their sake that such generosity continues for a lifetime. Yet not all are so lucky. The subsequent loss of social face through the unanticipated changes of fortune can trigger some bizarre and unhappy results. In an effort to cling to the past, people sometimes re-enact polite niceties which have virtually no foundation in fact, though they certainly sound obliging enough: “We simply must have you for dinner sometime soon!”

Not all misrepresentation is of course the product of social disgrace. Sometimes it is merely the preferred course of conduct. Self-deception, while not exactly a model to be counselled, can for example, cushion the blow of unmitigated and uncomfortable reality. Some may consider it nature’s way of insulating oneself from the surpassing perils of life. To the casual observer, however, the picture can be anything but the delight which such falsehood may conjure in the mind of the exponent. Very often, the outsider sees only the pathetic result of cumulative collapse and deceit. For the performer, on the other hand, these genteel fibs enable one to participate in the social network without having to do anything more than talk about it.

Retiring from the world of participation to the world of inactivity is by definition a reclusive project, a venue normally reserved for those who collect stamps or newts. Historically, the plight of people like Howard Hughes was unapologetic, but for the most part, others who suffer from the same urgency tend to want to preserve at least a life-line to the other side by maintaining a pretense. Such involvement is of course always upon the terms and conditions of the fraudster. It would be unthinkable for the illegitimate to lay claim to anything other than the mendacity, a decision which naturally promotes only further illusion.

The mind is clever enough, especially when practiced, to maintain a level of pervasive falsehood which, if dissected and analyzed point by point, would never be sustainable. But, as I say, given enough time and rehearsal, even the most pragmatic person can become accustomed to such scheming and knavery. One has to ask how many little white lies, that collection of taradiddle, each of us cultivates and maintains over a lifetime. We gradually condition ourselves to believe what we want to believe. Given that most of these fabrications are innocuous, it hardly seems worth the effort to contradict them. Who, for example, is about to criticize the octogenarian woman for having dyed her hair black! Or the shrivelled old man for cruising in his new Chevrolet Corvette? I ask you, are these not patent lies and fabrications! But what harm are they!

The unfortunate result of prolonged paltering is that it succeeds eventually in putting more and more distance between oneself and reality, an effect which may in the end be nothing but a curse. It is one thing to fudge; it is another to elude. The real crime is not the damage that is caused, but the loss that is suffered by estrangement from one’s real world, beliefs and experiences. After all, the texture of life for each of us is only that which we live; and surely any camouflage we may employ for whatever reason does nothing more than estrange us from the essence of our life. Besides, lies are such an awful lot of work!

When I was young, I imagined anyone who was especially odd or different as being dynamic and likely beyond my immediate comprehension, being too complicated to fathom. I gave them the benefit of the doubt, if you see what I mean. Those unique individuals were, I thought, exponentially talented, no doubt enjoying a vast realm of worldly experience which gave them licence for what was at times otherwise borderline behaviour. Now – less charitably – I settle instead for their denomination as nut cases! Crack pots! Weirdos! Looney tunes! You name it, the plain fact is that they are on balance unhinged! The drama of their social ineptitude is for me no longer entertaining. I have unashamedly given up trying to psychoanalyze their condition with a view to improvement. The conscious and unconscious elements of their mind which bring to light repressed fears is something best left to the professionals. In my hands, such study is wasteful dabbling at best.

“Why”, you might ask, “do I even bother to mention this?” Why not simply be done with such misfits? Dismiss them out of hand! Unfortunately, such a robust approach is easier said than done. The “characters” of this life are not always so comfortably ignored, more so if you have for the past several years been in the unwitting habit of counting them among your friends (at least prior to the rude and pivotal awakening). Often it isn’t immediately apparent that one’s singular friends have “issues” which significantly set them apart. When at last one becomes aware of their “differences” it is sometimes obliging to provide them support in their jarring reality.

The odd thing about this line of thinking is that, upon analysis, one begins to wonder whether any of one’s friends are really all there. With the turning of each page of life, the element of wackiness in one’s associates becomes more and more manifest. Oddly a bit of self-reflection can at times produce the same conclusion. Touching upon one’s countless private thoughts over the past several decades can reveal some startling fodder. Perhaps the entire world has gone mad! Certainly the daily media reports do nothing to diminish the possibility.

While I by no means include everyone in this whitewash, it is an increasingly common occurrence to discover that many of the most stalwart members of our community have their issues, some of which are profoundly disturbing, involving as they do the most exotic behaviour imaginable. Indeed ofttimes the behaviour tends more to the strange and alien. One has to wonder as an aside whether such aberrations are equally prevalent in the animal kingdom; or is this simply the preserve of humanity? If so, it succeeds to advance the case against being overly qualified. In any event, it is not a subject upon which any other than the medical people are likely to dwell at length. For those of us lucky enough still to be counted within the herd of society, we satisfy ourselves merely to marvel at the limits to which some people are (often sadly) stretched. The challenge is to keep one’s own head screwed on, again not always as easy as one would imagine! I suppose that within limits there is even a bit of fun to be had in being off-centre though in polite company at least the disaffection is not always wise counsel. It rather depends upon whether the majority rule is by the whackos or otherwise. The perpetual and imperceptible change in social mores has led me to conclude that younger people in particular have less difficulty accommodating what I might call unusual standards of deportment. One doesn’t like to get one’s nose too far in the air in these matters, if for no other reason than to avoid the appearance of being a complete duffer. The trajectory of change merits at least some appeasement.

As stock as it is to observe that if it weren’t for funerals and weddings, family and friends might never get together, the ceremonies are nonetheless invariably penetrating and frequently uplifting even in the face of adversity. Not insignificantly both events customarily involve such unvarying routine and regular procedure that the experience is akin to any other event which superimposes regimentation and thereby temporarily suspends the yearning to be productive. For at least an hour or two one is strictly an observer, assured of a welcome and uninterrupted opportunity to reflect idly upon the many meritorious thoughts which are prompted by the heady subjects of death and marriage, beginnings and ends, and the myriad of sentiments which naturally flow from and are accessory to such considerations. There is an intoxicating factor to the heightened emotions and sentiments provoked by funerals and weddings.

One element which is common (though undergoing change) in both funerals and weddings is the religious feature. In many instances I sense that the ecclesiastical backdrop is akin to wallpaper or a television ad and with about as much general appeal (though admittedly for the immediate parties this element is often imperative). I have heard it said of young people in particular that they have considerable difficulty accepting the religious spin on death.

Regrettably in that respect much of what issues from the pulpit is little more than an exhortation to feed or clothe oneself with divine provision without offering the means of doing so, amounting to a potentially empty and somewhat off-putting promise to intellectually thirsty people.

In the context of weddings, much of the standard biblical themes are now overwhelmingly anachronistic and as a result repugnant. In the final analysis, the uncomfortable truth is that if it weren’t for weddings and funerals, most people would not be in a church at all and it appears that an hour’s sojourn is not about to succeed in conversion or temporary persuasion. In some cases the attempt to obtain submission to the clerical process is met with indignant reaction, itself only suppressed by the superior desire to keep one’s own peace.

Clearly the focus of the particular event, whether a funeral or a wedding, assists in distracting us from our habitual preoccupations, which in some instances involve disagreements and hostilities with certain of those in attendance. Funerals and weddings are after all family affairs. Even given the surfeit of dissolving sadness and joy which accompanies these occasions, I am not however so gullible to assume that adverse parties will ultimately be moved to reconciliation. Nonetheless, the opportunity is there to reconsider the merits of long-standing disputes, and it may be that miserly improvement is the eventual product.

During both funerals and weddings, there is much said about the parties at the heart of the proceedings. Regularly the comments about the deceased or the newly weds are highly revealing. It is perhaps unfortunate that a summary review of one’s life is confined to such poignant moments but I suppose that is one of the traits which contributes to the depth of the affair. This reminds me of the adage that everyone worth his mettle should have his obituary written. Such a direction hardly applies to wedded parties, but it is a useful reminder to us all that one’s actions are in the final analysis recorded.

Social congregation following the pivotal service is of course usual. Barring the supremely unique case of total strangers who make a point of attending funerals for the benefit of the luncheon, the repast (whether a tea or a sit-down meal) affords the opportunity for the spectators in attendance to give voice to their prior ruminations. This custom is accompanied by much hand-shaking, embracing and kissing. Once again the opportunity for such conviviality and human contact is infrequent except at funerals and weddings, and increasingly the show of mutual affection is becoming more evident sometimes destabilizing standard myths of macho behaviour.

I suspect that on the whole, apart from the central parties concerned, the experience of a funeral or a wedding is but an ephemeral hiccup in the broader scope of one’s life. Jolted though we may be for the moment, it isn’t long before we set adrift the mesmerizing soliloquies and right ourselves on our determined course. As compelling as any funeral or wedding may be, the universe is ultimately personal and we are bound to travel the suburbs of our own mind. Nonetheless, funerals and weddings foster some of the finer human characteristics and recall at least momentarily some of the expressions which we may one day wish to have bestowed upon us in our own particular hour of sorrow or joy.

My overt affection for Americans – specifically, the citizens of the United States of America just to be clear – is in one sense understandable, in another paradoxical. It is understandable in that many of my ascendants on both sides of my family are from the United States of America; it is paradoxical in that a good chunk of my ancestors were United Empire Loyalists which hardly speaks well of the early relationship between my clan and those to the south. It would of course be absurd to attach anything but historical significance to that quondam feud. Besides I wager that even though we Canadians have managed to keep up appearances as far as being British goes, the Americans frequently betray more than a passing (though admittedly disguised) admiration for the Crown. If this doesn’t effectively obviate past differences, I submit that the preponderance of current diplomacy speaks to a solid link between all three countries, Canada, Britain and the United States.

Anyway, I’m getting far afield of my original thesis; namely, the unending delight I derive from my American cousins. Let me first disclose that I enjoy bashing the Americans as much as anyone, but in a good way. It requires very little provocation for me to ridicule CNN, Fox News or Bloomberg radio, who doesn’t! And yet I listen to them on the satellite air waves constantly! The bravado, near shouting and entirely insular focus of the announcers and their programming are yet to be admired. Granted the insights are frequently little more than elevated navel gazing, but one has to respect them for their conviction! NPR does at least travel significantly beyond the customary boundaries of mainstream American radio, though in spite of the intellectualism the thread of intense nationality is impossible to ignore. The image of the “ugly American” (something which was especially popular in Europe several decades ago before the Germans usurped the bookplate) is something which has never entirely disappeared though I challenge anyone on a global expedition not to welcome an encounter with an American.

Speaking of travel, a good deal of my vacation time has been spent in the United States of America largely for the reason that the warmer temperatures are a considerable attraction during our frigid winter months and the preferred destinations involve few if any stop-overs. This however is not the entire story. Even in the summer months I have frequently wandered into the United States including Florida in July and August (something by the way which I consider the best kept secret).

Granted the more frequent summer adventures have been to Cape Cod and the Maine coast. When one compares these sorties to those which compete equally well in Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island in terms of beaches, one has to ask what tips the balance. The answer is not simply population, but it is undeniable that the large markets have afforded those with resources the stage upon which to offer up a generous board. Even then, however, the result is not complete without giving credit where credit is due, and by that I mean to the Americans themselves.

It is at this juncture that I become a bit schmaltzy. The fact of the matter is that I find Americans overwhelmingly entertaining (in spite of their often narrow and rock-ribbed views). If one avoids the polemics surrounding an intense discussion of religion, liberty and general constitutional rights, I think you’ll find as I do that Americans are exceptionally well adapted socially. I am further inclined to think that it is only upon delving behind the curtain of propriety that one is privy to the intimate workings of the American mind, but this should be no surprise to anyone for we all harbour those distinguishing features of “family” upon scrutiny. It is only that the Americans are so regularly subjected to that scrutiny that the obvious becomes apparent. One must guard against becoming too uppity when it comes to overall purity.

The true test of friendship is the reciprocal admiration of one for another without strings attached. I won’t go so far as to suggest that either one or the other of the components is “better” nor even that one or the other qualifies for superiority on the strength of any feature or age of development. I prefer to think of our relationship as “mutual” which I’m sure you’ll agree nicely avoids the trap of commitment. In any event my fondness for Americans is neither comparative nor derivative. It’s a stand-alone thing, like a work of art.

It is an inescapable observation that Americans cultivate generosity. I include in this compliment their preference for large portions in everything from food to automobiles. It is for example quite the challenge upon returning home from the United States to adjust to the smaller portions in one’s evening cocktail. The metaphorical thirst of Americans for all that life has to offer is pandemic and reminds one that the Wild West spirit isn’t far below the surface.

As anyone knows who has ventured to New York City, Americans, apart from the tourists, enjoy an enviable sophistication including, if you will, afternoon tea and of course opera, art galleries and architecture. There is of course a tradition of pushing the vulgar side of Americans, but I find that to be largely anecdotal. It is no accident that in its place of origin even the “Occupy Wall Street” movement has been polite.

Compared to many of the world’s more ancient societies, America is still virtually a teenager, indeed often an irascible and upstart youth. It is nothing to hear the so-called “average” American claim lineage to one of the founding Pilgrim Fathers. While it is not uncommon to hear that the “American Dream” is fast fading, that condemnation doesn’t fit well with what many others continue to believe. If anything, the recent pressures on the American economy have illustrated to me that Americans are pulling together to preserve what they have always valued. There is a certain child-like ingenuousness about the American psyche which appeals to me. As rebellious as some Americans can become, in the end I find they are disposed to listen to reason and common sense. The Americans have a certain civility which I think will put them in good stead in the long run.

What I ask could be more frightening than the transparency of the adage that you are what you think! Undisguised revelation! When I first heard the quip (admittedly not my own concoction) I was initially unimpressed, at least until my seer added “…especially as you leave the room”. The immediacy of that supplement tended to vitalize the aphorism. It also heightened the disconnect which frequently exists between our private contemplations and our outward expression. There is apparently nowhere to hide!

Even on occasions when there is a correspondence of mental and verbal, I believe that on the balance the intimacy of our thoughts mitigates against such uniformity. If for example we were enabled to take a look at a comparative graph of our thoughts and words throughout the day I surmise we’d be more than a bit ashamed of ourselves, maybe even startled or dismayed, to discover that what we say and what we think frequently do not jive. So often we fill the crucible of our lives (not to mention the canyon of our mouths) with a good deal of pollution and clutter. More cause to panic, however, is the identification of what it is we really do think. You will I am sure concede that it is not uncommon for each of us from time to time to say one thing yet think another. Ultimately however the dye which colours our emotions is that which is aligned with our thoughts as much as we may feign the contrary. Small wonder we frequently struggle within ourselves, having to decode what we contemporaneously say and think. And equally unsurprising – though initially astonishing – amidst such kerfuffle is that others claim to read us like a book! Attempting to disguise one’s thoughts is the amateur equivalent of trying to be a good liar, normally an unsuccessful feat!

Of course what one thinks is not necessarily malicious or contriving, nor indeed embarrassing for whatever reason. One may for example be motivated by affection and attraction to contort one’s admissions, though probably with about as much success as trying to disguise a deep-rooted aversion. Either way though the fact remains that we are what we think.
Where this proverb assumes really sizable proportions is when it is applied not to what we think of others but to what we think of ourselves. As relevant to others, there is after all always room for reconsideration; but as operated upon ourselves, the inclination is far more inert. If we’re inclined to aggrandize or demonize ourselves, we frequently only poison the process further by attempting to act inconsistently. Once again, however, our thoughts will out and no amount of buffoonery or linguistic gymnastics will succeed to camouflage what’s really going on. The compression of inspiration and voice, like so many fundamentals of nature, is in the end not only the most productive but also the least unmerciful. How often has it been exclaimed, “I can’t go on pretending anymore!” Pointedly the biggest fool in that scenario is oneself. Yet it is the portrayed opaqueness of thought which stirs us to imagine that our behaviour is by comparison transparent. Such paradox!

Assuming for the moment that one prefers not to live a lie, narrowing the gap between what one thinks and what one says is the challenge. First one must acknowledge that the force of what one thinks is not only palpable but also inescapable. Except as a nicety, there is no need to enquire into the decorousness or noteworthiness of one’s thoughts; all that matters is that they are your thoughts and that you are one and the same. It likely astonishes many of us to learn that other people actually prefer to know what we are thinking. It is not only the candidness which lubricates communication; more importantly it is the removal of the dead-heads and other casualties of misguided adventure. How we love to fritter away the little time that we have with idle fuss! It is far more improving – not to say expeditious – for oneself and others to dwell upon what one thinks rather than upon manufactured guff and pretense. Second one must believe in the value of one’s thoughts. I’m willing to bet that if you were to advance that admonition to anyone else you would have no hesitation approving its merit; but convincing oneself to accept it is quite another thing. Bludgeoned as we are by masses of external stimuli and models of conduct, generosity towards oneself is often wanting, a disposition made all the more awkward by that innate shyness which most of us secretly harbour about ourselves. Familiarity with our own carcass tends to diminish our charity; and yet it is those very same seemingly unglamourous thoughts which do everything to characterize our individuality. Besides, it is so much easier to sleep at night!

Discovering meaning and purpose in life has ever been dispiriting and never been effortless. Try getting out of bed in the morning, especially Monday morning. Or even better, a rainy Monday morning! Now there’s a task! If you wish to accomplish the project with anything approaching alacrity, you’re going to need more than a little strength. And here I’m referring not only to physical strength but also to moral strength, that unseen stuff of which real men and women are made! If you’re akin to most of the herd, your expectations are high-principled, something which regrettably only makes the job more difficult – that business about reaching for the stars at a time when you can barely extend your weary legs to the hardwood!

Yet I’ll safely wager that if you were affirmatively to welcome the prospect of what awaited you on the other side of the bedroom door, your motivation would be considerably more aroused. The burden of living is not so much what has come before (if it were otherwise, hang-overs would be a tolerable penalty), but rather what is about to follow. In point of fact, it is far more likely that one will be disabled by the prospect of the future than by the percept of the past. The failures, embarrassments, inadequacies and short-comings which may distinguish our erstwhile personal history will, like so much dust beneath our feet, be washed clean with the benefit of time (not to mention the unfailing predisposition of our reliable friends and colleagues to empathize, something I’m certain you’ll agree we can take to the bank). But left alone to contemplate the distant morrow, watch out!

There is an understandable inertia to lying about one’s bedchamber. The metaphor of the covers is not without foundation. But even prolonged dalliance in the supine will ultimately loose its appeal, replacing complacency with little more than uncomfortable back pain. To horse, I say! To horse!

Here it is that one encounters those nasty bits of philosophy or, what is more probable in the bleary state of early morning awakening, those fears of the cold world that awaits beyond the warmth of the downy feathers. There is nothing comforting about having to face the world (barring of course the purely physical necessity of having to void one’s bladder). Whatever one may have successfully parried throughout the long night, whatever terrifying nightmares one may have forgotten upon the rude start of the day, there will however remain the inescapable confrontation with the proverbial “Why?”, or at the very least the less impressive “Now what?” I’ve heard it said that a similar plaintive ecphonesis (“What is the point!”) by some renowned French existentialist playwright was met with a concise retort from his cleaning maid, “To pay the rent!”, a crushing defeat for the absurdists to say the least. While having to pay the rent doesn’t exactly qualify as inspiring, it does at least have the value of being tangible. The last thing one needs before one’s morning coffee is a lot of nonsense about disorientation and confusion in the face of an apparently meaningless and absurd world. One may as well check into the nearest clinic for schizophrenia!

No, no the deeper question is “Wherein lies the rub?”, or in plain terms, “What’s the catch?” If one is about to commit to a long-term relationship with life, one is entitled to know what likely disappointment waits in the wings. Granted it is a pity to have to re-enact this particular drama morning after morning, but like so many things in life, courage, courage! One cannot for example expect that such superlative awakenings can instantly unfold and disgorge their pearl as though on demand. It’s a matter of putting the right spin on things, showing off the subject to advantage, putting it all in the proper light so to speak. But as I say this takes time and considerable endurance. And small wonder! When you think about it, what I’m really asking is this: “What is the secret to life?”, not exactly a trivial question you’ll concede.

As you may have gathered from something I fleetingly mentioned earlier during the exposition of this thesis, the entire conundrum is made so much less trying if we have an appetite for what follows. Being properly inclined is what I mean to say, ebullience in a word. Now, there is no sense whatever in clinging to all those defeatist reasons you no doubt have stored in your handbag of grief and disillusionment; better simply to eject the collection and bounce into the next frame of existence. I mean, what have you got to lose? One hardly needs to be convinced of the inutility of it all, that’s a given. So one may as well put together a new knapsack of goodies (however optimistic) at the end of one’s walking stick and head off into the sunrise to greet the day! And if that doesn’t work, then get up to pay the rent!