Employing an official agreement to resolve a dispute is never a bad idea in business. It’s a record of what the parties agreed upon. But the adjudication of a compromise within oneself is a different calculation. Not that there is anything specious about the personal endeavour. On the contrary the stakes surrounding continued loggerheads even within oneself are as unsettling as any public or commercial friction. But the determination of an acceptable conclusion regarding an internal disruption rises above formality – though perhaps not compromise. The competition is so often between what we expect and what is – two of the more dangerous antithises.
My current settlement process involves enlarging my acquaintance with Frédéric Chopin’s Nocturnes among them performance by German-born pianist Elizabeth Sombart of 21 Nocturnes in various keys extending over a period of 2 hours. I won’t likely complete the list. Nonetheless the pattern throughout the day from the moment of my awakening shortly after 9:00 am this morning has been a dedication to reasoned analysis. When it comes to personal matters – those bothersome grains of sand along the pathway of life – an acute intelligence is a prerequisite. The background of soothing music – or art of any description – is a welcome additive.
The object of sorting out is always freedom from interference. Or as my late father frequently espoused, “I just want peace and quiet“. This is an ambition which strengthens as one ages. The promotion is by no coincidence collateral to the way life generally diminishes as one grows older. Nor is this an unfortunate dissolution. Rather I see the subsidy as an awakening of the purer features of existence – much like any other distillation.
The tranquillity of life is often mistaken for withdrawal. But the intention is not escape. Rather it is palatable moderation. Just as one could not possibly consume the entire festive board of a buffet, one is instead confined to judicious taste of whatever is available. The illness which one thus avoids is the contamination of excess. The only realm in which perfection is tolerable – much less evident – is in a dreamworld. Here on earth by contrast we’ve had to endure blemishes. Accordingly the real challenge is to see not what one dreams but what exists.
That I feel obliged to fuss concerning such peculiarities is a manifestation of genes, experience and upbringing about which I have no intention to inquire.The necessity is very real – indeed unsettling. Ignorance was never a clever fallback. In the end the overall assessment of the pros and cons of any situation enables me to digest the subject. If it were a fair evaluation then the result is assured to be similarly dispassionate.