We have a number of issues tormenting us. Some are important medical matters; others are just annoying mechanical stuff. My tolerance of unresolved agenda has never been good. My imagination works overtime to compound the concerns. And it doesn’t help that at the grocery store this afternoon the elderly Cheese Lady recounted her story of being scammed out of $2,000 yesterday, poor thing!

Some criminals, posing as a lawyer and a policeman, conned her into thinking her grandson was in need.  They directed her to a local pharmacy to purchase $2,000 worth of gift certificates, the codes of which she then provided them. It all sounds too preposterous for words but my only interest was to hear her out and to console her.  I attempted to placate her by reminding her that she was attractive and that she had her health, something no amount of money could buy.  I don’t think my philosophizing helped much but maybe lending an ear did.  In any event, it only added to my personal turmoil, one more thing to stew about.

I recognize that life is never in perfect equilibrium. Nonetheless I derive great composure from knowing at least that everything possible has been done to wrestle a demon to the ground. My primary contamination of this otherwise reasonable process is that I have no patience to withstand even necessary delay. It must amount to a fiction to presume that one is ever able to control the unfolding of events. And yet more often than not I am able to function satisfactorily knowing that I have accomplished the initial steps to be taken. Things get out-of-hand when I lose control over the management of what needs to be done, when I must rely upon others to pick up the hoe. Of course I know it is beyond absurdity for me to imagine that I will ever have such control but it doesn’t do anything to restore that equilibrium I prefer.

The integrity of my view of the world regrettably depends upon sewing up all the loose ends. Until then I feel frayed and refracted.  When I was working for a living it was an endless commitment to close the circle on every transaction under my management. But it was one thing to await the research of an agent and quite another to operate in ignorance of instructions; the former tested my patience; the latter taxed my spirit. After retirement I have only tightened my grip on impatience.  Having divested myself of almost every particle of ostensible anxiety in my life, I have an exponential dislike of roadblocks especially those which are inexcusable by any standard other than the randomness of life itself (which is perhaps the greatest struggle I have yet to tangle with).

The choice is to act or not.  Certainly some sideline contemplation is necessary.  But if one is given the opportunity to participate, then one must act. To allow life to unravel on its own, to distance oneself from the fray, is a small compliment to others. I’d much rather keep it real by getting my hands dirty than to content myself with saying, “Have a nice day!”