The Hullabaloo of Living

I don’t know about you but at times I find the world is an endless uproar, a whirlpool of agitation seemingly impossible to arrest. Just when you imagine you’ve brought one rogue element under command another pops up to replace it. And even if you’ve subdued the turmoil long enough to allow for one night’s good sleep you can be assured that the next day will provide the fodder for renewed upheaval; being temporarily spared the recognition is no assurance of its vaporization.

Acknowledging the hullabaloo of living is far more than a subtlety. It is virtually cast in stone that man’s fate is destined to unravel however the process is to be accomplished. In the face of such persistent disturbance it only makes sense to adopt a makeshift philosophy which will at once admit and accommodate such mercurial occurrences. Either that or go crazy.

I have often admired those who upon confronting an obstruction do not merely dissolve under the weight of it. I mean to say, after enough of this business of agitation one’s elasticity is more than a bit strained. And while taking the high road is all very well for the heroes of romantic novels and the like, it hardly seems appropriate when your plans are crushed by some unanticipated and unforeseen event. Certainly the spectrum of disappointment varies widely and I won’t corrupt the point by illustration. Sufficient to observe that quite apart from the really bad stuff, even the day-to-day blips and hiccups are annoying and one has to wonder, “Is nothing easy?”

In the result faced with such menacing odds one must either adapt or fold. Permitting oneself to ricochet from maelstrom to vortex is hardly a suitable response. Instead what’s required is pulling up one’s boot straps in preparation for a reciprocal assault (note the intentionally aggressive tone). This posture immediately identifies the need to approach the matter with the combined sense of logic (the cerebral) and determination (the visceral). There is absolutely no point in allowing oneself to be overwhelmed by apparent defeat. One must advance in spite of the hullabaloo. The thorny spikes of life cannot be countenanced to catch one up.

The gambit is the usual sacrifice for compensating advantage. In this case one must rise above the drubbing of the moment for the sake of manoeuvring forward. While this may hardly sound like swapping deprivation for gain the truth is that our human nature regularly suffers us to wallow in pity rather than to plan our redemption. Regrettably the mitigating scheme of action requires considerable wisdom or at the very least the ability to see the proverbial “larger picture” (not always easy when one is down). I have strangely discovered that when one is upon the threshold of capitulation it helps immeasurably to snap one’s fingers at the present course of one’s life in preference for a brazen decision to proceed at all costs, wounded or not. As unbecoming as they may be, our injuries along the way are our red badge of courage, proof of our invulnerable nature.

Naturally the whole affair has about the same verisimilitude as a staged play. But as the performance is largely for the benefit of ourselves the falsity of our assertions is at worst contrived and at best a catharsis. We merely risk witnessing our own tragedy and are thus cleansed, plus having the benefit of shining through the trial of it all. Who doesn’t admire a trooper! The hullabaloo of living is no competition for the best of us!