What was meant to be…

It has lately occurred to me that I have failed to fulfill a purpose of monumental acclaim; and that reason, to speak frankly, is the perpetuation of the species.

The idea is that despite the fact that an individual’s lifespan is short and organisms die, they reproduce offspring for the next generations to come; life is therefore perpetuated as long as organisms reproduce.

While this miscarriage of justification is itself sufficient to damage my ego (quite apart from any disappointment my father may have endured), I believe I have extended the disfavour by adopting instead what is no less ruinous; namely, to speak as bluntly, purely selfish absorptions. In a word my life is devoted not to the existential object that is the perpetuation of the species; rather to the fulfillment of my own egregiously introverted happiness.

It is fortunate for me that society allows such random abbreviation among its constituents; but being on the receiving end of the putative magnanimity is I can assure you not without its perils. This is so especially as one gets old and contemplates the sum of one’s lifetime activity; and as one recognizes that much of one’s profession is by comparison of paltry value. There is a reason parents are unabashedly proud of their children and grandchildren notwithstanding the price at which their evolution has been achieved.

Now don’t get me wrong, I haven’t for a moment any intention of expiating my guilt – and certainly not vicariously by adoption or other analogous charity. I will however cleanse these uncommon sins of my fleshy body by acknowledging unequivocally an admiration for the parental commitment. Indeed this is undoubtedly the reason I have attached myself to my duties as a godfather; it is the peculiar stem of growth which affords opportunity to express interest in the future of another albeit confined to predominantly esoteric circulation.

Within my particular universe I find on the whole that youth is a subject of constant buoyancy. It is sensible that old age is unlikely to be a mechanism for success for a younger person; yet I believe there is worthiness in sharing the lessons one may have learned. In doing so I have no misconception about tranquillizing my erstwhile regret for not having honoured the specific illustration of perpetuation. Nor have I any intention whatsoever of diminishing my frivolous expenditure of capital.  In keeping with my opportunistic exploitation I shall embrace this endeavour only so far as it enhances my self-regard.  I do not propose to venture far beyond my customary habitat. The risk of doing so far outweighs the certainty of doing otherwise.

Admission of such vulgar tactlessness is I suspect unsettling.  Nonetheless I blame my own innate urges for the adroitness. I have responded to but another of Nature’s incitements. And I won’t descend to contradiction of the alternative in the interest of paramountcy. Clearly I am shameless in the matter; and as such I have already achieved whatever reconciliation or objectification might have quelled the contamination.

Thus liberated I gratefully reclaim my singularity.  But not without its balance. I have at least the benefit of correspondence, my lifetime partner, the opposite pole, that curiosity of Nature which in all things created includes a duplicate, a resource from which strength derives if the other is weak or lost. These ineffable characteristics of humanity are not ours to interpret; rather ours to perform. Until the edacity directs me otherwise I shall willingly succumb to meringue ornamented with strawberries and blackberries, cherries, cream and blueberry goat’s milk cheese.