Contemplative Action

Waiting to plan for the future until that future is assured is an exercise in futility. The future, whatever I might imagine it to be, has never unfolded exactly as I envisioned. I doubt I am alone in that perpetual experience. Yet, even realizing how utterly pointless it is to wait for an unlikely and uncertain future, it’s a common and very risky tactic used to avoid risk. Action and inaction both involve risk. People tend to justify inaction, though, by pretending that doing nothing avoids risk. But opting to stay put on the sidewalk, rather than moving four feet in any direction, while a piano plummets from an upper floor toward the sidewalk where you are standing does nothing to mitigate risk.

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I did not sleep long enough nor well enough last night (and this morning). Long before 4 a.m., I woke and, a short while later, determined that I would not be able to get to sleep anytime soon. So I got up, made an espresso, and tried to find a reason, online, to be cheerful, grateful, tolerant, or otherwise appreciative of the world in which I live. That effort proved fruitless. My mood this morning, so far, is not suited to such pointlessness. If I can convince my body and my brain to jointly agree to let me sleep again soon, I will return to bed. Failing that, I suppose I will wallow in emotional darkness until I emerge from the cave or come to realize it’s not a cave…it’s an abandoned mine shaft with no access to the surface.  I try dark humor, hoping it will buoy me…lift me up and out of the coal dust and methane gas. That’s not working, yet, but I will keep trying.

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Finally, after a very long period of procrastination, I will visit an attorney next week to revise various documents: power of attorney, medical power of attorney, and will. I may decide to abandon the will completely, opting instead to form a revocable trust. Circumstances have changed in the nine years since my current will and related estate planning documents were written. In fact, my life has undergone radical alterations since then. With the exception of a medical power of attorney, the documents involved in estate planning do virtually nothing for the person who creates the plans; they are meant to simplify and ease the transition for those left behind. Making decisions involved in planning for one’s uncertain future can be jarring, but advisable.

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Serial Killer or Curmudgeon?

Comparing head shots of myself—some showing a head of hair and some after my chemo-triggered baldness—I am shocked to realize how much older I look without hair. With no hair on top of my head, no moustache, and no beard, I think I look about 20 years older than I am. Before my hair abandoned me, I think I looked about 10 years younger than I was. So, today I look 30 years older than I looked day before yesterday. It’s not the baldness I mind—not at all. It’s the associated overnight aging I find surprising and unflattering. Many people look great with shiny domes; I do not believe I am one of them. Some friends—no doubt realizing how unflattering my new look is—have tried to soften the blow by saying it suits me. While I appreciate their intentions, the fact that they tell me such a bald-faced lie jolts me and makes me wonder what else they might have told me that was untrue. Perhaps they lied about liking the special gourmet dish I prepared for them…maybe they really weren’t sick when they called to say they felt ill and weren’t coming to my lavish and horrendously expensive party…maybe one of them (or a gang of them) is responsible for taking $50,000 in cash from my nightstand…perhaps they really were guilty of spray-painting vulgar graffiti on my new Lamborghini. Ah, well, let bygones be bygones. It’s my understanding that insurance will cover my losses (even supplying additional guests to fill-out the party crowd). And my hair may begin to grow back in six months or so—though when it returns it may be bright neon blue, thick as molasses, and curly as a pig’s tail.