Incongruity

We live in a world of norms, of patterns, of rules. We are forced to conform, lest we be labelled as radicals, or saboteurs, or plain disruptive. We are allowed to dream, yes, but these dreams should be kept in our subconscious, or so we are told, never allowed to make forays into our "real" lives.

I can fully appreciate my son feeling very tortured and restrained. He is a dreamer. He has the articulateness that many covet, and the naivete we have lost so long ago. He has many ideas and thoughts that race through his mind each day, I simply cannot keep up with them and him. He has ideas with their clever simplicities hidden from plain view, and some abstract ones I cannot comprehend, try as I might.

I am guilty of ignoring him many times. He subjects me to countless and endless questioning. But what can I do? I also pursue MY own knowledge which I assume will make me better equipped. And so I deny him the opportunity to seek HIS own knowledge, and deny myself the possibility that one day he might look up to me with some measure of admiration.

I have only disdain for people who pretend they accept and tolerate those who, like my son, do not fit into patterns and conventions. It takes only the minimum of effort and analysis to find out their deep-seated prejudices. They are a dangerous breed; the kind that shows merciful eyes, extends out a sympathetic hand, and stabs you at the back with the other. I offer no other thought for their kind than to wish that they go straight to hell. Right this very instant.

Growing Old

I think that when we are still young and strong, growing old is some distant prospect that annoyingly intrudes into our lives only occasionally. We don't give it much thought or lend it credence.

After birth is a decade of childhood; another decade or so of blissful, reckless youth, followed by another two to four decades of growing up and mellowing and pursuing dreams. We then come out of these either wealthy but depraved, or impoverished but wise; or morally upright or rakish; or diseased and dying; or healthy and endowed with longevity, natural or otherwise.

We then discover that, from birth to death, life is short, and we take stock of our joys, our sadness; of those we found and lost; those who left and remained, those we hated and loved.

We take stock of many things. We sort and sift through them, and we discover that only a few really matter.

Opportunity Costs

If I thought about my statistics of missed opportunities, I surely would end up feeling very miserable. I have let good, promising things go, forever out of my grasp; I have failed to see their true worth. I have made many very bad, uninformed, hasty decisions that have put me in perilous, struggling conditions. Such is Life: We decide, we choose, and after that we either celebrate our success or wallow in dismal failure.

There are chances, however, to pick up the pieces, or to start fresh; to tap the wellspring of hope, to slow down or stop, and appreciate the things that really matter; to pray, most of all, and feel the hand of Divine Guidance.