Last week, I had to drive “over the hill” for an emergency dental appointment.  It’s a trip I have taken often, but I hadn’t driven Beverly Glen for more than fifteen months. So while the route from my home to Beverly Hills felt familiar, it also seemed vaguely different.

For some reason it reminded me of the Humpty Dumpty nursery rhyme.

“Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall, All the king’s horses and all the king’s men, Couldn’t put Humpty together again.”  (And not because he was a rotten egg.)

We are now engaging in many of the activities that we missed during the pandemic. People are traveling and socializing. Shops and restaurants are reopening after what seemed like a brief break that has lasted forever.  But even as businesses open, not everything will be as it was before. And maybe that’s a good thing.

Two weeks ago, for the first time in more than a year, I enjoyed lunch inside a restaurant.  I realized that one reason I have successfully shed twenty pounds during the past fifteen months is that restaurants serve too much food.  I eat more sensible portions at home.  In the future I plan to adopt my dad’s system of eating out.  When his meal was served he would always ask for a box, and put half of his food into it before starting to eat.  My dad was a smart man.

Now I’m left wondering how much of my life will go back to being the same as it used to be. How much can “all the king’s horses and all the king’s men” really put back together again.

Since we are all creatures of habit, I don’t expect to wake up tomorrow morning eager to play the piano in my living room – the piano I have walked past without touching it for many years.  Nor do I expect to develop a yearning for Brussel sprouts.  Yuck!

But now I am less likely to suffer fools gladly.  Over the past year and a half, I have enjoyed reading and watching sports on TV.  I have enjoyed my own company.  I realize more than ever that I do not like to be “trapped” in long, conversations on topics I don’t really care about.

Whatever the future holds, I’m not going to fall off the wall like Humpty Dumpty. But I plan to appreciate all of the improvements I have discovered, and hope to permanently adopt many into my “normal” life.

And if I do fall off the wall, as we all did in March of 2020, I’m going to enjoy that journey as well.

Alan

When I was learning to play chess I read a book that suggested:  “Play against chess players who are better than you so you will improve.  And play against chess players who are not as good as you so you will be encouraged.”

This advice exemplifies the contrast between aspiration and satisfaction.  We like to improve, but we also like to feel successful.

How can we accomplish both?

As a pragmatist, I always look for solutions that work. Every day I want to get better at whatever I’m doing – my writing, for example.  But each day I also want to be happy with what I’ve done – my writing, for example.  Why not do both.

First, I have to enjoy the process of writing (and I do).  As Justice Louis Brandeis said, there is no great writing, only great rewriting.  I enjoy working to improve what I’ve written, putting it aside for a few days, then working to improve it further.  It’s important for me to remember that whenever I read anything in print I’m probably looking at the twentieth draft, certainly not at the first.

Secondly, I enjoy the results of writing  – a completed book or blog. In addition, I find I have come to understand myself better as my own thoughts are clarified in the writing and rewriting process.

A reporter once telephoned a writer to ask, “How do you feel about winning the Nobel Prize for literature?”

“I don’t know,” the writer said.  “I haven’t written about it yet.”

Your own perceptions are the secret ingredient that enable you to enjoy how you spend your days. If you see the world through the darkened lens of pessimism and negativity you will never be content. But if you choose to see each day as an opportunity for both discovery and improvement, you will never be disappointed.

One of my favorite movies is The Last Samurai.  As the hero, Katsumoto, is dying, his last words to his comrade-in-arms are about a cherry blossom.

“It is perfect.”

Alan

When I was a kid I seldom believed the conventional wisdom my mother attempted to instill in me.  I found her advice to be, well, so conventional. Here are a few examples.

“If you don’t brush every day, your teeth will fall out when you’re older.”

At the time I thought the only real reason to brush your teeth was to avoid bad breath, which I didn’t have.  So until ten years ago, after my second tooth implant, I seldom brushed my teeth.  Actually, one tooth did fall out – it broke off at the gum line one day during lunch, and within an hour I was at my dentist’s office so she could finish the job.  Now I brush my teeth every day.

Score:  Mom 1, Alan 0.

“Get enough exercise or you will drop dead from a heart attack.”

Until a few years ago I seldom exercised intentionally, and it’s self-evident that I have not dropped dead from a heart attack or anything else.  As regular readers of my blog know, more than a year ago I began walking three miles every day.

Yesterday my cardiologist called. He sounded a little surprised as he shared my test results. Evidently my heart is in slightly better condition than it was last year.  Mom would have smiled.  Daveen and I laughed.

Score:  Mom 2, Alan 0.

“Eat all of your vegetables or you’ll die of scurvy.”

Come on, Mom.  Scurvy was a problem for sailors years ago when they didn’t eat fruits or vegetables on sea voyages that lasted months or years.  Besides, you usually overcooked the vegetables, and you only used plain vinegar or lemon juice on the salad.  Yuck!

Today (I can hardly believe this myself), I often enjoy a salad as my entire dinner.  With blue cheese dressing, of course.  Mom, you may have been right, but I’ve never had scurvy.

Score:  Mom 2.7, Alan 0.3.

I never told my (now adult) children to brush their teeth, get enough exercise, or eat all of their vegetables.  But they know.  Maybe my mom got to them somehow.

That’s the interesting part of conventional wisdom.  It’s become conventional because it is, after all, wisdom.

Alan