Like this:

You are unhappy with yourself right now.  Accept the fact that you have fallen down on a promise to yourself to stay ahead of the curve, to be more pro-active about getting things done, about writing more, about taking control of the moments of your days and not just letting them slip by.  But you haven’t.  Instead you have slipped into somewhat of a lethargic state, some might even call it depressive.  Is it the end of the academic year?  Or maybe spring fever?  Perhaps you just haven’t quite found what thrills you (besides your wonderful fiancé, and no the problem isn’t that I’m lovesick; I’m too old for that)?  Any of these are distinct possibilities.

But why must I be “ahead of the curve”?  What’s wrong with watching the Bruins or the Celtics on any given evening, or following a couple of on-line blogs that I like of an evening, or do some fooling around with my household budget to see how I can go about saving some money?  In and of themselves, each of these activities is fine and noble and surely has a place in a person’s life.  I think part of the problem is that taken together none of these activities seems to fit a pattern of being, and that seems to frustrate me.  They all seem like random events in a sea of randomness that I call my life.

But wait, let’s look at these things a little more closely.  Sports define who I am in part.  I played sports since I was little.  I still remember being on my first little league team (the Cubs—we were as bad as they were back in the 50’s).  And after that it was soccer, lacrosse, running, biking, hiking.  And I have always watched sports on TV and never felt bad about it.  It just defines the fabric of seasons, years, and decades.  The rhythm of the various sports seasons define the rhythm of my life, and I love the way that feels since I feel connected with something that is a vital and palpable unifying force in the life of this and other countries.  So, my brother, have at it with your Celtics and Red Sox and Patriots and Bruins, and apologize for nothing.

It seems sometimes that reading a blog is a monumental waste of time.  As I sit and read the musings of some unknown person who might be sitting at his kitchen table in his underwear wondering why HE is doing that and why isn’t HE spending HIS time more productively, I sit an wonder the same thing.  What, are we two lonely people working at some random task (he writing, I reading) with nothing specific to show for our efforts.  Well, actually, he has the concrete post he has written and put out there.  And I?  Well, I have the ideas.  And be they concrete (like the blog that has the $1000 savings challenge that I will impose on myself this month to see if it really IS possible for me to save $1000 by cutting back on my monthly budget), or somewhat more esoteric (like the blog video post about mindfulness, which I actually found enlightening), I always come away from them energized with some new project.

So, I guess I should feel pretty good about what I do on a regular basis since it is the fabric of the life that keeps me happy.  Randomness is actually progress down my path since I do things that make me happy, or I pick up useful bits of information, or I find sources of challenge for my mind and my spirit.  In reality, these little challenges and these small delights are the very stuff of life lived from one moment to the next.  They keep me focused and whole and willing to move forward.  So, there, randomness is good.

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