A kind, sweet friend sent me the photograph you see to the left of this text. I don’t recognize the man behind the oh-so-mod cranberry shades, but my friend assures me that he holds the same last name as I. Maybe, then, he’s a distant cousin. Certainly, as his surname indicates, he’s another highly intelligent and creative Sicilian artist.
This stud’s sveldt form and creamy smooth face lead me to believe that he is chronologically at that point along the rainbow spectrum that we often refer to as the prime of life. His salt-sprayed coiffure says to me that this artist to the stars has been around long enough to have acquired a wee bit of wisdom. Yet his relaxed, confident stance makes me wonder if he thinks he knows a whole lot more about the world than any one person can know. I mean, look at that lip-pursed whistle aimed at the camera (and for whom was this prideful young man posing?), as if he’s blowing away any tidbit of doubt about himself. Now combine that faux kiss aimed at the photographer with the non-chalant crossing of his arms. If I weren’t such an old, wise man, so fair and considerate of all my brothers and sisters, I’d be tempted to name this nubile namesake of mi famiglia an arrogant kid, wet behind his green ears, and so soon bound for a crash of great proportions.
But that kind of rude judgement would damage my current reputation as a man who offers a hug to everyone he meets. And yes, I admit that my Hug Line is oftentimes long. In consequence, I always carry with me a sporty, red, white and green plastic bottle of organic water. As well, I tuck into the pockets of my slacks a few All Natural energy bars.
In any event, I hope the whistling Sicilian survives his crash and then some, if for no other reason than that he carries a surname that is itself burdened with a great sense of responsibility to the world, at least to the part of the world known as Sicilia.
As usual, I’m sorry to say that, although I intended the meat — the filet — of this article to be about the importance of starting one’s day by setting off on the right foot, I began by writing about a mysterious man’s questionable personality and most assured fate.
So now to the setting, and to the right foot. I have no idea why one’s right foot should be associated with positivity, as opposed to one’s left foot. So, feel free to take your first morning step with your sinister foot. After all, so much of the military marches not to the tune of I had a good home and I right. That would sound silly.
Yesterday, I began my experiment with donning a positive attitude. This is not at all an easy suit for me to wear. I tend to see the gray sky of a cloudy day as an omen of grayer times to come. I have my reasons, most having to do with the frequent appearance of uninvited evil into my young life. I once in a while succumb to self-pity, close my eyes, and see the deepest shade of blue behind my lids.
Yet, of late I learned that once a person surrenders to the reality that he is not alone with the experience of suffering, that in fact he is a member of the human race, every member of which suffers to one degree or another, at one time or another in life. . . Rather, I should say that once I surrendered to that reality, I gained the ability to connect with other people. Not so much by talking about how much each of us suffers, although friendships often involve such sharing, but most of the time by talking about how, when and where each of us experiences joy. Joy is contagious. Joy buoys us.
Joy and suffering; one does not negate the other. And so today I continue to practice setting off on whichever foot will lead me to enjoy the warmth, beauty and joy inherent in most days. If I manage to see this practice through, I suspect that I’ll be better able to handle the bad times in my life, if only then to remind myself that I, along with my friends and lovers, have been the benefactor of this grand, mysterious gift we call life.
So how did I fare today?
Well, I began my morning at 6:30 by visiting the Vampire Clinic, there to have blood sucked from my veins and sent to Transylvania for analysis. Usually, I moan and complain to the air about the necessity of this journey. Today, instead, I reminded myself that the medicine men are fiddling with my blood so as to keep me alive. I then entered the chamber that smells of chemicals and chatted with the phlebotomist about her plans for Christmas. She always, by way of her smiling personality, makes my visits as pleasant as possible. (And please, don’t tell the world that she’s cute, because I never notice such things.)
Next, I attended a 7:00 AM meeting of friends, friends who — as I mentioned before — know their fair share of suffering and equal share of happiness. We spoke a bit about both, but most of all we laughed. I’ve always agreed with the research experts who tell us that laughter is good for the soul. I left that meeting with a smile on my face and a determination to write this article somewhere residing inside the heart of me.
The weather report for today calls for showers at some point during the afternoon, and certainly tonight. This kind of forecast usually settles itself inside that somber side of my mind. At 8:00 AM our meeting ended, and I almost decided to walk home. “No,” I told myself. “Take your machine to your favorite coffee shop, and there write this article.” I knew that if I traveled home immediately after that meeting, I’d head straight to my bed for an old-man nap. Old-man naps are healthy, perhaps even necessary. But old-man naps can, as well, quick become habitual excuses for accomplishing nothing on any particular day.
Before I retired from my career, tired or not, I each day remained awake and focused sufficiently to accomplish the work I was assigned. Sure, I was a younger man for most of those years. I no longer am able to maintain such long hours at an optimal level of energy.
Still, I’m not so old that I have nothing to offer to others each day. I write to please myself and to communicate with at least one reader.
So today I count myself successful. Should I credit my left or right foot?
One final photographic gift for today: