Back in the day I had an activity planned for almost every moment of practically every day. And I usually had something ready to take up the slack in case there was a change. In those days I prided myself on being flexible and able to adjust on the fly. But I occasionally fantasized a not-too-serious something happening to clear the decks so I could pause, take a deep breath and reflect on life and the direction I was heading. Too often I was...

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Oh dear, I sighed and groaned on hearing about the latest of the seemingly daily reports of killings by individuals who are alienated, pissed off or mentally ill. As I understand it, most if not all of the perpetrators were recognizable as troubled individuals. I’m edgy in public. On a crowded light rail trolley in Boston recently, the back of a pudgy young woman’s tee shirt read: “I hate everyone.” Last month twenty-two year old Grant...

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I’m not talking about retirement as ending a work career. I’m talking about it as developing a different state of mind after withdrawing from the chaos in the work-a-day world and abandoning unrealized dreams of fame and fortune. The time before retirement is like planting a germinated seed that will develop roots and a stem capped with a bud. Retirement is the bud’s unfolding for its season of blooming. I’ve known people who struggled with...

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The first part of life has unique joys and senses of accomplishment. It’s filled with nonstop, evolving activities of education, finding a partner and raising a family, and building a career to support physical wants and needs. But the good times can be blunted by existential angst over differing sorts of competition and social, political, career and work-site discord and intrigues. During that time it’s tempting to occasionally fantasize...

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The divorce is final. After 22 years. We communicate amiably, care about, and want the best for each other. There was no problem dividing up assets and furniture. She got the teakettle and food processor; I got the coffeemaker and toaster. But we couldn’t reconcile our personal styles. Separation’s acute pain morphed into occasional longing for the unattainable fantasy. Anxious uncertainty evolved into lingering curiosity over how I’m going to...

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I’m sometimes called a Pollyanna because I’m incurably upbeat and believe that if I am true to myself and do what I think is right the future will take care of itself. Curious, I found Pollyanna, written by Eleanor H. Potter over a century ago, in our local library. Pollyanna was an eleven-year-old living in an orphanage after the death of her father, a minister. Her mother had died several years earlier. Someone discovered she had an Aunt...

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