Catch Jim’s 3-minute podcast on youtube:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=efyI2eRhTUA

or read his transcript:

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Life, actually…

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A STUPEFYING GATHERING OF WHAT-IFS

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What if hand-wringing and whining, whimpering and wailing, complaining and cussing, all went away for a day?

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Bear with me. I’m rolling out a fresh thought for your consideration. Ignore at will.

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What if politeness and good manners came over us and made us civil and courteous for 24 hours?

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I’m trying hard to imagine these what-ifs. I’m trying hard to take these what-ifs seriously, just for the fun of it. Just in case straining my imagination might actually change the texture of the earth for a day.

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How to apply these what-if thoughts? An idea: What if we elected or selected our leaders solely on the basis of politeness and good manners, civility and courtesy, kindness and respect? Would the world shift for the better?

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I’m not being delusional, I’m just thinking beyond the borders of my limitations. A little exercise couldn’t hurt.

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What if we had something better to do with our time—something better than hand-wringing and whining, whimpering and wailing, complaining and cussing?

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Granted, it might take some adjusting, this living in a land bereft of meaningless sniping at one another. We’d have to unwind, let down, cool it, chill, relax, take time to chat and compare notes about life and love and the pursuit of happiness.

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What if anxiety and all-stove-upness just settled to the ground? What if we learned that easy breathing could be breath-taking? Even fun?

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What if we reached out to just one person we normally wouldn’t be caught alive with, and just introduce our better selves? What might we learn? What might surprise and please us?

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What if each of us took eleven minutes each day to sit motionless and make a list of well-meaning what-ifs?

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Ok, I know that’s a stretch. Would you settle for eight minutes a day?

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What if this pleasant serial thinking caught on?

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What if we all got a case of the what-ifs

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© 2024 A.D. by Jim Reed

Hear Jim’s 4-minute podcast on youtube:https://youtu.be/Q3ld67RV7aw

or read the transcript below…

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Life, actually…

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THE IMPORTANCE OF TURNING ORDER INTO CHAOS AND CHAOS INTO ORDER

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I’m about to wax philosophic right now, so you may wish to duck and run.

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If you are feeling adventuresome, you can stay around for a couple of minutes and hear me out. Either way, my condolences to your state of mind.

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Here goes.

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Maybe I’m living too long, but I still enjoy the journey so much that I keep hanging on. After all, I long to see how you and yours turn out, in the scheme of things.

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I know too much already about the things I do not want to know too much about, and I will never know enough about the things I really want to know everything about.

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In order to maintain any kind of positive attitude about living and loving and laughing, I have to be flexible. Sometimes I have to be wishy, other times I must be washy. I notice that if I decide Life is just one single one-way journey upon a smooth and shiny track, I am bound to be brought up short and chastised by the Cosmos. Sometimes, one track serves me well, other times I have to switch to another track to avoid mayhem.

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I know now that I never know the right way all the time, no matter how hard I wish, no matter how hard I push.

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The above chaotic rendering of bumper-car thoughts is obviously one of the reasons that GOIN’ FISHING was invented, the reason taking a long walk became fashionable, the reason that karate classes and meditation groups and garden clubs and horse breeding exist, the reason playgrounds have slides and monkey bars. All these things and all things similar to these things are mandatory in order to momentarily distract us from the chore of contemplating the uncontemplatable Universe. The more contemplating, the more confusion…the more Facing Reality, the more sleeplessness.

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Quick, take me out to the ballgame before I scramble my brain.

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Since the Cosmos has no sense of humor, you and I have to maintain our bemusements. Our amusements. Our bouts of unrestrained laughter. Laughter at the senselessness of things. Laughter at our conceits and struts and fantasies.

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Laugh and the world will or will not laugh with you. Regardless, the laughter must be revived every Monday morning, just to produce the energy required to face down the obstacles. A good laugh breaks the pattern for a split second. A good laugh helps me re-boot my attitude. A good laugh at its best breeds yet another good laugh, and another.

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This is great for indigestion, this burst of laughter. It is also a very human way to deal gently with the concerns of our companions—the people we are on earth to help and encourage and nurture.

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If I can put aside my concerns over things I cannot alter, then I can concentrate on offering a helping hand to my fellow travelers as we figure out how to get through the week in one peaceful piece.

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You can breathe now. At ease! Please proceed with your daily journey. May you love long, live long, laugh long

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© 2024 A.D. by Jim Reed

Hear Jim’s 4-minute Youtube podcast at https://youtu.be/fP86PhnxTHU

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Life, actually…

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THE SHOP OF TRICKLE-DOWN BEAUTY

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“Omygod!”

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A first-time visitor bursts into the old bookstore and shouts his reaction.

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He is in awe of the unexpected sights on display before him.

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“This is wonderful!”

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He instantly begins to touch each ancient book and artifact as if making sure he is not dreaming.

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His broad smile pushes his eyeglasses upwards an inch, amazement flushes his face and forces grunts of appreciation into the bookie air.

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He spies the proprietor and eagerly asks, “Is everything here for sale?”

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Proprietor replies with tongue in cheek, “Yes. It is a store!” He and the customer chuckle in unison. The customer wanders the aisles in stunned awe. The proprietor awaits the customer’s next reactions.

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All the customer can see during his hour of browsing is the beauty and the wonder of old memories in display.

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He will pass along his thrill to family and friends for years to come. He will become an evangelist of things lost, then found, in an ancient shop.

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The visitor eventually exits the shop and leaves behind the echoes of his joy. The proprietor inhales the silence, brushes dust off a stack of volumes.

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“Geez, what a mess!”

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A new visitor enters the store, frowning his disdain for what is before him.

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“Is this a junk place?”

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“No, it’s a bookstore.”

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The visitor sniffs, casually opens a rare tome, says, “Does anybody ever buy this stuff?”

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The proprietor is patient. “Yes, we make a living.”

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“How do you know where anything is?” He fails to see order and logic.

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“I’m the owner. I know where everything is. I’m happy to find whatever you are looking for.”

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“Well, of course, a place like this probably doesn’t carry what I want.”

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The proprietor smiles. Nothing is going to sadden him this fine day.

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“You wouldn’t happen to have a copy of THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO, would you?”

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The proprietor walks past the customer, picks up a century-old unabridged CRISTO and hands it over. The customer, not expecting this, doesn’t quite know what to do with the book. He seems afraid to open it.

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“Uh, I would prefer a paperback (as in, less expensive) copy.”

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Proprietor reaches behind him and produces an abridged version of CRISTO and patiently exchanges it for the older copy.

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“Uh, yes, I’ll get this one.” He is surprised.

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As they walk to the front of the shop, they exchange pleasantries. The proprietor hopes for a return visit, the customer just wants to escape.

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The proprietor is an optimist. If he were not an optimist he would not be operating an old bookstore in a beautiful old village all these years. He even holds out hope for the disdainful customer, based on his own concept of trickle-down politeness. He knows that he has implanted an image in that customer’s mind—the customer will forever know that at least he was treated with patience and respect, he will forever know that, should a grandchild or neighbor wish to find a good read, this may be the shop he recommends.

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“This is so lovely! I knew I’d love this place.”

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The next customer arrives just in time to chase away the darkness

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© 2024 A.D. by Jim Reed

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Life, actually…

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FIFTY WAYS TO SEIZE THE DAY

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Some mornings I grumble aloud, roll over, sit at the bed’s edge, creak upright, test my balance on the ancient hardwood floor, then proceed in a disorderly fashion to the bathroom.

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Is this how you start the day, too?

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There are other ways to face down the impending waking hours. As the weeks roll forth, these are some of those ways:

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Sunshine peeps past the bedroom’s slatted blinds and parted curtains. At least one ray zaps me into wakefulness. I lie face up, staring at the ceiling and its dangling fan. Something makes me smile—maybe a funny incident that happened yesterday. I grin and arise and wobble towards shower and shampoo and washcloth and comb.

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Another morning, birds chirp and get past my dream barriers and bring me to consciousness. I dare to raise one eyelid, testing whether this is slumber or reality. After some mulling I open the other eye and get on with the day, hoping for the best, bracing for whatever may come.

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See what I mean? There must be fifty ways to approach the days.

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I’m beginning to look forward to the next morning and the next. I see them as adventures to be lived, challenges to be faced or avoided, revelations that may diminish or expand the universe.

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This morning I lie awake wrangling a whole mess of thoughts and feelings that overlap and slither about. Past regrets, future fears, wolves slurping at the gates, confusions and contusions of everyday life—they all join paws and dance around me, mocking and encouraging and berating me and loving me all at once. This can only mean one thing. I gotta get out of this bed, shake them off, and sally forth to face my responsibilities and vices.

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So there.

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One more morning:

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I lie staring at the darkened ceiling. I extend my hand to see whether Liz is abed or about. She’s not here, so I listen for clues. Shifting floors, shower, hair dryer, distant zoom voices. When I finally triangulate her, I slip out of bed, gather laundry basket prospects, and head for another morning. A morning in which I will descend to the kitchen, wave to Liz as she zooms her meeting, search for the fluid of choice, stare mindlessly into the refrigerator for a never-present miracle meal, and gird my loins for whatever mysterious adventures lie ahead

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© 2024 A.D. by Jim Reed

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