If Only . . .

Regardless of its attending mood, each day has its survey of how green the grass is on the other side of the fence. Recent frustrations over my working without medical insurance or paid time off, not to mention a run-in with Bank of America that will wind up costing me hundreds of additional dollars in finance charges over the next six months, have made me believe once again that wealth would solve every problem I think I have right now. It has, then, achieved the top spot on my list of things I think I need in order to achieve true and lasting happiness.

I mention it now because I realize that my list is ridiculous. While I have never had great wealth—and it very well may be the miraculous panacea my fantasies say it is—I have gotten many other things I’ve hoped for in my life. My wishes, whether general or specific, have often been granted to some level of satisfaction. But I, like a child who has no trouble populating new Christmas lists even as his closet bulges with past years’ bounty, have always found new things to want and new ills to blame on their absence.

The truth is that there is only one thing I will lack in life when it will matter, and that is time. At some point, mine will run out, and I will either wish that I had more or I will be satisfied with how I spent what I had. In those final hours, a minute wasted will seem like a precious thing, though I know it should seem no different to me now. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing it were later in the afternoon when the workday drags or hoping for the weekend on a Monday morning.

I have come to wonder whether dissatisfaction is woven into our lives—as the Buddha would tell you it is—to prevent us from lapsing into a torpid complacency that tells us we have nothing else to work toward. After all, the experience of dissatisfaction need not be depressing. I think that work toward a goal is not an effort to achieve satisfaction, but rather an execution of the awareness of dissatisfaction. Here, then, dissatisfaction itself provides an opportunity for growth, one of the greatest things we can experience in our short time on earth.

It is only after enough time has passed that I am able to appreciate in proper perspective the providence that denied me certain things I had hoped for. I realize that as I walk along my path in life, what I wish for can be as important as the steps I take, and the wishes I am denied are just as important as the wishes I am granted. But I also know that every moment I have left is an opportunity for a dream to come true.

Changing Seasons

It seems that things started to change the moment I turned thirty. Sure, there were a few extra backaches here and there, my joints seemed to want to pop a little more frequently and vociferously, and a new vitreous floater added itself to the bits of entoptic debris cluttering my field of vision. But there was something else going on, something outside my body. My future, long seen—or unseen, really—as the result of an uncertain choice of paths through a maze linking wherever I was to wherever I wanted to be, started to emerge as something less the stuff of dreams and more as something soon to be realized.

The year had started with the same hopeful mantra, “This will be the year things start to happen.” I meant it, I suppose, but something had felt different about it this year, as if the person who said it had years more experience than the one who had said it the year before. That experienced, older soul would be surprised by nothing, and last year’s butterflies had given way to a stomach steeled for whatever was to be.

On my birthday, I got a call out of the blue about a gig playing with a singer/songwriter. Without going into too much detail here, I accepted the gig, and it appears that things are heading in the right direction. Whatever happens in that arrangement, however, the most crucial thing was my disabling the sense of inertia that had to that point kept me cooped up in my apartment, playing for audiences of one. It was what I needed to remind myself that an artist practices his art, and an artist wishing to make a living of his art must at some point involve the public. Waiting for the perfect moment is, I realized, the surest road to regret.

Good Tunes and a Good Cause

I encourage everyone to check out this link, brought to you by the great Peter Gabriel:

Be It Resolved: Happy New Year

Happy New Year, readers! Both of you. No, really, whoever is out there, I hope 2006 brings good things for you. And, if extra luck is flying around, I’ll take some myself.

After not making any last year, I came up with some New Year’s resolutions for 2006. I’d had a pretty successful run of resolutions in years past, so I thought I’d give it a go again this year. The result is a multi-page document that reads like the federal tax code. Parts and subparts, internal references, etc. I left some parts intentionally vague so I would have grounds to argue with myself later in the year about the proper interpretation of a particular rule. I like to keep it interesting.

Manifold as they are, my resolutions are at least doable. If kept, they will help make for a pretty good year. But having put a lot of things down in writing, I am aware that certain things can start to feel like work when they are required. Perhaps I should have resolved not to have that feeling this year.

At any rate, I am poised to experience a magnificent 2006. I write that credulously, even as I recover from a cold and sit with an aching tooth as I while away a torporific afternoon in my office.

Things are pretty good, though. Yesterday marked my second anniversary as a resident of Los Angeles, and four days from now marks the end of my twenties. I expect the wisdom and maturity that comes with such a milestone to arrive by UPS any day now.

In the meantime, I wish everyone out there a great start to 2006 and lots of luck for the coming year. Just don’t use up all the luck. I’m going to want some, too.