Ask

Advertisement: Ask your doctor about this amazing new drug to treat a condition you didn’t even know you had!

(One day later):

Patient: Say, Doc, I had a question about…

Doc: Please hold for our next available representative.  Due to higher-than-normal call volumes, your wait may be…one hundred…minutes.

(Two hours later):

Doc: We’re sorry, all representatives are currently busy.  Please call back later.  BEEP.

(Three months later, at the office visit):

Patient: Say, Doc, I had a question about…

Doc: I’m sorry, I’m not a doctor; I’m a lab technician.  The doctor will be with you later.

(Fifteen minutes later):

Patient: Say, Doc, I had a question about…

Doc: I’m sorry, I’m not a doctor.  I’m a nurse practitioner.  The doctor is out today.

(Six months later):

Patient: Say, Doc, I had a question about…

Doc: I’m sorry, I can’t answer any questions outside of those related to the annual check-up. You’ll have to schedule another appointment with me to discuss.

(Three months later):

Patient: Say, Doc, I had a question about…

Doc: I’m sorry, I’m not your regular doctor.  They are out of the office today; you’ll have to follow up with them directly.

(Three months later):

Patient: Say, Doc, I had a question about…

Doc: Your regular doctor has tested positive for Covid.  I’m just filling in, so you’ll to schedule another appointment.

(Two months later):

Patient: Say, Doc, I had a question about…

Doc: This letter is to inform you that your regular physician is no longer employed by this health maintenance organization.  Their patients are being transferred to a new physician.  To schedule an appointment, please contact us during regular business hours.

(Three months later):

Patient: Say, Doc, I had a question about…

Doc: Further study has shown that the drug in question has terrible side effects, is carcinogenic, and doesn’t really do what it was advertised to do.

(Two weeks later):

Doc: I’m calling to answer the patient’s questions about…

Patient: Deceased.

 

Predictions

I predict that many of my predictions will be wrong.  And I predict that which ones those will be is unpredictable.

Nevertheless, we can be quite sure that by the middle of the 21st century, the year 2050 will have arrived.

We can also be entirely confident that anyone born today who is still living then will be alive.  Conversely, everyone who has died will be dead.

Forecasting sea-level rise is difficult to be sure.  But one thing we do know is that if the oceans rise by 12 inches, they will also have risen by a foot.

Global warming will only become more severe; that pot of coffee on my stove will continue getting hotter unless I turn off the burner, as well.

Every day that passes will add another 24 hours to everyone’s life, except for those who die during that period; as soon as they stop aging, they won’t get any older.

Two plus two will continue to equal four, although that one young couple who always has to bring their kid everywhere means you need to plan for five.

What happens will happen; whatever is will be what it is; and by the way, I told you so, didn’t I?  You may forget, but I won’t, I can assure you.

The future will always be in the future; the past always in the past, (not including women’s fashion.)  And the present? Well, I’m still waiting for that birthday gift you promised me!

Your favorite sports team will lose some games you wanted them to win; the team you dislike the most will win some they should have lost; every thrilling victory for one side will be accompanied by a heartbreaking defeat for the other.  And your cable bill or streaming cost will keep going up no matter what.

People who talk will keep using their words; babies will be born to their mothers; the final word of this essay be this last one.

Fade

 In the 10-day Vipassana meditation course, we learn Buddha’s observation of the essential, fundamental law of nature: “Everything arises and passes away.”

And once you’ve been introduced to it, you notice it everywhere, from every single sensation on your body, to all living things, to a sundog that appears in the sky, momentarily beautiful before disappearing, to very Universe itself; it’s all ephemeral and ceaselessly changing; nothing lasts forever except the fact that nothing lasts forever.  Everyone who has ever lived will one day be gone; everything that ever was or will be will eventually be no more.

So, I’m in the process of fading away, (as I have been ever since I was born), and frankly, I don’t really mind.  I think I enjoy becoming quieter and smaller; my aspirations to greatness have shrunk commensurately.  I don’t need to feel like I’m making a huge impact; I’m content with less of a splash, leaving the surface a little smoother, with fewer ripples in my wake.

As evidenced by these words if nothing else, I’m not entirely ready to have disappeared; I still think I’ve got something to say, but I’m okay with saying it more softly, and if fewer end up hearing, that’s fine.  I don’t need to shout my message from the rooftops; stage-whispering from back porch is plenty.

In real life, I’m shrinking; as a young man, I was an inch and half taller than I am now.  Seems like an appropriate physical representation of what’s going on figuratively; over the course of the next few decades, I’ll continue to pass away until there’s nothing left of me but the palimpsest of life.  And then that, too, will disappear.

Is this sad?  Perhaps, in a way, but, then, that sadness, too, will also pass away.  Why mourn the fundamental truth of all things?  Nobody cries over the First Law of Thermodynamics, do they? Why shed a tear just because our tears will not last?

Truce

Today, after countless eons of contention, fact and opinion have finally reached a truce.  As quoted from their press conference:

OPINION: Today is a great day in our history together.

FACT: Today is a  day in our history together.

OPINION: Yes, indeed; that’s a fact.

What this means for the rest of us is that we no longer have to worry about whether a claim is objective or subjective.  From this day forward, anything anyone asserts is both.

Astute observers will note that this has been the case in political and public discourse for some time, and many will assert that it’s been this way in aesthetics all along and guess what?  They’re all correct and how couldn’t they be?

This development will, of course, do wonders for domestic tranquility.  If one member of the household says, “It’s cold in here,” no longer will another member have to retort that “As a matter of fact, it isn’t,” because now, as a matter of fact, it’s an opinion, anyway.  How convenient!

And if one party at the table says that the dish is too salty and the other says it’s not salty enough, they’re both right!  Isn’t this wonderful?

Of course, there may be some issues the follow from the truce.  I’m not sure I want to be a passenger on an airplane designed by a team of designers whose calculations aren’t subject to an objective standard, but given the way that it appears companies like Boeing have been operating of late, things might not change all that much, anyway.

Also, if all opinions are facts and vice-versa, then it’s going to be difficult to adjudicate many legal claims and responsibilities; on the other hand, this may go a long way towards mitigating the biasing effect of money upon the proceedings and so might result in better outcomes in the long run.

Some might say “better” is just an opinion; not now, though; it’s a fact, as well.

Future

Here’s my advice: you should treat your future self in accordance with the Golden Rule.

Most of us don’t do that most of the time.

We consistently burden the poor soul with everything we don’t feel like doing: the dishes, our taxes, those ten pounds we’d like to lose.  We expect who we are tomorrow to take care of all the things who we are today would rather put off.

Is that fair?

If we treated our future self the way we’d like to be treated, we'd never procrastinate; we’d never leave dirty pots and pans in the sink, and we’d certainly never drink to excess the night before tomorrow.  But instead, we routinely expect the future version of ourselves to clean up after our messes.  The lack of respect for that person by this person is not just inconsiderate, it’s downright immoral.

Our future self has every right to consider our present self to be a jerk, a selfish asshole who’s only interested in their own comfort and convenience.  If I were them (and, of course, I will be eventually), I’d entirely disown me and want to have nothing to do this creep anymore, ever.

Unfortunately for our future self, there’s no escaping the present version of who we are—except via death.  The only way to avoid being encumbered by actions and non-actions of who we are now is to no longer be at all—a drastic option to be sure.

Still, our future self might make that threat to our present self: if you don’t shape up and start treating me better, I’ll check out altogether.  Then see who’ll pick up after you!

Maybe this would put the fear of God (or, at least nothingness) into our present self.  Maybe then, we’d treat our future self with more respect, as we should.

But probably not.  Our present self would just blame our past self.  They should have taken care of this years ago, right?

Entertained

I recall reading a Gore Vidal quote that went something like, “the main aspiration of the contemporary world is to be the best-entertained generation in history.”  And while I can’t find it online, I’ll nevertheless ascribe it to the late great curmudgeon and note that he opined this view well before the days of cellphones, YouTube, Instagram, or TikTok.

If society’s highest goal was to be well-entertained before 2012, when Vidal died, then now, it’s that ambition on steroids; it seems all anyone cares about these days is the latest episodic series or viral video or blockbuster film; everywhere I look, I see people staring at their screens consuming content.

I suppose this is no different, at its core, than our hunter-gatherer ancestors observing their environments, taking in the latest sights and smells, but the fact that it’s material created by other humans for the entertainment of other humans seems to add a different wrinkle.  Vidal bemoaned the dearth of readers for the writer; he’d need not be worried about the plethora of viewers for the video content creator.

I think there’s something to be said for reducing our appetite for entertainment. If we can manage to make it through a bus ride or a doctor’s waiting room without turning to our phones for the latest installment of Whatever by Whomever, that might be a good thing.  At the very least, cultivating such a reduced craving for amusement could be beneficial to the political process; perhaps we’d become less swayed by candidates’ presentations and more attuned to their substance—assuming there is any substance there to be swayed by.

I’m not suggesting we should eschew entertainment altogether; surely, the artistic merit of such creative works counts among the finest of all human endeavors; I’d rather have us be known for Shakespeare, or even “Breaking Bad” than the atom bomb.

However, astute readers will recognize I’m doing my part here to keep the overall entertainment value in check

Errands

Nicholson Baker’s debut novel, The Mezzanine, takes place, in its entirety, during a lunch hour escalator ride of an office worker who is returning from an errand to buy new shoelaces—if I recall correctly.  Several hundred pages of ruminations on all sorts of subjects unfold in this short span of time, demonstrating beautifully how our entire lives—inner lives, anyway—occur while we’re doing the most mundane of things.  These little errands make up the outward substance of our lives; meanwhile, all our thoughts, dreams, hopes, fears, memories, idle fantasies, and so comprise what’s happening on the inside.

That’s where the real juice is.

So, I try not to be too concerned that my summer days often involve nothing more than one or more small errands.  Maybe, from the outside, I do little else than cycle to the grocery store for coffee and butter, or pedal over to the library to return a book, but on the inside, lots is happening: I’m writing novels, solving the climate crisis, and coming up with a strategy to ensure that the Mariners will make the playoffs.  

You can’t see this happening, but it is.

Besides, after all, what else do most of us really do with our lives, anyway, other than run errands?  Sure, old Will Shakespeare wrote those plays, and Albert Einstein invented spacetime and the atom bomb, but didn’t they still have to buy toothpaste and dishwashing soap or its Elizabethan-slash-Edwardian era analogues?  And wouldn’t that be where they got their best thinking done?

Of late, I’ve spent a morning buying new tires for my daughter’s car; I’ve ridden to the one pharmacy in the entire Seattle area that sells Old Spice aftershave; I’ve pedaled across town to purchase handstand slabs for yoga from the Friendly Foam Shop; I’ve gone to the library at least a dozen times to pick up and drop off books; I’ve checked out a baseball card shop to see if they’d buy some collectable cards I inherited; I’ve gone shopping by bike almost every day; I’ve been to the wine shop, the fish store, the farmer’s market, the co-op, the supermarket, the Asian grocery, the Indian grocery, the liquor store, the weed dispensary, the bike shop, the optician, the medical clinic, the hardware store, the pet shop, the watch repairman, the barber, and even Trader Fucking Joe’s.

So many errands; so much thinking.