Ask

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(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?