FeelingsRealized yesterday, watching all the ridiculous commercials on the football games, that people were always trying to make me feel a certain way. That's how they sell food and cars and beer. Eat this, you'll feel better. Drive this car. You'll feel like an astronaut chick-magnet. Drink this beer. All your troubles will disappear. Hey, it's not true. I've got my pickup in the driveway (and my non-functional Peugeot 505) and some Beefeaters left in the freezer. But finally, at the age of 57, I've realized that the truck, even the Peugeot or, more surprisingly, the Beefeaters won't really make me feel better. Not reliably. In fact, I have no way, none at all of changing the way I feel to a better way. I am completely dependent on chance. And you know what? That's OK. I'll just go on in my usual way, going to work, cleaning the house, visiting my family, watching football. Whatever happens will happen.
Things can make me feel worse. Too much Beefeaters or too little sleep will, reliably, make me feel awful. But I no longer confuse myself by thinking that by my own efforts I can make things better for me. And you know what? It's an enormous relief.