And yet, I suppose you mourn the loss or the death of what you thought your life was, even if you find your life is better after. You mourn the future that you thought you’d planned.—Lynn Redgrave
[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]Planning for the future is one of those things we are instructed to do from the moment we first begin primary school. Kindergarten prepares us for first grade., then we’re prepped for Middle School which, n turn, prepares us for High School, and at some point, somewhere, we’re supposed to graduate from something being fully prepared for the future, but we never truly are. There are always surprises. Our best plans are laid to waste when the future doesn’t happen exactly the way we anticipate.
We have ten days left in November. Of those, at least two are taken up with Thanksgiving events and, for us, celebrating a seven-year-old’s birthday. Some of you will spend time traveling back and forth, and the more dim-witted among us will waste time standing in line to spend money they don’t really have on things they don’t really need. When all is said and done, there might be four days of half-way decent productivity before December hits. That’s not a lot of time to plan.
Once December hits, this blog shuts down for the rest of the calendar year. Next week we try cramming in all the stuff that didn’t fit elsewhere. I’ll post something snarky on the first just because it’s my 55th birthday and I can’t let that pass without flinging something silly into the cybersphere. Beyond that, though, the rest of this year is given to planning for the next: what we will post, what we won’t, what we’ll change, what we’ll completely eliminate, and whether there’s anything new worth tossing into the mix. There are a lot of things to consider. We’ve already been doing research, looking at the year’s stats, and formulating ideas.[/one_half]
[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]Today’s picture is exactly what one would see if they were looking over my shoulder while I’m in research and planning mode, attempting to divine the future. We play with pictures and try new editing techniques. We do a lot of reading. We check trends. Yet, for all that activity, I almost always end up sitting here, pipe in hand, headphones on my head, and when appropriate a shot of scotch within easy reach, wondering if I’m wasting my time.
What makes planning for the future so difficult and uncertain is that we do so expecting certain things to stay the same. We expect the same people to remain in our lives, fulfilling the same roles, behaving in a predictable fashion. We know some things, such as technology, will change, but we expect the base elements of our lives to stay put and when they are suddenly and unexpectedly altered, everything we had planned for the future suddenly goes out the window. There have been too many years where I counted upon a level of stability that just didn’t happen; the future wasn’t remotely predictable.
December planning may be a sure sign of mental instability on my part, but at this stage of my life it’s as much habit as anything, and I really can use the break from trying to find 600 or so words at 4:00 every morning. Looking into the next year, I know PFC Letbetter will be stationed in Japan, a handful of people are getting married, politicians and terrorists will both be disruptive, and mobile devices will complete their takeover of the internet. Beyond that, though, anything is a guess and if you want to see how it all turns out, you’ll just have to keep watching.[/one_half_last]
Getting By With A Little Help
But what we can do, as flawed as we are, is still see God in other people, and do our best to help them find their own grace. That’s what I strive to do, that’s what I pray to do every day.—Barack Obama
[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]The cane sits close to my desk, just in case I need the help. I hate the damn thing. I hate the sight of it, and even more the fact that I should probably use it more than I do. Rain will force me to use it today, I already know. Tomorrow may be another such day as well. With winter beginning to set in, the days when I need the help are going to begin outnumbering the days I don’t. I am somewhat pissed off by the knowledge there are 80-year-old men out running marathons while I can’t get down the hall to the bathroom without assistance.
I never have liked asking for help. Somewhere in my head, for some reason, me asking for help is a sign of weakness. I don’t mind others asking for help when they need it, though I am slightly annoyed when a certain five-year-old asks for help tying her shoes when she’s yet to try for herself. I don’t want to ask anyone for help and I don’t like so often being in a position of needing help that, at times, it feels as though I can’t do anything without some form of assistance. Losing any bit of my independence strikes deep at my soul, leads to depression and questioning my own value in the world. I have quite possibly thrown my cane across the floor in frustration.
Yet, here I am again this morning, needing to lean on something, or someone. I woke up this morning barely able to move. Independence is a myth. I’ve become reliant on Kat and some days when she has to be gone for prolonged periods I often limit my own activities for fear that, should something happen, there’s no one here to help (the cats are absolutely no help at all). When I go for a walk, I have to make sure my phone is well charged in case I should fall, become lost or confused, or need a ride home.
I never expected to have these limitations at this age and it angers me to no end that I can’t keep up with everyone else on the planet. Needing help, even from an inanimate object totally under my control, is emotionally deflating.[/one_half]
[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]I am one of the lucky ones. Despite my challenges, I have always known that someone has had my back; friends who have made sure I had something to eat, that drove me to doctors appointments, and kept a roof over my head. Not everyone is so fortunate. Nearly four million people in the United States will experience homelessness this year. Of those, almost 60 thousand of those are veterans; 1.3 million are children. They’re just out there, on their own, struggling to exist.
The second stanza of the poem on the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor reads:
At this very moment, there are 10,000 Syrian refugees, and more from other war-torn countries, waiting at our shore, looking for help. Yet, because of the cowardly actions of a handful of Daesh morons, there are many of us wanting to hide behind a wall of fear and not let them in. We would rather let them starve or die of hypothermia than accept the risk that comes with being compassionate.
If America has become this country who is afraid too afraid of the shadow of terrorism to keep the refugees of that terrorism alive, then we have lost every last shred of our independence; our fear cripples us just as severely as arthritis in my back and legs. I have a cane on which I can lean, and friends ready to help. The millions homeless and those fleeing terror need help as well. The time has come to step up and be that help.[/one_half_last]
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