Enough

One of the things I like about getting older is that I’m more easily satisfied.  I can enjoy more with less; I find adventure in what isn’t so adventurous as all that.

I don’t have to swim (although that would be nice); I’m satisfied with just a couple of acquaintances (although many were missed); when serendipity occurs, it doesn’t even have to be very serendipitous (but it still is).  Just the possibility of possibility suffices.

I remain puzzled as to what is permitted and what one should permit of oneself.  When someone asks you for a light, and you check all your pockets except the one in which it is, so be it.  If it doesn’t happen, it couldn’t have been your destiny, anyway, as I learned from the fictional Voltaire on TV.

Maybe I’m the only person in the world who did the two-Jack Seattle park loop last night: west to Block and then back east and south to Perry; both afforded crepuscular marvels, the former including a slowly scintillating solar decay over one’s shoulder, the latter, a Nautical Twilight, that mingled with the arc lights of industrial aspiration, was bright enough to inspire memories of a sun-drenched afternoon when bicycle dreams performed to the score of wholesome abundance.

Maybe this is the harbinger of the vast reset that must occur for humanity to persevere into the future; if so, one of the main lessons, it seems to me, is that enough is enough.  But, of course, then the hunger for enoughness becomes the currency and so, there we are, all over again.

In spite of ourselves, we can’t help competing in the accident Olympics, even though winning is losing and vice-versa.  Getting home in one piece might not earn you the podium, but at least, you get home.

After a certain point, you can only go your own pace.  Work, I’m told, equals force times distance. So, I reduce my force to go farther, right?