Imperfect

I should have ridden to the College Inn Pub from Foster Island.  Vanishing Seattle, and all.  I’m not sure why I didn’t other than that I don’t know how to be with people anymore.  After just five or six months.  What will happen after two years?

Maybe not all that much if at least you get to do something like this: a quick swim in the least pastoral lake, followed by an urban jaunt to surprisingly open food truck if that’s what you want and then, a rendezvous on top of a covered freeway.

And so why not take the most reasonable route through the forested part until descending to the main lake and the impatient car route to the museum of trees?  There’s only one way into the promontory and what a nice place to hang out wondering together about statues and history.

I keep thinking about how we often define ourselves by our oppositions; one has to have standards and there’s got to be some ontological principle that determines differences; hard cases make bad law as they say, so no doubt we agree about a lot more than we disagree about, even though the latter make for better rants.

Here’s a thing as I see it: you can recognize that there are options that would have been better while still accepting what happened when given the context for it.  Most decisions are probably made at the moment they were made and as long as, on balance, they were an instance in a larger collection of decisions that produced something valuable, we can bracket that decision in context of the context it was made.

For instance, Abraham Lincoln was a great human being and also one, from all that I’ve read, a greatly human being.  We want to recognize his imperfections while still recognizing that, in spite of those imperfections, his efforts were good enough—so long as perfection doesn’t become an enemy of the good.