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Recently, at a party, I was reintroduced to a hand surgeon who had once been my doctor. The doctor still has a great memory. Though he was about to retire, he hadn’t forgotten me from more than thirty years ago.

“Your left hand, as I recall.”

He was correct. While he had resolved the issue I had with my left hand, there is no accounting for the wear and tear of time, especially when it comes to repetitive motion and old habits.

I’ve mentioned before my penchant for Solitaire. I used to play it on my desktop, but now the solitaire game comes pre-programmed into my iPhone, and I’ve found that I can play it for hours at a time.

The problem is that I always hold my iPhone in my left hand, and use my  right index finger to play the game. But after three or four hours my left hand gets stiff from being in one position for so long.  I believe I’ve previously mentioned in my blog that I can fall down the rabbit hole of Solitaire and easily play it for hours without being aware of how much time has elapsed.

And now, the ball of my left hand has become sensitive to touch.  I’ve tried switching hands, holding the phone in my right hand instead, but my left hand is not as adept, and I would need a lot more practice before I would trust it with something as important as solitaire.

While I love the game, and it is very relaxing, when I lose track of time I fail to start more productive pursuits. As I’ve shared before, I feel that I have to be “productive” almost all of the time. The good news is that means I’m almost always busy. The bad news is that it means I’m almost always busy. My need to be productive cuts both ways.

It certainly cuts into my leisure time, as it doesn’t allow me to play my favorite game guilt-free for unlimited hours. Maybe, my left hand acting up is a sign that I need to rethink how I’m spending my time. I’m seldom into complaining. I prefer to solve problems. Since I know the best way to help my left hand is to give it a rest, perhaps I should turn my attention to something else — like breakfast, which is its own kind of productive.

Happy holiday tomorrow (or today, the day you will be reading this).  I’m planning to celebrate by … to be continued …

Alan

Every morning I face the arduous task of choosing which shirt to wear.  As I gaze into my closet, I ponder my decision.

What to wear?  What to wear?

I like variety, but I’m far too impatient to tolerate shopping for new shirts.  In fact, I last bought new shirts about three years ago when Daveen and I visited a tailor. He took my measurements and sent them to Hong Kong for production.

I need custom shirts that have two pockets — one for my iPhone, and the second for a pen, notes, and whatever. Especially whatever.

Deciding what to wear is one of many choices I make throughout the day.  Each decision is influenced by a variety of factors.  I am conscious of some, but others maybe not. Who knows why I like a particular color, or find a certain fabric more pleasing than others?  Several months ago, a waitress at Art’s deli paused after refilling my water glass to tell me how much she liked my shirt. I rarely receive a compliment on my clothing, and must admit that, since then, I have worn that shirt more often than I otherwise might.

When deciding what to wear, do we dress for ourselves, or for the approval of others?  For me, it’s a combination of both. I want to be socially acceptable, but I also want to express my own taste. Even so, every morning I have the same dilemma — shall I wear my favorite shirt today or save it for tomorrow?

This is why I seldom wear my very best (and by far my most expensive) shirt. It hangs in my closet, saying to me — “Save me for a really important occasion. Today just isn’t important enough.”

When I was young, I remember that a friend’s mother used to serve a mélange of different melons cut into little balls. Some of the melons were sweet, some were not. But I noticed that everyone at the dinner table always saved the sweetest melon balls for last.

So, as we start a new day, the question always is — shall I save my best until … forever? Or should I choose to make today my very best shirt day. And that begins with a choice…

But today, I’ve already decided. Today I’m going to wear my second-best shirt. I’ll save my very best for tomorrow.  And my best shirt is amazing –- it always looks brand new.  Both times I’ve worn it.

Alan

When I woke up this morning, I checked my calendar, as is my usual custom, to see what meetings or deadlines I had scheduled. There was just one word for today. “Blog.”

A sense of freedom burst forth, and I felt an immediate rush of relief. Other than writing this blog, which I enjoy, I had no responsibilities for the entire day. Isn’t that what we all work for — a lifetime of retirement Sundays, stretching into the foreseeable future?

And yet, despite being relieved of responsibilities, I felt a twinge of sadness. For years, I’ve defined myself by being productive at “work.” For years I’d been riding the “Productivity Bus”, and it’s been impossible for me to get off. I must have purchased the “eternal” ticket, because twenty-one years ago I passed the age of normal retirement, and today the second oldest person in my company is a quarter of a century younger than I am and won’t catch up to me (in age).  Ever.

But since I’m the founder of my company and set my own work hours, I can write my blog at home.  Even while lying in bed.  And that gives me much of the time-freedom I’ve always treasured.

But a calendar is always a tradeoff. It tells you what you have planned, both your obligations and your social engagements and, hopefully, keeps your appointments from tumbling all over each other. But it also forces you to plan in advance, and it can lock you into specific commitments to avoid two or three lunch dates in the same day. (Unless you are unusually sociable. Or really hungry).

And that reminds me of breakfast, which has lately been semi-instant oatmeal from Trader Joe’s.  I recommend it.

Today, there is time for writing, and a separate time for eating. And a time to reflect and enjoy my sense of freedom.

But I don’t need a calendar to tell me that.

Alan