I often write about the importance of making decisions, because, ultimately, our lives are shaped by our decisions. Where we live, who we marry, the kind of work we do, are all a reflection of the choices we’ve made. And every morning we begin our day with the seemingly mundane decision of selecting what clothes we will wear.

For me, pants are easy. I have about ten pairs of slacks, and all are similar. The problem is choosing a shirt. A few weeks ago, I wrote about the arduous process of deciding which of my many shirts I will wear. I know there are people who choose to wear the same thing every day, a uniform of sorts.  One male friend of mine always wears black.  I like variety.

And unless many shirts are at the dry cleaner I usually have about twenty to choose from.  All are custom, because I like two shirt pockets and most shirts from the store have only one. I normally order two shirts in the same fabric because there aren’t many fabrics I like, (so really, I’m only choosing between 12 different looks). What could be so difficult? Maybe I should save my mental energy for something more important. And yet…

The obvious choice would be to pick the shirt I like best each day, or as was the case last time I wrote about this process, the one I like second best. But then I’d be wearing the same shirts repeatedly. Also, I like to save my very best shirt for some unknown occasion in the future that has yet to happen.

(As an aside, I watched the Masters golf tournament over the weekend, and one of the leading professional golfers was wearing a shirt suspiciously like my own favorite, except that his shirt had NIKE on the back. Sadly, Nike has never expressed any interest in sponsoring me.)

One of these days, I might write about how I made the momentous decision to wear my very best shirt. But that is not today. Today I picked a shirt that reflects little imagination. It’s white.

Now I’m off to my office to make decisions of, hopefully, greater consequence.

Alan

As a teenager, I wanted to be a writer who could write better than Shakespeare.  Why not aim high? Perhaps, one day, someone will do it.

Maybe I was merely terrified to find a “real” job, and writing seemed fun. Also, I could do it without leaving my home. What could be better?

I remember being told that first rule of writing was, “Write what you know.”  I was sixteen. Therefore, I knew just about everything, which really meant that I knew just about nothing. And when you know not and know not that you know not…you won’t write anything of value. I don’t believe, as many do, that shared ignorance has value.

As it turns out, I did become a writer — of (mostly business) emails. Back in 1956, If you’d told me that’s what I’d be spending my days writing, I wouldn’t even have known what an email was.

Early in my law career I received a compliment from the wife of another attorney. She said that I wrote great business letters.  Well, that’s one very practical use for writing.

How do you know when you’ve found your niche in life?  There is no formal system or test you can take to find out.  No one will send you a telegram (do we still have those?) to let you know if you’re even on the right track.

Your life is not like a democracy. It isn’t ruled by “the people.” It’s an autocracy, only one person is making all the decisions.  As far as your own life is concerned you are all three branches of government combined into a single body. This means that you get to plan, execute, and judge your own life.

Good luck with that. Especially the judgmental part. I know that most of us try to do our best all the time, but I give myself, and you, permission to take a rest. Just enjoy your day. Remind yourself what you are looking forward to and then give permission to do it, even if it’s only Trader Joe’s Instant Oatmeal for breakfast.

Time does not crawl. It rushes and leaps. Suddenly I’m 86 and still wondering what I’ll be when I grow up.

Alan

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