“Occupy thyself with few things, if thou wouldst be tranquil.”
I like this quote.
Maybe because I am sixty now and I am
finally beginning to understand something Marcus Aurelius figured out a couple
thousand years ago.
It is time to sweep the shed. I mean that literally and figuratively. It is time to
declutter my life.
I don't need the hand blender that I have
used two times. I don't need pants that haven't fit me in fifteen years and, even
if they somehow do fit, they probably won't be stylish in whatever remaining
years I have left.
I don't need drawers filled with power cords that
don't connect to anything.
I don't need the shot glass collection that
has been sitting in a box since I got married. I can't
remember the last time I did a shot at home, let alone at the tavern.
Why am I keeping this stuff?
Maybe we spend the first half of our lives
collecting things and the second half figuring out what the hell to do with all
of it.
Though I don't think Marcus Aurelius was
talking about hand blenders and shot glasses.
There are other things cluttering the
shed. Like old grudges and old regrets. Things I should have said. Things I
shouldn't have said. People I should forgive. People I should probably ask to
forgive me.
Maybe it is time for a trip to the
confessional box and talk to Poppa God about some stupid crap.
There are cobwebs that I have
known about for a long time. I have walked past them, promising myself that I
would clean them up later. Well, later has arrived and it is time to sweep the
shed and come clean and simplify…
…And while I am at it, maybe I can
declutter my head.
I don't need every piece of information the
world wants to shove in there. I don't
need every email. I don't need every headline. I don't need to spend valuable
hours being angry or anxious about things happening hundreds or thousands of
miles away that I cannot control.
Marcus Aurelius would probably tell me that
is just another kind of clutter.
I have enough things
within my control that could use my attention.
My family.
My work.
My Faith.
My friends.
My home.
And myself.
Those are enough things to occupy a man.
There is some practical housekeeping to do
as well. I should probably open that old footlocker and go through the
photographs from the last century. There are undoubtedly a few pictures in
there that the Shepkids don't need to discover while cleaning out my belongings
someday.
Though I am keeping the picture of me with
the Houston Oilers Cheerleaders at Caesar's Palace. Marcus Aurelius can kiss my
ass on that one. Some things are historical documents, but everything else is
fair game.
I need to cut the inventory, clear the
drawers, empty the boxes, delete the useless data and reply to that email.
Maybe tranquility isn't something I need to find. Maybe it has been sitting there all along, buried underneath all the crap I have accumulated since 1966.
…And today seems like a good day to start
digging it out.
Today is 8/8. The eighth day of the eighth month.
Here in Chicagoland, we are reaching that
annual milestone when our long summer evenings begin surrendering to autumn and
the sun slips below that magical 8:00pm line.
We also remember 38 years ago
tonight, 8/8/88 when the lights came on at Wrigley Field for night baseball for
the first time.
The Cubs played the Phillies under the
lights at the Friendly Confines. Mother Nature apparently wasn't ready for
night baseball on the Northside and dumped enough rain on Wrigley to wipe the
game from the books after 3½ innings. The first official night game
came the following evening.
Still, nobody remembers 8/9/88 quite
like they remember 8/8/88.
There is something about today. Eight-Eight.
Every year it marks earlier sunsets and also when the lights came on at Wrigley.
Another Saturday has been handed to us, use
it wisely.
Run your errand. Clean the drawer. Open
the pantry. Make your phone call and take a trip to Goodwill.
Sweep the sheds Chalkheads...
…
be astonished on this 8th day of the 8th month and find that gusto.
