Alone, and Fearless

 

Alone, Fearlessly Facing the Inevitable,

As I amble through the ninth decade of my convoluted life, I reminisce …

I reflect on my father’s usual comment, upon hearing my latest criticism of idiotic or oppressive edicts from government … “Abe, you’re tilting at windmills.”

My Quixotic efforts have through my life been limited to verbal discourse, or written dissertation such as a Letter to the Editor submitted to the local newspaper. Those letters which were published seemed always to draw angry response from readers with tender toes.
Yet do I continue. For me the challenge is irresistible. I must not ignore my perceived duty to refute the unreasonable, illogical position of a proponent of some ridiculous scheme to solve humanity’s problems with another government program.

A few years ago I discovered the Blogosphere. Here I entered a rich field of opportunity for my crotchety expression of irrelevant, self-centered ideas.
I devote much of my time and effort to blogging.

I humbly accept that my essays are devoid of substance, and that most of my family and few remaining friends are justified in their collective decisions to ignore my posts.

My freedom of self expression has a companion freedom — the delicious freedom from fear. I no longer fear my death, and in my solitude I have no need to fear the death of a beloved life companion.
My only fear centers on the possibility of being confined to a wheelchair — unspeaking, drooling, unable to communicate even my smallest wishes to uncaring attendants who manage various bodily needs.
Recent media coverage suggests that solitude in old age is responsible for depression, and may lead to suicide. Commentary encompasses the numberless accidental overdoses of narcotic pain pills, enhanced by the synergism of alcoholic beverage. One wonders if the victims were so drunk that they did not understand their circumstances. Hmmm?
I am happy, enthusiastically eager to continue doing what I enjoy, impatient to begin each new effort, and then joyous at the completion of one of my many projects.
I feel a strange smug contentment when I relax, in my recliner, in my apartment, in front of my TV, with the current book of my selection, with a tray of my own home-cooked meal, at the end of my day of proud accomplishment.
Not even remotely close to depression — An intense introspective analysis reveals that I am in better shape, emotionally and mentally, than I was throughout most of my life.
I look forward to another ten or fifteen years of a good life.