Probably one of my biggest flaws or strengths, depending on the situation, is a tunnel vision obsession with certain things in life.
As my life experienced changes over the last few years, which were unpredictable in a strange kind of way, I took an interest in the financial state of this world as my personal economic situation is and was precarious at best and as they say, misery loves company. I read the financial news from various sources in Europe, Asia and North America. I studied charts and graphs compiled by “experts” in unfolding the bull feces that is referred to as financial data and weighed in on the merits or demerits of precious metal hoarding.
I became a financial doomsday expert in my own mind for it all appealed to my sense of reason and logic.
Then I encountered a personal situation which detracted me from my daily excursions through the financial experts’ auditorium. I was no longer hooked. My interest waned.
I wasn’t and am not prepared for financial disaster anyway. Even if I had a pile of gold, I wouldn’t know what to do with it except polish it and possibly impress people with its beauty, but carrying the stuff around or worrying about its safety isn’t worth the headache.
I did a Bouzouki yesterday. I drove into town, went into a garden center and bought plants. Some shrubs, flowers and stuff. Anything that looked lush, green or colorful and set to work planting, like Johnny Appleseed of yore.
My mind was and is in a different place. The road runners watched me from about twenty feet away as I worked. I could hear nature moving in the foliage and undergrowth at the back of my lot.
Last night, before dusk I checked the state of my freshly watered charges. I hope they take and grow. If not I will keep trying until I get my jungle which I can appreciate.
Somehow the stuff that hooked me in the past is no longer important. I think I will get hooked on something else, knowing myself well enough that my character won’t change that easily.
Next week I plan on planting a few trees and a cactus where I don’t irrigate.
Now I know why in the movie the Godfather, the old mafioso spent time in his garden. It frees the brain, rips the tunnel walls asunder, allows conscience to breathe life.
It is all good folks.