It’s so simple. Yet, I fail the test many times each week.
In my newly acquired free time, I wish to hang out with individuals who bring me joy. That sounds a bit selfish. But that’s okay.
The whole premise seems easy to achieve. Yet, so many other people get in my way. Don’t get me wrong – they may be wonderful folks. But they just don’t bring me the jubilation I’m searching for.
That’s not even the truth. It’s all my fault. I seem to gravitate toward men and women who I think can use my wisdom. Or they think they have a thing or two to help me be a wiser or gentler or more interesting kind of guy. There’s some weird, magnetic attraction going on, drawing me to a coffee shop with a friend or two, where all of us pretend to know what we’re talking about.
At 76, what I’m really looking for is the pop of pure joy. I want to lay (lie?) on my back in the cool, green grass and shake my arms and legs skyward while getting this rush of rare delight. It works for my dogs. Why not me?
However, no friend of mine is currently interested in flopping around with me in the grass.