I’m always a sucker for wordplay, for how words sound, how they look, how they grab you; what they denote and connote and imply.  “Damaged goods” is a phrase that has been on my mind a lot lately, and if you know me at all you’ll know why.  But I’m thinking that I don’t feel anything remotely like damaged.  I’m thinking I feel like the bridge was blown up by the opposing forces some time in 2009 and the rebuilding process has already proven that yes, this bridge will be made whole again.  Goods – what a great word, “goods”, in this context – will flow across.

So I’m feeling optimistic.  In spite of everything, and I guarantee that no matter how well you think you know me, there’s a lot more to “everything” than you might suspect at first.  It’s like in Anthony Stadium, there are six simultaneous baseball games being played.  Bob Uecker is outclassed, even Bob Costas. Who’s on first?  Who knows? One day Michael Lewis will write a book about it; Paul Kedrosky will pooh-pooh it for reasons that are known only to himself and Mr. Lewis; and there will be a generally accepted, but probably incorrect and/or inadequate explanation of what happened, how I feel about it, and what the net result will have been.

Optimism in the middle of what one might consider to be a tornado seems, well, odd.  But I don’t feel like I’m in the middle of a tornado.  The tornado has passed; it’s over in the next county, kicking up dust and spitting cattle and old Dodge trucks into adjoining farmland.  I feel at ease.  Every day I feel more at ease.  It’s a diffuse ease, because if I squint my eyes just right I can focus on this or that which, in isolation, appears to be Death Come Knocking At The Door, but I like to constantly take the attitude that I probably lack perspective – and I’m nearly 100% right on that assessment.  We all lack perspective.

The other part that comes into play in this is my natural instinct to be happy.

Am I happy?

Am I?

I have to say yes.  I really think that if I were to answer “no,” I’d be lying – another trait I don’t have.  I am happy.  I have experienced highs and lows of great intensity over the last weeks and months, but I am happy.  As every frequent flier knows, turbulence passes.  And turbulence is not the point of the flight – it’s to transport you from A to B.  What’s “B” for me?  Dunno.  Don’t really care that much.  I have a couple things that remain important to me – they’re little Russians named Will and Audrey – and beyond that?  Again, dunno.  I  wrote in these pages a while ago that “want is a terrible affliction,” and I’m trying not to want.  Not to force anything.  Not to try to bend reality to a constructed reality.  And I’m doing a pretty good job of it overall.  History, habit and instinct conspire against me – I have always been an idealist, a romantic, a Byronesque thinker.  And I want to believe in these Hollywoodized absolutes like sure things and true loves and success in spite of impossible odds – but as I get older and wiser and more comfortable, I get the chance – the chance! and what a chance! – to understand that perhaps it can be both – yes and no, black and white, to be and not to be – and it will all still be OK.  Better than OK, even.  Great.  Exhilarating.  Sustaining.  Life-affirming.

But things take time, and Hollywood gives you two hours, or three if you’re Peter Jackson, and so a healthy respect for time and the natural progression of things is of paramount importance.  Buds bloom, but not overnight.  Leaves fall, but not overnight.  There’s a rhythm to life that plays out on its own schedule and whether by instinct or desire we wish it would move faster or slower, it doesn’t.  If it will be, it will be, and if it won’t, it won’t.  I fall back on – I was about to say “tropes", but that sounds too negative – call them “rules of thumb”, that apply.

Be authentic.  Be kind.  Be caring. Be yourself.  Be.  Just be.

And the final chapters in Michael Lewis’ expose?  To be written.  And I have a lot to say about the storyline.  In fact, I have *everything* to say about the storyline.  It’s my book, after all.

Will you read through to the end?  Will you be there?

I wish Paul Kedrosky would fix his damned IE javascript issues, but he’s a good source of bloggorhea. Or, alternatively, if Twhirl would just let me use Flock instead of IE I wouldn’t need to use IE in the first place.

My point, if I have one, is that Kedrosky has a post up with data about the average age of tech entrepreneurs. Contrary to what your hacker Ruby friends would lead you to believe, the average age is a monumental 39 years old.

Good news for me, I suppose. I have three more years to dink around and procrastinate!