Why I Write
As a youth I climbed steep, rocky mountains, participated in street demonstrations, and attempted to read Immanuel Kant. I boasted that thirty years of intensive life were preferable to a long-lasting life of boring vegetation. I was vocal, but aimless. I was also … quite unhappy.
Five decades have passed. My youth is gone. I no longer climb, hike, and ski to absorb an over-abundant youthful exuberance. Now I amble along the creek in a local state park. I chat with passers-by and their dogs. They recognize me as “the walking Pole with nordic poles”.
Emotionally I care deeply about American political life, but … with moderation. Never could I burn the flag, throw stones, or destroy statues. No, those are passions of youth. My brain—no longer willing to attempt to follow Kant’s rambling, incoherent-to-me logic—rebels. No, philosophy should be a balm for the wounds of life, not cause anxiety. This morning I listened to a Roman sage during my walk. Destructive passion, he tells me, must be moderated with reason. Accept mortality; face death with equanimity. Be willing to practice poverty; use wealth properly, he says, and he speaks of the importance of friendship, the need to benefit others and the need to accept adversity without resentment.
Such thoughts are indeed balm for my soul. They harmonize with the breeze in majestic trees towering above the walkway and with the faint gurgle of the creek below. When I hear a bird’s song, I turn my iPhone off, and listen to the bird. When a dog I am acquainted with approaches me saying “Hello!”, even a senator will have to wait his turn.
And no longer do I try to convince anybody of my truths and opinions. I doubt they ever had value. In fact, I no longer have strong opinions at all. No more arguing points of view! I’d rather give people entertainment, by telling a story—a story that brings a smile or a moment of reflection, or both.
That’s my role in life. Let me serve others by giving a brief respite from routine thoughts. I lack the material wealth to build a hospital or library, but if my animal stories make you relax and chuckle instead of worrying about problems, then I will have succeeded far beyond Jeff Bezos, for he has only his billions, but I have made a new friend.
Why do I write light, entertaining stories? I’m now a happy man.
How did this happen? Is my second motherland in the USA a better mother to me than my real-one? Or maybe, with age, I now accept life as it is instead of trying to change things or ‘make things better’?
Whatever the reason, I understand now what I am and where I am: a small bubble of consciousness floating haphazardly around the material realm. What a relief! Instead of fighting to prove I am somebody else, I enjoy every hour of who I truly am.
© 2023 Romuald Roman
