But Who's Counting?

Discouragement is manifold. In one day we can be discouraged in a nearly infinite number of ways. Attitude counts, sure, but the merriest grin and happiest chortle will dissolve in heat, traffic and frustration.

Then there’s futility. Bust your ass and – goal aside-- you’re left sitting on a busted ass. If it only worked out as expected, you’re discouraged by the amount of effort it took, or disappointed that you didn’t do that extra bit to make it better. And how often do things turn out better than you expected?

I’m reading a book by a writer who crafts words so beautifully that I am humbled and would be ashamed except that you’re here, reading this, so I can’t be as dull as I feel. The passage I just read talked about how he (Jim Harrison) read Neruda and Paz and Lorca to reinvigorate his soul. Escher-like, his words bent my own discouragement.

Everything has a flip side. The aforementioned Mr. Harrison says “It seems we’re either lapsed or evolving.” Stumbling, we see anew. Stagnant, we can reassess. Anger often catalyzes that burst of insight that solves All. Dr. Freud might point out that these are synonyms for perception. In my sophomoric days, we used to say that “Perception is the only reality.”

Discouragement is real, very painfully real. It’s the feeling that one’s spirit has dribbled out like change through a hole in a pocket. Take heart. Spirits can be patched and fed. It’s just a matter of figuring out how.