The other morning, while riding down on the elevator (I am always amazed how much conversation can happen on an elevator ride), a woman who always has a happy countenance got on.  To match her upbeat manner, whenever I see her I greet her with a hearty, “Good morning.  It’s good to see you.  You lift my spirits.”

This time she said to me that although she always tries to present a cheery face, “the tears come down anyway.”  With her index fingers she touched her eyes and followed a path down her cheekbones toward her neck.  At that point the elevator got to the lobby and we got off and went our separate ways.

The other morning while I was eating breakfast my wife was scanning the lead stories in the newspaper.  She uttered an “oh no!”  “What did you read?” I asked.  Patrick Swayze, a favorite actor and a man that she had met on several occasions, had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  Then she said, “Arthur, life is so very fragile, isn’t it?”  And it is.  We don’t know what a day will bring—what tragedy, what loss, or what hurt.

Understanding that life is fragile means to me that we are wise to keep our relationships in good repair.  How many of us wish we had been more attentive with parent, relative, friend, that we had spent quality time with them, that we had said something more, or uttered some forgiving word.

The pigeon seems to be everywhere in the city.  I have yet to hear someone say how wonderful is the pigeon. People will talk about even a sparrow in better terms. Pigeons seems to be regarded as a necessary nuisance.

When I had a cottage on a Maine island my long walks would include time on a beautiful crescent-shaped beach. Often I would sit on a rock to take in the scene. I would see duck families swimming in the water, sea gulls drifting with the wind or gracefully landing in the sand.  I would see swallows, watch sandpipers with fascination, and enjoy the sight of the beach grass along the edges of the beach.

One morning I saw a pigeon on the beach. I said, “What are you doing here?  Go on! You’re disturbing the beauty of my morning experience.”

There’s a common malady running rampant in the 21st century that might be called the “rushing syndrome.” We rush to work…we rush home…we even rush to stop rushing. But we don’t stop until we have a full-blown case of physical and mental exhaustion – the rushing syndrome. Something is wrong and we know it. The symptoms are a sense of futility and dissatisfaction, worry and fatigue due to overwork in trying to get somewhere fast without a clear set of directions. The person who has the malady knows he wants to go somewhere, to make a constructive contribution to life, but he’s so busy rushing that he doesn’t take the time to evaluate his progress.

There’s a cure for that malady which I find exceptionally effective. The answer is found in these words from the French mathematician and philosopher of the 17th century, Blaise Pascal: “All men’s [and women’s] miseries come from their inability to sit quietly and alone.”

“I want to simplify my life.” How many of us have said those very words? Most of us would do well to work at uncomplicating, throwing things out, discarding parts of us that need to be discarded.

How much clutter do you have in your life? How many attachments that are unhealthy? How many addictions that draw you away from what you know you should be doing? How many involvements that are destructive? How much “extra stuff” you don’t really need, but cling to nonetheless?

Do you remember your New Year’s resolution from last year? If so, have you declared victory? Can you say, “I did it, I succeeded”? My sense is that about one percent of us can say that we succeeded in keeping last year’s resolution. With that percentage of success, is the New Year’s resolution a worthwhile effort?

I say yes. We human beings have an incessant desire and need to change, to be better, to improve ourselves. A resolution is a good way to get started. I have some suggestions for how you can succeed.