SWEATING SMALL STUFF - REVISITED

            Two years after I retired from the practice of law in 1996, I wrote an article entitled Surprise, Surprise for the ABA periodical, Business Law Today, reporting on how the realities of retirement already differed from what my expectations regarding them had been.

             So, for instance: 

• I wasn’t (as had been expected) bedding down earlier and waking up later than before – rather, I’d stuck with my prior habits.

• Although I had correctly anticipated that life outside the law office would not be as stressful, I failed to foresee how less adept I was to become in coping with those fewer stressful circumstances I did encounter – like standing fitfully on a slow-moving line at an airport counter.

• I expected a big reduction in being bombarded by the strident tones of the telephone, but no such luck – lots of people were calling, mispronouncing my name, and determined to sell me something I didn’t want.

• I assumed I’d remain interested in corporate mergers and gossipy lawyering stuff, but I wasn’t – my taste having switched in large part to fascination with the daily machinations of Monicagate.

• I had taken under advisement the idea that, with me at home all day but my wife actively engaged in real estate brokerage, I might turn myself into a partial househusband, assuming some of the chores around our living quarters that she’d been juggling for so many years – but guess what . . . .

  I recently chanced to re-read that article I penned back then. One particular aspect stood out, which I’ve chosen as my topic today.

  I had written that on one of the post-retirement trips my wife and I took, Barbara (who had long been advocating for more seemly composure from her husband) bought me a copy of a little book positioned near an airport store’s cash register called Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff – and it’s all small stuff. (Richard Carlson, Hyperion 1997). It consisted of, in the author’s words, “100 simple ways to keep the little things from taking over your life.”

           In browsing through the book, I could see that it contained some sound advice, such as:

          “Remind yourself that when you die, your ‘in basket’ won’t be empty” (so don’t worry about getting through your list of things to do each day);

          "Repeat to yourself, 'Life isn’t an emergency’ ” (and thus avoid taking your goals so seriously as to turn simple preferences into conditions for your happiness); and

        “Keep asking yourself, 'What’s really important?’” (in order to maintain your priorities and prevent getting lost in your own “busyness”).

            “Master these precepts," said Barbara, after making a quick scan of the contents, “and you’ll be a lot calmer and happier.” I had to admit it seemed eminently logical, and my expectations were high. 

            For the next few weeks, I tried my best – I really did – but here’s what 1 soon discovered. The encrustation of 35 years of lawyering – during which the essence of being effective lay in one’s ability to successfully sweat the small stuff – was too resistant to change at this late date. I had my priorities, to be sure, and I fully intended to get around to them, just as soon as I cleared away some of the debris that caused me to wake up with a start in the middle of the night and reach for a pencil . . . .

            Now, 37 years after I wrote that article, I decided to re-read parts of Dr. Carlson’s book, just to see if over time I’ve managed to avoid sweating the small stuff.

            What I found was that much of the material in the book is aimed at your relations with other people. And for this, Dr. Carlson has loads of good advice. Thus:

“Choose your battles wisely.” (i.e., don’t argue about what movie to watch.)

“Let others have the glory.”

“Do something nice for someone else – and don’t tell anyone about it.”

“Smile at strangers, look into their eyes and say hello.

“Become a better listener.”

“Practice humility.”

“Resist the urge to criticize.”

“Be willing to learn from friends and family.”

“Stop blaming others.”

“The next time you find yourself in an argument, rather than defend your position, see if you can see the other point of view first.”

“Mind your own business.”

And so on.

            Valuable counsel indeed. And I’m sure a good number of my readers might find the guidance beneficial.

             But as I’ve eased into my 90’s, I’ve found that controversial contacts with others have waned, and the issues between us have largely disappeared. So for me it’s not the main arena where – spoiler alert! – I’m still sweating the small stuff. My current sweats relate largely to matters directly affecting myself alone – not in company with others. I’ll focus here on these, disclose how I’m sweating, and speculate whether Dr. Carlson’s antidotes might be helpful in calming me down. (I should note that although Dr. Carlson has since passed away, I’ll address him as if he’s still offering his many nostrums.)

            For instance, one thing that really bothers me at this advanced age is how a lot of what I do for myself takes much longer to accomplish than it used to – a reality that I’m definitely having trouble adjusting to. Take, for instance, those morning bathroom ablutions, featuring lotions, brushes, pills and such. It seems to me I used to whip through such small stuff in much less time. As a result, I’m often irritated and increasingly frustrated at the mounting minutes this stuff takes. And that’s to say nothing about all those extra minutes spent dressing myself and getting ready to face the day. So I must confess to often indulging in outbursts that are hard to control . . . . Hey, Dr. Carlson, how about all these small stuff sweats?

            If he were still around, the Doctor would probably start off with something like this. Well, Jim, for openers became more patient. . . Patience is essential for inner peace . . . The more patient you are, the more accepting you will be of what is, rather than insisting that life be exactly as you would like it . . . . It might also be a good time to breathe, as well as an opportunity to remind yourself that, in the bigger scheme of things, [washing, dressing, being late, etc.] is all “small stuff”.

            Here are a few other thoughts his book offers that bear some relevance to this particular problem.

• Relax. Train yourself to turn your melodrama into a mellow-drama.

• Don’t worry about being perfect. Cut yourself some slack.

• Keep asking yourself, “What’s really important?” When I take a few moments to remind myself of what’s really important, I find that I’m more present-moment oriented, in less of a hurry . . . .

*   *   *

Okay, Doctor, here’s another subject. I find it’s increasingly tougher to handle physical stuff – like getting out of the back seat of a cab – and I’m embarrassed to admit that I frequently let people in the immediate neighborhood hear how I feel about this state of affairs. This is what Dr. Carlson might say in response:

• “Think of what you have instead of what you want . . .  Each time you notice yourself falling into the ‘I wish life were different’ trap, back off and start over. Take a breath and remember what you have to be grateful for.”

You’re damn right on this one, Doc. After all, I’m alive and kicking, unlike so many of my contemporaries. And hey, I’m riding in a cab – don’t need to take the bus or subway.

*   *   *

A primary source of my annoyance relates to electronic stuff – computers, phones, etc. It’s clear that the average ten-year-old kid could quickly overcome the operational problems I experience daily. And, shame on me, I get mad as hell about it – definitely sweating the small stuff . . . . What about this, Doctor?

• Make peace with imperfection. While there’s always a better way to do something, this doesn’t  mean you can’t enjoy and appreciate the way things already are. Gently remind yourself that life is okay the way it is, right now.

• Repeat to yourself, “Life is not an emergency.” The first step in becoming a more peaceful person is to have the humility to admit that, in most cases you’re creating your own emergencies. Life will usually go on if things don’t go according to plan.

            Well, Doc, that doesn’t quite do it for me. Take for instance, the enhanced state of irration I experience when trying to type a word with an “a” in it – you’ll admit, sir, that there are plenty of these – and you then zoom ahead with the rest of the paragraph, only to discover when you look up at the screen that your left pinky missed the “a” completely. Instead, it struck that terribly positioned “caps lock” key, and the entire paragraph is staring out at you in capital letters that now must be deleted and replaced with their lower case cousins . . . .

Ah, but Dr. Carlson is ready for this:

• Count slowly to ten before getting angry. (If you’re really angry, continue to twenty-five). Then relax your entire body as you breathe out after each number. It’s a mini-version of a mediation exercise. The combination of counting and breathing is so relaxing that it’s almost impossible to remain angry once you are finished. It helps make “big stuff” look like “little stuff.”

              Well, I’ll give it a try, but I’m not optimistic about the results . . . .

*    *    *

            Okay, the small stuff I’ve mentioned so far does bug me and cause sweat, but now it’s time to face up to my biggest problems in all this – remembering specific words.

            I analyzed the problem a dozen years ago in a lengthy poem (originally titled Musings at 83), from which I’ll now quote a few excerpts in order to put the problem into perspective.

            For octogenarian chaps,

            one of the major traps

            is the dreaded memory lapse.

             There were a number of memory lapse and senior moments I deplored but,

            Today, however, you get a reprieve –

            that other stuff you won’t receive.

            I’m sticking to a single peeve –

            the way you feel so damn absurd,

            when you forget a chosen word.

             Here’s my most recent analysis

            of this distressing paralysis,

 When a verbal abyss casts you amiss

(so you feel like a clown,

            face wreathed in a frown)

            the word that’s escaped you is usually a NOUN!

             (That’s when I rechristened the poem, The Noun Nemesis.)

             Nouns are the definite villain –

                        – with adverbs I’m superb

                        – I can function with a conjunction

                        – with a participle, I’m no cripple

                        – I can run errands with gerunds

                        – and encounter no curbs with verbs

        But I’m not aces with nouns, names and places.

        Just reflect on this:

            “promiscuity,” “fortitude,”

            “undertow,” “sanitorium” –

            all the missing words of renown are a noun.

 And part of what a noun embraces –

which your tired brain misplaces –

            are names of  people and of places.

            Henderson, Anderson, Donaldson, Schwartz;

            Yokohama, LeHavre, Moresby, and more ports.

 It’s a terrible shame

that in recalling such names

            I am now forced to claim

that I’m really quite lame.

             Well, I won’t say I’ve re-read every word of Dr. Carlson’s book, but I can’t remember any mention of this particular annoyance in there.

            But it’s real, and I know many others who suffer from it – or is it just those of us over, say, 75? Maybe Dr. Carlson didn’t know any oldsters . . . .

            It drives me crazy. Like when I’m telling a certain joke that has long been one of my amusing staples. But this time, as I near the punch line, I realize it depends on a certain word – and I just can’t remember what that word is.

            The worst noun nemesis of all here is the name of someone you’ve known for years. Sure, if you have time and can do some checking around through old emails and such, you can retrieve it, but that really doesn’t count – the fact is that it ain’t there when you need it.

            Oh sure, some of the Dr. Carlson’s more general recommendations can be applied here to lower the temperature:   

• Become more patient

• Relax

• Cut yourself some slack

• Keep asking yourself, “What’s really important?”

• Ask yourself the question, “will this matter a year from now?”

                Well, that might reduce sweating on some kinds of small stuff, but not the noun nemesis!

            Not that I have a decent remedy for this and other memory loss items, although I’ve written a lot in this area*, but won’t go into here. In any event, the answer to the big question I posed earlier is, definitely, I’m still very much sweating the small stuff!

* For instance, the essay “Save Me a Good Spot” in my 1992 book Advise and Invent; the essay “Senior Moments” and “The Noun Nemesis” in my 2023 book Collected Non-Fiction (1997-2003); and in sections of each of the periodic essays I’ve sent out as I turned 75, 80, 85, (in the “collection” book) and 90. (my blog entry for August 2024).