“You have power over your mind — not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.” — Marcus Aurelius.
Wisdom comes from knowledge, good judgment, and life experience. While I’m not old, I’ve certainly had my fair share of life experiences and enough wasted time to fill a school bus and drive into a hole the size of the Grand Canyon twice. But does admitting that make me wise? I doubt it. For starters, I’m no genius. Genius comes from the ability to process knowledge and life experience with pinpoint accuracy and a touch of empathy to soften the edges and then, as some say, keep your mouth shut about it. I fail miserably.
Regarding knowledge, I often feel like I fall woefully short; ask me a question and listen for the echo inside the hallow of my head as my eyes cross in confusion.
My conjecture and emotionalism make for bad politics and drain any semblance of wisdom, if not my sanity. Keep me away from politics–I eat conspiracy theories with the voracity of a fly on a pile of canine alley stink.
Learning is of the utmost importance to me, but I must question myself: how often do I make time to delve into the topics that truly interest me? Sadly, not as much as I’d like. The other night, I found myself glued to the TV, watching endless coverage of Donald Trump’s conviction. Did this empower me with new insights, historical references, or tidbits of wisdom to carry forward? A resounding no–Conspiracy theories, however? Of course! My quest for knowledge got hijacked by the latest headline drama and my fertile imagination.
Power up the yellow school bus, more wasted time to drive into my canyon hole. Maybe next time, I’ll pick up a book instead — at least it won’t scream back at me unless I’m reading Confederacy of Dunces and Ignatius J. Riley shouts a little advice at me:
“When my brain begins to reel from my literary labors, I make an occasional cheese dip.”
Hmm, I chose French Silk Pie and gained the wisdom to know that politics gives me hives, and French Silk Pie makes me fart uncontrollably–I wish I were kidding; I love chocolate.
If I take a page from Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations, I have to ask myself: Did I censure anyone? Well, I gave myself a good talking-to before bed Thursday night for wasting time on the news. I also engaged in some internal screaming, loudly voicing my political theories in my head, which I’ll keep to myself for the sake of everyone’s sanity, but that’s self-effacing, isn’t it? Did I reprove anyone else? Not unless I’m in my Jeep driving in rush-hour traffic, in which case, I’m screaming and fist-waving at drivers ahead of and behind me:
You bastards! Learn how to drive! Did all of you morons get your driver’s license at the bottom of a box of Cracker Jacks? Why, oh why, am I the only one who knows how to drive?
My wisdom wanes whenever I cast my eyes on a Prius. I want to put them all on my imaginary yellow school bus and drive it off a cliff into my Grand Canyon hole. If that isn’t wise, what is?
I’m fairly level-headed outside of my Jeep and think people don’t need me to tell them how to run their lives since I’m generally struggling to manage my own affairs. I never want to be the unemployed, highly indebted individual with more problems than a math book who decides to become a life coach. If I did, I know what I would say to clients:
Do what I do. Seriously, I have a whole bunch of experience from a multitude of smarts, fantastic choices, and unique life experiences. I’ll show you how to be successful, just like me, but make sure you pay me first. I’ve got one cigarette left in the pack, and they raised the price again. So, let’s get this life coaching session rolling before I run out of smokes and mirrors, oops, I mean, money.
I’m kidding, I don’t smoke.
So, am I wise? Nah, I’ll leave that virtue to the non-driving brainiacs I saw protesting hysterically at Northwestern University the other day. They were loud, and their pubescent, shrill voices hurt my ears. I do, however, have enough wisdom to tell them to run if they see me drive up with a yellow school bus; the cliff on the rim of the Grand Canyon is high, and the hole has a lot of room.
A Prayer for me:
Oh, Marcus Aurelius, please give me strength; your profound wisdom escapes me.