Foggy Night Epiphanies

Twice in recent nights, I have bought a coffee or a latte, a scone or a doughnut, and sat on a bench by Lloyd Lake, watching the water, the lowering fog precipitating into water droplets, and the street lamps just turning on.

It is close to major roads, but very still. It's the sort of place to take stock of things, to question your assumptions, to take a breath between work and going home for the night to write.

Everyone needs a place like this, especially because it is almost literally across the road from my house, so when I get hungry or get tired of thinking and want a beer, I don't have to be particularly patient.

I've been thinking about the assumption I've made that I've always been doing my very best to treat everyone as well as could be desired. I don't know if I have. I considered making a mental checklist of all the actions that might make me feel secretly guilty, but as my Dad said, checklists are too simplistic for dealing with people. Relationships with people are ambiguous, even when you have--or are pretty sure you have--the best of intentions.

I think the conclusion that I reached is that a checklist, either mental or written, is not a cure-all, but it might provide a basis for self-evaluation, which is always a good thing, if done honestly. Of course, as Han Solo pointed out to Obi-Wan and Luke regarding the avoidance of Imperial entanglements, "Well, that's the trick, isn't it?"

Han also told Princess Leia, "You like me because I'm a scoundrel." So he clearly knew what he was talking about.

Perhaps the real trick is having some place like Lloyd Lake, or at least that sort of routine, where you can step away from everything for a minute or two and take the time to think, rather than just being swept along in a flood of choices and decisions.