When I'm building odds and ends around my house there is always a moment when I have to determine how much I care about precision and aesthetics. While I claim to be a master of getting the job done, my attention to detail can be vanilla depending on the project. My focus is mostly dialed into the structure of the object versus the minutiae of how it appears. This personal oversight is on my self-help to-do list.
I've started collecting leftover nails and screws that I randomly find in a mason jar in my garage. I'm confident the velcro shoes and Ensure come next. Despite this new geriatric habit, I do see the value of reusing versus tossing these nomadic construction accoutrements. This must be genetic as my father perfected this art as well over the past 3 decades of mine and his life.
And here we are now with copious amounts of various rusted securements found from old fence posts, an extra screw that came with the new sofa, and hundreds of assorted items from rounds of various renovations.
In a self-appointed, OCD determination, I've tasked myself to organize this nest of small metal connectors. Within this generational bundle of chaos, there is a good diversity of quality, size, and types of nails and screws. Some are rusted. Some are bent. But a majority are still useful if they have maintained their structural integrity. As much as my minimalist soul despises the practice of hoarding, I do value the feeling of building something new with old parts.
I spend a fair amount of time thinking about what I'll do once my muscles wear down and I'm confined to a small local radius. Perhaps this writing is simply a therapeutic exercise to put my mind at ease about what and how I will fill my time when not in my prime.
At my mid-lifeish age, most days, I fight what I call "The Grump". It's the natural tendency to be agitated about seemingly normal happenings as we age. Examples you ask? People not using blinkers, dogs that bark too much, lawn mowers that don't start promptly, customer service phone lines that don't solve the problem, the weatherman being wrong, the seemingly lost next upcoming generation who won't get off my lawn.....you get the sentiment.
The way that I narrow down what my ideal inner old man looks like is by reflecting on the older versions of humans that I revere and then trying to replicate the qualities of said human in myself. The common denominators of these observed admirable characteristics have been: asking more questions than speaking, open-mindedness, simple human kindness and patience to name a few.
The more of #TheGrump I let creep into my day-to-day life, the further I get from that charasmatic old guy wearing camo crocs to his local cafe. My message to the hpothetical people reading this is that the decision to be an upstanding persona isn't made once you retire. It's a habitual practice every time you wake up and interact with fellow sapiens. Structural integrity is built over a lifetime of decisions.
Similar to the rusty nails bound for my garage mason jar, the fact that you're continually aging shouldn't be an excuse to lessen your wholesomeness. As long as there is a healthy amount of structural integrity that has been acquired over the years, there should still be intrinsic value being broadcast to the folks around you. Yep.
New in my life: Online forums say it's only known for hogs and hunting but I feel like there's more to it. Apple cores aren't litter. This marks 101 for the hobby writer. My enneagram made me do it.
Keep smilin'
JM
