For twenty-two of a day's twenty-four hours, I'm a contented kind of guy. Not self-satisfied by a long shot, but by and large reconciled to both my modest achievements and to my inadequacies. Yet between 2AM and 4AM, in the dark insomniac gloom, I'm a different person. I struggle with "what ifs," with "should have's," with alternative life choices of every ilk, however trivial. Although I am well aware that (in 80's pop psychology) one shouldn't "should" on oneself, I "should" relentlessly. I become a classic second-guesser, a merciless self-critic, a shrill Monday morning quarterback of my own life.
So because "dark is the dawn when day is nigh," with sleep or the coming of the sun, I revert to my normal, equable self.
A parable: yesterday we went for a walk on one of our town's many lovely open-space trails. This walk took us right through an extensive prairie dog village. It was a sunny day and the little plague-bearing rodents were outside — cute, furry, squeaky, sitting or standing, each one asserting possession of his or her own burrow.
I said to my companion, "If I were a prairie dog, I'd probably be saying, 'I should have chosen a different spot for my burrow. If I had just dug it a yard or two north, or fifty feet away next to that tree, or even over the hill, I would have led a much more productive life. Who knows, I might have had a better burrow. I might have eaten more forbs and fescue. I might have had more mates, I might have achieved more. My kits would have been more advantaged. I could have made better use of my brief time on earth. I could have been better prairie dog.'"
Don't laugh, please! This is serious stuff.
I don't need to underline the lesson of this tale. It's plenty obvious.
But will its wisdom and perspective console me tonight?
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