Author: Fred Blahnik

Mental illness is typically NOT just a plain absolute, with all its dreadful victims ensconced within nuthouses–restrained in clumsy straitjackets and leering like Hannibal Lector–while receiving electric shock treatments coupled with monstrous doses of lithium every day of the week. Rather, in easily the greatest majority of cases, true mental illness manifests in varying gradations of intensity, ranging from very trivial to very severe.  You can see these gradations in every direction you turn, whether it is “collecting” versus hoarding, “hot-tempered” versus uncontrolled anger, “methodical” versus obsessive/compulsive, “high-strung” versus wanton anxiety, “on guard” versus paranoid, “rambunctious” versus suffering from attention deficit disorder, etc., etc., etc.  I hope you’re getting the general idea by now:  One does not have to be a complete basket case frantically gulping down handfuls of serotonin re-uptake inhibitors or Haloperidol to be experiencing mental illness.  No, you can see it all around you in a whole lot of individuals in sundry degrees of severity.  But what is the common denominator connecting this disparate group of sufferers, you ask?  Almost without exception, these people would all vehemently deny and scoff at the suggestion that they suffer from any form of mental illness whatsoever, acutely aware of the onerous stigma which attends mental illness and which unfortunately is still so prevalent in today’s so-called “modern” society.

Old Fossil received a Nike shoe catalog in the mail one day purely by accident. But—not having anything better to do with his time in yet another long, dreary day—he decided to peruse the publication.  And as he paged through the catalog which showcased state-of-the-art athletic footwear, he suddenly stopped when he got to one page and his gaze froze on one particular pair of sneakers.  His wife—who was sitting right next to him on the living room sofa watching her favorite soap opera—noticed this and smiled.  “Wilbur…..I see that you’re looking through the shoe catalog that came in the mail today.  Did you find something in there that you really like?”  Old Fossil shook his head in the affirmative.  “Yes, Mildred, I did.  I surely did indeed!!  This pair of shoes right here….these here Air Jordans”—and he stopped talking at this juncture to jab an index finger at the opened catalog page—“are just about the greatest thing I’ve seen since Herbert Hoover was president and Prohibition ended!” His wife smiled more broadly.  “Then why don’t you buy them, Wilbur?!  You hardly ever purchase anything, least of all for yourself!”  Old Fossil scrunched up his face like he had just swallowed a big gulp of castor oil.  “I would, Mildred, I would…..but, y’know, there’s one thing about this pair of shoes that I really don’t like, and it’s a big, BIIIIIG drawback, let me tell you!”  Mildred glanced down at the pair of shoes once again, and her jaw plummeted then when she noticed the price associated with the pair of shoes her husband had fallen in love with.  “Oh my God, Wilbur, I see what you mean!  They’re asking three hundred dollars for your favorite pair of shoes.  What…..are those things made out of gold and platinum and accented with pink diamonds?!  I agree with you, Wilbur, that’s a totally ridiculous price to ask for just one pair of sneakers!!”  Old Fossil just smiled and shook his head, but this time in the negative.  “Actually, the price doesn’t bother me one bit, Mildred.  You know that I have nearly a million dollars stashed away in savings accounts in various financial institutions, so this pair of shoes would merely be a drop in the bucket compared to that sum of money.  No, there’s one giant flaw ruining this pair of otherwise knock-‘em-dead sneakers, and it doesn’t have a damned thing to do with the price they’re asking either!”  Mildred had grown a tad annoyed by this point in time at her husband’s smug reticence, and thus responded with an unmistakable tone of sarcasm in her voice.  “Well, tell me then, Wilbur:  What exactly is this ‘giant flaw’ you’ve identified with your gold-plated, three-hundred-dollar pair of sneakers that are fit for a king??”  Old Fossil was swift in retorting.  “That’s easy, Mildred.  The damned things have old-fashioned shoelaces to tie instead of Velcro straps!!”

No matter how daunting a task looming in front of you may seem—–JUST START IT!!!!! You won’t know for sure whether or not you can accomplish the damned thing unless you actually dig in and try!  A lot of endeavors look virtually impossible on the surface when viewed at a distance through a long-range lens, but then once you become immersed in the experience a whole new set of possibilities open up that weren’t clearly visible at the outset.  Life is chronically embroiled in a dizzying state of flux, as are the smaller units within it that we more familiarly call days, hours, and minutes.  Thus don’t ever be intimidated into not starting a scary project out of fear of not being able to finish it.  Instead, constantly strive to remember this transcendent corollary:  Failing honorably as the direct consequence of a noble effort is nothing to be ashamed of!!!  You did your best–all your body was physically capable of doing–and that’s the only part of the grand equation that genuinely matters!!!!!

You don’t think you are a leader; you intuitively KNOW you are a leader. Followers busily think, while leaders instinctively react.  Leaders reflexively take action, while followers sit around wringing their hands and waiting for inspiration.  Leaders never ask for directions; they instantly GIVE directions without ever stopping to think about pecking orders or hierarchies.

…..when he awoke in the morning the weather outside was cold, drizzly, disagreeable……depressing as hell really. He decided it would be a good day to stay inside and do something productive in that comfortable environment, yet nothing instantly sprang to mind that even remotely piqued his interest.  Such being the case, he rolled over in bed and resolved to go back to sleep, even though his body felt well-rested and he wasn’t the least bit tired anymore.  After all, why fight such a tantalizing impulse and pretend to be all gung-ho when there was nothing better to do than lay in bed and contemplate abstract issues?…..

I started a tiny rumor. The thing grew bigger and bigger until it morphed into a colossus and next it spread like wildfire, engulfing everything in its destructive path.  The rumor is not tiny anymore.  The wildfire it spawned has run amok and is now arrantly out of control, and a pristine reputation has been destroyed in the process.  The only residua left behind in this conflagration’s wake are scorched earth and massive regrets.  All the result of just a tiny rumor which I was responsible for starting with no forethought as to what its exponential consequences might turn out to be…..

Quitting is like a disease that swiftly metastasizes throughout your body. Once it infiltrates your system and manages to gain a tiny foothold, it is almost as difficult to expunge from your body as tuberculosis or pancreatic cancer–and, yes, it is every bit as devastating and debilitating in the long run as those better-known, fearsome organic monsters.   The aforementioned maladies kill from within, while “Quitting syndrome”–over time–destroys from without.

…..he was not a big thinker, thus she did all of his thinking for him. She was his intellectual avatar, in other words.  And he didn’t mind it one bit; in fact he liked this set-up–appreciated it greatly.  It took the pressure off him.  It didn’t force him into pretending that he was something he clearly was not.  Hence their relationship was exceedingly solid that way; their marriage was one of convenience, and I don’t say that in a pejorative sense either.  He provided the brawn and she provided the brains.  He was the muscle and she was the smarts.  He was the lever and she was the fulcrum.  It was a nice, cozy dynamic they had going on in their old-style household–a classically synergistic relationship, if you will–and this was probably the primary reason which had enabled the pair to be blissfully wed for untold years and counting…..

A lifetime may seem like a long time to you, a mortal being, but to the sun, the moon, and the planets it is but a trifle, a comma lost somewhere in the middle of Tolstoy’s rambling War and Peace. To them, time is as irrelevant and useless as the concepts of finitude and infinity, antiquity and perpetuity, before and after.  Always remember your true place in the overarching scheme of things:  We are merely transient visitors in the celestial bodies’ everlasting Universe, not overly hubristic hosts of some cosmic party.

Nothing of lasting value can be taken from the past.  Nostalgia and wistfulness are slimy, blasphemous miscreants that entrap our feet in quicksand and then inexorably suck us down into a cesspool of treacly sentimentality.  The past is an amorphous vacuum which, and this is true only if you happen to be one of a chosen few, you somehow manage to escape its clutches to live on and fight another day with your spirit intact and your body facing forward.  The rest of humanity?   Sad.  The past takes everyone else prisoner while condemning them to an eternal existence of facing backward with their lives perpetually in rewind, listening to Bruce Springsteen bemoan the “Glory Days” over and over again while they ponder the endless what-ifs and what-might-have-beens indigenous to any organic existence, be it an amoeba’s or a lemur’s or a preposterously intelligent hominid’s.  Pitiful when you stop and think about it, isn’t it??