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So Close and Yet So Far

Sunshine, calling to all right-thinking persons to come out and play in its mood-lifting light, poured into the windows of our suite in Cocoa Village. I stood at the window, having completed my morning qigong, and stared without seeing into the duckweed bog that bordered the gardens. 

I like the sunshine as a general rule—in fact, my morning constitution includes a brisk 20-minute walk in it. But on this particular morning, it brought no cheer. I must have looked like something standing in the showroom of a Harley Street Taxidermist.

A moralist, watching me standing there, might have remarked, smugly, that it cuts both ways. The peer of the realm, he might consider me to be, enjoying a robust fitness far above that which his irresponsible younger years might warrant, often suffers the outrageous slings and arrows of uncertain fortune. 
This world is, after all, full of uncertainty and bogs filled with duckweed, and at any moment, life may come swooping down out of the blue and smack one behind the ear with a sock of wet sand. It pays to be ready.
I, of course, have none of the training of the normal person who after suffering years of waiting 45 minutes to be seated is prepared to take the big one in stride. No, I am one of the blessed ones who have slept well, learned quickly, and measured up to the demands of a rigorous life. 
In short, the universe has worked things out in my favor. Oh sure, sometimes the moment seems to be lost but it always works out all right in the end.
Is it any surprise then that in the agony of this sudden, treacherous shock I was left feeling and looking stunned, like the blowfly that has met the swatter? You may have seen a comic illustration of the ostrich that has swallowed something he shouldn’t. You may have or you may not but, seen or not, that’s the way I felt. 
And I’ll tell you why I felt like a large flightless bird with a brass doorknob in its throat. I absolutely insist on being happy, joyous, and free that’s why. But is that enough explanation? Perhaps not. Let me marshal my thoughts and have another go.
I’ve recently become acquainted with the work of Nobel laureate, Daniel Kahneman, founder of behavioral economics and widely regarded as the world’s most influential living psychologist. 
When you’re a psychological phenomenon like me, you pay attention to what the world’s most influential living psychologists are thinking. According to Kahneman, we are happy when we can look back over our lives and remember plenty of happy memories.
If happy experiences are to be stored in long-term memory, he argues, those experiences must be as meaningful as they are happy. Otherwise, all that short-term happiness doesn't amount to beans. To be happy, really happy, we must have happy experiences that are truly meaningful. 
Now you will understand I think, why a recent scheduling conflict that prohibits the happiest and most meaningful experience of all, had led to the melancholy that flooded my soul. Melancholy heaped up, pressed down, and overflowing.
As I stood brooding, if that’s the word I want, the door behind me opened and Ms. Wonder entered the suite with coffee. I glanced at her with an apprehensive eye because she is not known for great empathy with those who, as she would express it, whine. 
I feared she might wound me with some flippancy. My concern lessened when I took in her countenance and discerned no frivolity, only a certain gravity that became her well.
“Bad business,” she said handing me a cup of Jah’s Mercy from the Rastafari CafĂ© on the corner.
“Hell’s foundations quiver,” I said.
“What are you going to do about it?” she said.
“Do?” I said. “What can I do?” This is my standard answer to a question about what I plan to do but it seemed especially appropriate in this case.
“Well, there’s no need to spend extra money when we can get a discounted rate at an inn farther away from the arts district,” she said.
“Wonder,” I said, “just what are you talking about?”
“Spring training, of course,” she said.
“I’m sorry, but it sounded to me that you said spring training.”
“Spring training is what I said,” she informed me. “It’s March and the baseball games have filled the hotels up and down the coast, right? We can’t stay an extra night in this hotel so we have to find another one and I have a coupon for the Fairfield by the Interstate.”
I stared at her dumbfounded. While I stood brooding and contemplating how much life had suddenly become a pond full of duckweed, this marvelous wonder had found within easy reach a prime opportunity to experience a day full of wonder and amusement leading to many long-term happy memories.
I’m sure Dr. Kahneman would approve when I say that I would sleep in the car if it meant a chance to be happy. Wouldn’t you?
“Wonder,” I said. “I would gladly sleep in the car to ensure a joyful tomorrow.”
She turned, shaking her head, and left the room but I heard her say as she walked out of sight, “I’m calling the Fairfield to see if they have any rooms left.”
Once again I turned to stare into the bog. Memories of a happy childhood played out like movies in my mind. My dearest and most cherished memories lived once more and it created a bitter-sweet mood because of what might have been. 
I felt the impact of Tom Hank’s words, like a sock full of wet sand to the occipital bone when in the role of Walt Disney in the movie, Saving Mr. Banks, he said, “I love that mouse.”