The psychological game I play.

I used to be a sportswriter. In my younger days. Made a living that way. But decided I had better things to write about. Though I’ve remained a fanatic of the Chicago Cubs. Virtually all my life. I follow the Chicago Bears, too. But not quite so avidly. Used to watch and listen to games. From beginning to end. On TV. Or the radio. Now I seldom watch games. Don’t like to get caught up in the excitement. And the element of chance. Over which I have no control. I’d rather wait. And check the score after the game is over. If the Cubs or Bears win, give me the joyful details. Might watch highlight clips of the game. If my teams lose, I  avoid sportscasts. After all, I want to feel good. A loss makes me feel less so. Yes, it's a sign that I don’t always know how to put a loss in proper perspective. So that I’m not bothered. I’m always pleased by a win. But I groan and moan over a loss. Especially a hard luck one. The lost opportunities. The what ifs... When bad luck strikes the Cubs and Bears, it's as if the nasty baseball and football gods are responsible. For robbing  me of a simple pleasurable moment. They decided to be cruel and make me suffer. Little wonder, I seldom watch a game. Through. To the end. I'd rather wait for the result. Knowing whether it’s gonna be emotionally safe for me.  To delve in. –Jim Broede

The real test of our love.

I appreciate winter. In Minnesota. No kidding. It ain’t that bad. Just walked 12 miles today. Beautiful weather. Sunny. Chilly. But not cold. Because it’s near freezing. Could be 20 below zero. Furthermore, no snow on the ground. Makes for easy walking. The lake is frozen over.  But I wouldn’t risk walking on it. Maybe not until January. And by then, I’ll be in Arizona. Cavorting with my Italian true love. Customarily, I’d be in Sardinia now. With my true love. But we decided on a different scenario this winter.  It’ll be her first plunge into the American Southwest. One of these winters,  I’ll  lure my true love to Minnesota. She comes in the summertime. But the real test of our love will be when she arrives in the winter. During a blizzard. And 30-below. But hey, look at it as another life experience. Something to fondly remember. –Jim Broede

Because I live a blessed life

Occasionally, I lament. Over little things. Over big things. Essentially, over what could have been. And wasn’t. Like when my dear sweet Jeanne became dementia riddled. With Alzheimer’s. And died seven years ago. But I stopped lamenting. When I learned acceptance. And got on with the rest of my good life. Letting life evolve. Naturally. I have a second true love. A lovely and intelligent Italian. I had Jeanne for 38 years. For which I am thankful. Really, no reason to fret any more. Because I live a blessed life. Always have. –Jim Broede

What is true spirit?

I have a yearning. To become spirit. To shed my body. My physical being. Yet still be alive. Aware. I imagine spirit as a conscious existence. But without the handicap of being locked up. Inside something. Contained. I want to be free. To go anywhere in all of creation.  To live on the same plateau as the creator. In a sense, to be his equal. Unencumbered by the physical realities of life. Able to observe the physical. Without being in it.  I wonder if true spirit exists. Now. Inside me. Is it the soul? I am enamored. By the thought of spirit. Wondering. Wondering. What is true spirit? –Jim Broede

Knowing he's lived the good life

I know self-destructive people. A care-giver, for instance. Wrapped up in caring for her dementia-riddled father. In the process, she’s flagellating and destroying herself.  Won’t surprise me if she dies before her father. Doesn’t make sense. But still, she’s hell-bent. On doing the ‘right thing.’  Of course, I tell her it’s the ‘wrong thing.’ That she’d be better off  by taking well-deserved breaks. So that she’s around to bury her father. Knowing he lived the good life. That should be sufficient. A real blessing. Doesn't matter the way he died. –Jim Broede

On accepting my destiny.

Everything is preordained. My life.  Everything. Can’t be altered. No matter how hard I try. My every movement. Is dictated. By a life force. Over which I have absolutely no control. When I think otherwise, it’s self-deception.  There is no such thing as free will. That’s my opinion at the moment. Give me time. Until tomorrow. And I’ll change my mind. Only because it’s preordained that I will. Shifting. Back and forth.  Wish I truly had free rein. That my destiny wasn't on a set, unalterable course. But today, I know better. Beyond a doubt. That everything falls into place.  Just the way the creator meant it to.  He knows exactly what’s gonna happen next. Like clockwork. Tick. Tick. Tick. Every tick followed by another tick. Endless ticks. Until the end of time. When it all begins over again. In the exact same way. Nothing different. I’ll still be writing my blog. Like a crazy man. Compelled (maybe condemned) to accept my destiny. –Jim Broede

I am grand and glorious.

At the moment, I feel that I’m not so lazy after all. That I have created a grand and glorious life. That I like my pursuits. Because they are fulfilling. I feel good. Psychologically.  Spiritually. And that’s really what matters. Maybe I assumed that I’m lazy. Because I don’t work. Never have. Instead, I pursue pleasure. Doing things I like to do. So here I am. Feeling grand and glorious and in love with life. –Jim Broede