Now that the many years of corporate tyranny are behind me, I can plod through life at my own steady pace.
My ruts of routine have grown deeper over the years of my semi-retirement.
I say “semi-retirement” because it now appears I am busier than ever.
The one advantage being that I can now do what I want, when I want to, and how I want to do it.
I enjoy working alone despite, or maybe because of, the limitations of older age.
Working alone, I don’t have to try to keep up to the pace of a younger man or prove anything to anybody.
With so little to perturb me I am set in my ways and folks have come to think of me as consistent, a paragon of patience, the pantheon of a country squire.
Most of the time I am consistent in my outlook. What I say, and what I do, are in alignment.
So it can come as a surprise to others (and myself) when my behaviour shows some contradictory elements; when respectability turns to righteousness and courteous replies turn to caustic retorts.
Those close enough to think they know my consistent side are caught unaware by the quirk of my inconsistent side that manifests itself on those rare occasions.
They might think I am acting out of character, not knowing that my true character is more mercurial, rising and falling on a whim or perceived injustice. But I have only to look to others to confirm we are all sometimes inconsistent.
Some of these personal inconsistencies could be harmful to myself, or others.
For example, I usually drive the speed limit or slower, but have been known to drive dangerously fast.
Looking back on those times, I felt I had some urgent need to get to where I was going, or away from somewhere I did not want to be, usually as a result of some emotion trumping logic.
I may try to rationalize my speeding, but my inner self judge is a harsh critic and reminds me that I should plead guilty to doing something that is against my core beliefs and values.
At times my inconsistency affects others around me.
I generally have a long fuse and it takes a lot to upset me.
Yet, sometimes I reach my saturation point with another individual or situation and my chameleon color rapidly changes.
I prefer to think I have control of myself, and know both my weaknesses and limitations. Yet, I lose sight of those qualities when something triggers my inconsistent self.
Several times, stung by the incompetence of a clerk or a customer in dallying around, I have walked out of a store empty-handed. I lose my patience and leave.
There is no end to the number of alleged injustices that can arise when I am out in a public setting. I might plan on taking in a movie, but my fickle mind switches off any desire when I see the long lines outside the cinema.
On occasion a queue jumper will tick me off as much as anybody who cuts in front of me in a long line of traffic.
Or somebody might say something that pushes my yellow caution, or red alert buttons, and my normal jocular self lashes out in a tirade because I strongly hold an opposite view even though I know it is a waste of breath to get into any discussion or debate.
The above examples illustrate how a normally nice guy can, on occasion, turn into a malcontent when his beliefs and values are violated.
I try to remind myself these upsets are “little” things that I should ignore or tolerate and simply let them go, let them be.
It takes an effort to hold the dual notions that a man should remember that there are instances in life he should forget or overlook; and yet never forget those things needing remembering. Yet my memory does not operate so selectively. I cannot expunge repugnant memories any more than memories of unrequited love.
In the past — and probably in the future — I have done things I have regretted that I now like to think were a result of being either youthful and ignorant, or older and wiser but in a temporary state of inconsistent mind.
Regrets come in a vast array of sizes and shapes . . . things done, things not done, things said, and things unsaid.
Show me the man or woman with no regrets and I will show you a liar.
Without at least the inner private admission of regrets, one is not honest with himself, nor does he gain the wisdom to learn, by that curious process conveyed by post hoc analysis of regretful outcomes.
Growing older and wiser is more than the dimly lit idea of putting in one day after another without change.
It is the past events as well as in the light of subsequent events we come to see ourselves grow more clearly.
Still, as I grow older I appear to have grown less tolerant of incompetence or the herd-mentality and dumb ideas.
Maybe, with age comes wisdom, and when I hear some young politician tout about some liberal minded ill-founded idea he is pushing and that idea doesn’t smell right to me, doesn’t pass the smell test for rotten, then the odour of angst rises in my nostrils.
Closeness to family is no guarantee that I will be consistently nice.
If I do not agree with a close family member, I tell them, there and then. I may have regrets later and recognize I could have been more tactful, or should have thought before speaking my mind, and could have handled my concerns in a better manner to more effect, but it’s oftentimes too late, after you lash out, to make amends.
Usually though, my close family members have seen enough of me to know, and accept, that I can be self-contradictory, at times, and act at variance with my usual principles of conduct.
Yet, all in, I suppose it is better to be thought of as being consistent, with the occasional out of character foray than to be known as a character who is mostly inconsistent.
Paul Hemingson is a freelance writer living in the Spruce View area. He is a frequent columnist for The Advocate’s Central Alberta LIFE publication.