NUTHIN’ TO DO. NOBODY TO TALK TO. FOOD IN THE HOUSE? OTQ. SOUND FAMILIAR?

Y’know, I’m not crying poor mouth. Even with next to nothing, relative to what I had as a younger man I’m not crying, okay? It’s fine with me. Kind of. Because in reality, I have everything.

Let’s clear the air, shall we?

As I age, the dual effect of the nurturing and development of my style sense coupled with an innate and perhaps addictive proclivity to consume has manifested itself in the existence of a vast collections of things. (And I resent being called a hoarder or an addict).

Stuff. My stuff. To some I suppose, of little value in the grander scheme. Material articles of no moment to them. Not junk but if deemed so, most would concede some very high-priced junk at that.

And there’s the rub. The cost of something does not necessarily even remotely reflect its worth. Because that is ascertained by the consumer and by only the consumer. It’s simply a matter of what you and your market will and can bear. And it’s also a matter of your taste. Or your absence of taste. Which is hardly an end of the world kind of thing.

Some folks collect antique automobiles. Others indulge themselves in boats or planes. Drones are popular today and I expect they are available in many flavors and price ranges. Jewels. Travel. Gourmet food. In the past furs and skins were favored by the well-to-do, but far less so in today’s more enlightened climate.

Clothing was always important to me. As the story goes, when I was a wee one — four to be exact — I had a wool suit which I refused to wear because it wasn’t pressed to my satisfaction. (I think the suit had short pants which seems a bit oxymoronic. Wool suit; short pants; 4-year-old American kid, not European. What?).

The first cut was always the deepest when my brand new pair of white sneakers (PF Flyers; Keds; Jack Purcells; Converse) inevitably got dirty in the playground. After that thank God, it was happily a matter of how dirty they could get.

When I was wearing suits as a green-gilled and still wet-behind-the-ears working man and had no dough, I bought them at less than wholesale from the manufacturer(s) — my customers — but I cherry-picked with a discerning eye even then and selected the ones which were constructed as well as could be expected, given the context, i.e. quality of manufacturing. I made a mistake or two but nothing egregious. And that’s how you learn, btw.

When I had some disposable boodle — all of my money was earned and spent legally, mind you — and a broader knowledge of what good was and what goods were good, the gloves came off and the suitings I sported were among the best made. Many suits. Same with jackets, shirts, ties, shoes, socks, underwear, watches, casualwear…you name it.

All collections of mine, but purchased to use and wear and enjoy and not to just have and admire. Truth be told, it made me happy; do forgive my shallow nature if that’s what this represented. I wanted the best of everything but there were limits and thankfully, clothing was my only vice of this epic and grandiose magnitude.

I was of the mind that if I were stripped bare of everything — had everything taken from me for reasons unfathomable and then real — there would still be at the very least my signature scrawled on some items which could offer me comfort, a bit of solace.

I have learned over time that there is remarkably little consolation felt by this measure of thought. Possessions are not people.

What’s nearly as essential as the air we breathe is none of the aforementioned. Rather, what is far more important is the fulfillment felt in having someone to talk to, something purposeful to do, enjoying good health, giving to others and being happy around the clock. Exponentially more significant. As in, it’s everything. It is everything.

Let’s be honest. Money makes the world go ’round as the saying goes. Doesn’t care in whose pocket it lies but it’s nice to have it; if not then life can be okay without it. Why? How?

Because it must be and because you must make it so. I mean naturally you gotta be able to live in peace. But herein lies yet another example of the powerful impactful position of mental strength and its critical interface with human existence.

Food. Food in the house. Food outside the house. Another of life’s necessities. You gotta eat. Can you imagine what life would be like if you had nothing to do, nobody to talk to and nothing good to eat? There’s an express ticket to hell, let me tell you.

So rather than take the bullet-train to that destination down below, opting to engage is the answer. Even engagement in the form of working a job you abhor but in which you are somehow stuck offers the forum and opportunity to engage. People need people.

I know that there are some who genuinely prefer their own company and who enjoy being alone. And there are plenty of legitimate diversions lending themselves to solitude: reading, writing, composing, painting, sculpting, cooking, long walks, exercising, listening to music, playing solitaire, doing crossword puzzles, watching television, seeing movies, social media immersion/drowning, ad nauseum and ad infinitum.

But isolation to the point of living in your own world, inside a bubble and to the exclusion of human engagement can not be good or healthy. And rarely does it create sustainable happiness.

I guess the moral of the story is this: Find something to do which gives you purpose, a bounce in your step. Try to help somebody else which among other things guarantees positive human-to-human contact and satisfaction. Figure out how to get healthy physically and maintain. Be happy.

And for heaven’s sake, get some decent food in the house will you? Pleeze.