It reminded me of one of my favorite poems, Shoelace by Charles Bukowski:
..."It's not the large things that send a man to the madhouse.
Death he's ready for
or murder, incest, robbery,
fire, flood.
No, it's the continuing series of small tragedies
that send a man to a madhouse
Not the death of his love, but a shoelace that snaps
with no time left....
I especially love that last line and think of it when the equivalent of breaking a shoelace occurs in my life.
When we face large travails, we both seek and receive support to help us cope, but we're left to process the smaller aggravations on our own. The next time your "shoelace" breaks at an inopportune moment, recall Bukowski's line. Vow to keep the small things small so your blood pressure remains low, too.
-- beth triplett
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Shoelace by Charles Bukowski in Mockingbird Wish Me Luck, 2002
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