from A Year of Morning Thanks
I've just finished writing a couple of major speeches/presentations, and I think--I hope--they're going to work out just fine. Two of them in the next few weeks. Knock-'em-dead-wonderful?--of that I'm not sure. But good?--sure. They'll be more than competent. I mean, I’m still nervous about them. Don't get me wrong. But I’ve just got the comforting assurance that they're going to work out just fine.
And I’m thankful for that assurance—not only that I think they're going to be winners, but that I honestly believe they will--because it’s taken me quite a long time to develop that sense, the ability to determine what's going to shine and what won't. I just hope that perception doesn’t warp or somehow get moldy with every passing year, now that I’m getting old. The only thing worse than a real bore is an old real bore who thinks he isn't. Retired profs and preachers are among the worst, too.
This morning, I'm thankful for some mysterious inner resource engine cranking out the assurance in me that things will be fine. It’s a blessing one can list about gifts of a life's experience: “Things that are okay about getting old: 1) at least you know what's going to work and what isn’t.”
Maybe for a while anyway.