Out there, somewhere past day three, which would be after the Badlands of North Dakota, I came to a decision. The Badlands have always been a place for clearing my mind, and for cleansing the palette of my soul. Teddy Roosevelt seemed to agree. I noticed in a recently consumed book on the man that his ranch in the Badlands became his go-to place after tradegy (his young wife dying, as an example), or the destination when he wanted to clear his head. I get it. My decisions always come easier after visiting one of two places; the ocean, or the Badlands.
We often say, "I made a decision." Or, "Did you make a decision?" I like my European colleagues' version of this idea. They substitute the word "take" for "make."
"Did you take a decision?" Or, "We must take a decision ." This is more precise. More clinical. Or so it seems to me. As if to say a smorgasbord of options will be laid out and one must take just one or two of the options and be done. A singular entrée, instead of a buffet.
I took a decision or two on the future. While Bartowsky read, or filmed, or studied the landscape, I thought of the options long and hard. I came to binary or algebraic decisions -meaning that the decisions used the syntax of, "if, then." As in, "if this comes to pass, then I will..." This method was used because so much of what I decided was (and still is) contingent upon other things taking place. There is a piece of Biblical wisdom out there that says, in essence, man plans his ways, but God determines his footsteps. Even my agnostic and atheist associates may say that life is what happens while we are making plans. I'll go with the first one. So...
The first of three steps was a promise to get "checked out." The heart is fine, but there are some other issues that need to be explored. So I went in for a physical yesterday. My doc is fantastic, and she suggested two specialists. The first is the most embarrassing. I'm 50 now. I can't believe it because I feel like a younger guy, but I am. With 50 comes a special male treatment that involves the lower extremities and a couple of hours of, shall we say, probing. I looked at her and said, "Great! Christmas in July." At the very least they will be able to call my wife and tell her that my head is actually not up there. Unless, of course, it actually is. One of us has to be right.
So I will submit myself to hanging the old rump roast in the wind, just to "make sure."
The second specialist, the non-scope-centric referral, is the math specialist. That is, that Doc's examination will produce a result of greater importance to me. Albeit, both specialists can change the direction I want to take. The second one though is the one that I think about. That Doc's result will be the basis for the big decision looming on the horizon. If the Doc says X, then I go with Y. If the doc says A, then I go with B.
I won't talk about that specialist here (now) in terms of the what. However, I will say that this Doc is number two of three steps.
Step One: Go see my Doc and among iffy banter get down to brass tacks on the specialists. Done. Completed. Fini.
Step Two: Go see the specialists. Leave the racial and body type profiling proctologist joke at home. But (and that's a big butt) share it here:
"Is it racial and body type profiling to desire a petite and anorexic Pygmy with no noticeable fingernails as one's
I hope not. That's my dream.
At at any rate, step two is not completed at the time of this writing. And Step Two, Part B -the non-rumpus room specialist-is the key. Step Two, Part B leads to algebraic Step Three.
Step Three: If X-result, then take Y-action. If A-result, then B-action. It will be one or the other. What are these results and actions and specialists? Well, they are related to the trip. To cruising an endless ribbon of highway. To adventure and whatever comes our way. Possibly to Steppenwolf (pictured above). But the real answer, the no-kidding, here-it-is answer, is...