So, after the moon walked the night in her silvery shoon, I caught her last sliver of shine on a gloriously crisp Maine sunrise. I tried to capture the beauty, but the phone did not fulfill its promise. Pretty, yes, but not glorious as I witnessed it. I thought as I stared, how can one be sad peering at such majestic color and scene? And so early in the morning? I am in good company, staring at the moon, with ghost crabs and singing frogs.

Working on a concept paper to help a friend, I had been thinking about what constitutes a “drag” in the business world, as you want to speed things up in order to accomplish as much as you can in the shortest time available. Sometimes you need to do the right thing and get rid of excess baggage, so to speak, whether it is product or humans. As to the latter, it can be quite devastating to contemplate the process. I’ve had my share of having to tell employees that their end date had arrived, and, when the individual was decent and hard working, it was horrible to let go. That’s one of the reasons I opted not to pursue management. As a lawyer, I liked the solitude of research and writing and not the upheaval of directing hiring and firing. It is so very true in one’s personal life as well.

Upon reflection, yesterday morning, I realized that not only am I entering the “death cleanup” stage in my life, trying to sever the balls and chains that tie me to “things” – in itself a huge “drag”- but I am discarding “dead wood” and all that constitutes what I finally see as useless or dangerous detritus. Sometimes, it takes an ugly trauma to accelerate this process. Other times, it just happens.

At the end of the day, I don’t need nor want dead wood, be it memories or people that draw me down to complacency or ennui or despair. More importantly, it is the awareness that some of my dead wood are the so-called “friends” I thought I had, that either were Judas goats and very treacherous, or complete idiots that I put up with because of circumstances of life.  I don’t need dead wood, rotten apples belong in composts, and weak idiots are just a drag. It has taken me a long time to finally reach this conclusion, and it is liberating. My only regret is not having figured this out sooner. But then, wisdom sometimes is slow to arrive. Yet, it’s better late than never.

It’s amazing how the above musings are all thanks to staring at the silvery light of the sliver of moon as I savored a serene sunrise and thought of Walter de la Mare!

Silver

Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws and a silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.

Walter de la Mare