On calm, seriousness, and not knowing what comes next

This morning I found the cat batting a small object along the wall. At first I thought it was a mint ball. Looking closer, I saw it was the body of a young fancy rat of mine, one that had seemed to stay small for so long. The lid of its enclosure was half open. It appeared to be another accident caused by carelessness, by the same person as last time.

I was surprised by how quickly calm came before anger. Within a second or two I thought: it has happened. What would anger change now? Blaming someone else would not bring the rat back. I accepted what was in front of me and went on.

Later, while reviewing my regular-investment checklist, I was upset to discover I could not name three things I wanted to pursue over the next six months or year. I felt like a soldier carrying a loaded gun through a supposedly peaceful time, only to forget where he was going. There is nothing wrong with idle time. An afternoon in the park, listening to birds and holding a coffee, has its own value. Yet when I sit down to plan seriously and find no direction, I feel uneasy. Maybe I have not spent enough time thinking about my future lately.

I have also noticed how serious I have become. I want to join in lighthearted moments, but I sometimes cannot smile or keep the mood going. I feel myself slipping away from the fun. Going all in on everything has brought rewards and costs. People, especially, are rarely black and white. I once dismissed tact as a way of behaving; now I think I was overlooking something useful.

This is where I am today. I do not feel ashamed to write it, though friends may see it differently. Perhaps I have been so focused on myself that, now and then, the world feels as if I am the only one in it.