The Monk in me

My wife and I are not rabid fans. But anytime serendipity blesses us with a moment with nothing pressing ....we love to curl up together on our couch and watch an episode of Monk. (In the interest of full disclosure, together means on opposite ends of our U-shaped sectional, my spouse in her Lazyboy recliner and I in my Lazierboy recliner.)
Monk is an award winning TV serial that follows the adventures of a very troubled private detective. The main character, Adrian Monk, is fraught with a myriad of neuroses which includes compulsive disorder, claustrophobia, spermatophobia, acrophobia, gymnophobia. I shall not expound any further as a complete recounting would be exhausting. Despite these mental roadblocks Monk uses his extraordinary brilliance to solve case after case all in a very humorous manner.
Now, you may think it is politically incorrect to derive mirth from someone else’s affliction. However, all the disorders that are so exaggerated in Adrian Monk exist in a smaller degree in all of us. When we laugh, we are laughing at ourselves. When I find myself exhibiting a more subdued trait so outlandish in the Monk character, I simply state, “It’s the Monk in me.”
As an example, I have been walking every noon hour to where I lunch. Last summer, this trek would take about 20 minutes to complete. Now I can do the walk in almost 15 minutes. I know. I know. You think I am getting in better shape. Hopefully, I am. The real reason that I have improved my walking time is because my Mother passed away in September. Huh? It turns out that I no longer have to maintain a slowing cadence to avoid the cracks in the sidewalks as I march along the city streets. My Mother’s back is no longer a concern and I can now make my promenade at top speed. It’s the Monk in me.
A crooked picture, a phone number lacking symmetry, mashed potatoes invading the space of the roast beef all generate a mild annoyance in many of us. In Mr. Monk, these same irritations elicit an obsession to correct. This leads to bizarre behaviour and the side tracking of any other current activity. I no longer rue my inability to write, print or draw with any precision. Not to do so would have doomed me to 30 years of elementary school. Mr. Monk on the other hand has not got past this hurdle and he is plagued by his lack of perfection.
Hmmm. I guess we are all able to function in life by accepting less than perfection in ourselves and in the world around us. We settle for less and we lower the bar all in the name of survival.
Blessed are we that can attain the proverbial wisdom to differentiate between that which we can change and that which we cannot. I wasn’t going to post this little missive as I felt it didn’t meet some self-delusional standard. However, I overcame the Monk in me.