Life is composed of many pieces that can be put together in several different ways, unlike a static jigsaw puzzle where you separate out all the edges, put them together and fill in the rest, using the convenient pretty picture on the box. Those puzzles can only be done in one way, regardless of your ethnicity, religion, gender, politics, or socioeconomic level.

Interactive life puzzles are a beast in comparison. None of the pieces fits together in a neat picture. The infinite number of pieces can be put together and interpreted in an infinite number of ways and are only limited by one’s lifetime.

An entire lifetime collecting pieces of the puzzle, either making sense of it or not. Pieces may have meaning or not. Each piece has no more value than any other until it’s part of something meaningful. And we don’t even agree on what’s meaningful or not.

Puzzling, isn’t it? We’re not creating the same overall picture even with access to the same pieces of information. Some have a financial or political obligation to interpret the puzzle in a logic-defying manner like saying the way to curb gun violence is more guns. Or by blaming mental health issues for violence perpetuated by guns and then taking away affordable health care, which could help remedy those mental health issues.

Now, just throw freewill into the mix. Could you imagine when opening a jigsaw puzzle box and the individual pieces had freewill? They could flip themselves over to hide what’s printed on the other side or change their picture. Edges could become curvaceous and vice versa. Or a certain group of pieces could refuse to join with other pieces, regardless that they’re all part of the same puzzle.

We’re all puzzle piece collectors, dragging around our incomplete collections. Over time, even the pieces we’ve lugged around for so long become misshapen, not truly representing what they originally stood for. Pieces that loomed so heavily on us when we were children have been long buried and forgotten until something random triggers its activation. Upon reflection, we may detect patterns in those pieces most personal to us while being mere buoys raising and falling in the change of pieces that affect our community.

Let’s not forget those historians emphasizing the winning side’s interpretation of the puzzle while conveniently omitting those pieces that mar its pretty view of the past. Perpetuating those glossy celebrations of decorative pieces of history magically filling in the factual gaps with lore, exaggeration, adult fairytales and outright lies.

Whenever someone wishes to return to the good ol’ days, I always wonder which part of the past are they conveniently forgetting or oblivious to, which existed back then that even those ol’ time contemporaries didn’t like and fondly looked further back since all those modern-day, new and improved pieces with their jagged edges still pierced into the pretty picture they were trying to make with inflexible pieces.

There’s never been a golden age of human beings or civilization. They all rise and fall. We are the same vicious assholes we’ve always been. Despite technology, innovations, living longer, access to creature comforts those in the good ol’ days could never imagine, yet our species still drags around a self-destructiveness, which manifests itself in the form of greed, jealousy, hate, irrational reactions to the unknown, especially when the unknown is in the form of another human being with such perceived differences, the fearful forgets their humanity.

And therein lies our self-destruction, not really new and improved. Just reinvented with the latest upgrades to handle the same shit we’ve struggled with all along. The picture on the puzzle pieces may look different, but it’s the same struggles as before.

Always some group who view themselves as being above the law and deserving more than others, using the same tried and true strategy of divide and conquer with whichever modern twists that gives the illusion of something different, but it’s still the same ol’ puzzle. No matter which pieces you get in life, it’s the same puzzle. Make the best picture you can.

Years ago, I started working out on a regular basis just to get a good night’s sleep. For the longest time, that was sufficient. In the past couple of years, I’ve managed to work out every day for at least 30 minutes, which serves to reduce stress, but not remedy anxiety dreams.

As much as I hate to admit it, whatever I’m doing professionally has now become such a huge influence on whether I get a good night’s sleep. For the first year I taught at a private school in Honduras, I had a principal who turned out to be a very despicable person and for that school year, I hardly ever got a good night’s rest and one of the results, my hair thinned out. Vowing to never exhaust my health like that again, I stood up to him at the beginning of the second school year when he mistakenly thought we’d pick up where we’d left off, but I managed to change the dynamic and started sleeping well.

Since leaving the classroom as math/science teacher, I’ve had several different jobs, trying to find that delicate balance among challenge, creativity and happiness. For the past couple of years, I’ve been working from home, but not quite as my own person.

As a matter of fact, since resigning from the last job I deadened, I’m no longer bored, I’ve proven myself to be a quick learner (once again!), and my schedule is flexible. This is what I’ve envisioned for myself all along when I started working from home: freedom.

Freedom from worry, boredom, rigid schedules, underemployment, and underestimation of my skills. I sleep like a baby! With proper rest, I have so much more energy. Plus, since I’ve completed my on-boarding training, I’ve been exercising in the mornings–just the way I like it.

Sleep has become my accurate barometer of whether all the other elements in my life work productively. By the time my head hits the pillow, if I have lived the day with integrity (being true to myself), then good rest is my reward.

The latest leasing agent staff has let me know I’ve worn out my welcome. Perhaps many of us long-time residents have. I’ve not kept an accurate account of how many times the entire staff has turned over, but I think they’re at least the fourth group to come in and they apparently have the most critical eye.

Ever since moving here, I’ve viewed my patio as my art studio, especially for painting. Granted, none of them have probably seen me out there painting, but what they have seen, they haven’t liked. The first email I received months ago, listed all the “acceptable” things that could be on the patio, which were short list of furniture and plants, real or fake.

As far as I’m concerned, I only had three things on my patio, which weren’t clutter nor trash; so I ignored their email. For months. Until the monthly email became aggressive about having the maintenance guys remove the offending things from my patio at my expense. I took the above picture and attached it to an email in response to their escalation, asking which of the three items was “inappropriate.”

Of course, I never heard back from them. I forgot about the email until the second month I received it. In a huff, I wheeled my portable drawer of oil paints to the corner, put the flower pot underneath the drawer, threw an old sheet over the whole thing and placed my hideous clay sculpture of a nude lounging woman over it.

With such a fine concession, I figured this was the most creative thing I’d done on the patio in a while; so the aggressive emails should end, right? Nope. Got the same threatening email the following month.

Next time I hand-carried my rent check to the office, I politely-as-possible inquired about the email. One of the nameless staff members informed me that everyone receives the email. I turned on my heels and calmly walked out, all the while scheming how long it would take me to save up enough money for a down payment for my own place.

Not too soon after, I quit my old job, where I’d dead ended after a year, but had to remain a few months longer until I lined up something more lucrative. Now that I’m in my final week of independent health agent training with ACA open enrollment right around the corner, I’m looking forward to an increased call volume and working six days a week for those six weeks.

Thanks to blanket threats, regardless of whether I’m in violation or not, I’m more motivated than ever to get the hell up at of here. I know bullshit exists wherever I go, but it’s time I start earning equity to mitigate that bullshit.

At least my patio situation was easier to remedy than one of my neighbors. They must now drive around with a canoe on their SUV since it can no longer hang neatly from their patio.