It has nothing to do with mountain climbing or winning new business in the midst of economic chaos. Nor is it the result of transcendental meditation, holistic healing or some other form of New Age mumbo jumbo. Nonetheless, I've been floating on sunshine for, oh, about the last three weeks or so.
So, what's my secret? It's simple. I've given up completely on the New York Mets. In seasons' past, I'd allow the Mets to ruin my mood, destroy an otherwise pleasant Sunday or, when they really went south, turn my late summer into a veritable holocaust.
Not this year, though. I quit as soon as the team did. (Memorial Day, if memory serves.) Since then, I haven't listened to their games on radio or TV, and made sure I avoided the morning after recaps of their latest meltdown.
'Not Caring About the Mets' should be captured by a leading pharmaceutical company and squeezed into a capsule. It's got more anti-anxiety and sleep-enhancing qualities than any combination of Xanax and Ambien could hope to provide…
Announcer: “That's right, 'Not Caring About the Mets' is now available from your doctor in liquid, gel or capsule form and will help you get through the toughest day (and night.) Possible side effects include twitching leg syndrome, shallow breathing, stroke, suicide, enhanced libido, decreased libido (hey, it's the Mets!), blurred vision, loss of arm strength in your legs and loss of one or more toes. Alcohol and use of meth amphetamines may enhance the effects.”
I like my new 'serenity now' approach to life so much that I'm ready to adapt it to the upcoming New York Jets football season. Like the Mets, the Jets are perennial losers who torture their fans with sporadic bursts of excellence before succumbing to an inevitable late-season collapse.
Yes, Virginia, hand me a few Jets' losses in early September and I'll be sure to tune out and turn on to the natural high of blissful ignorance. And, as Agent Maxwell Smart used to say, “And, loving it!”