Here’s an idea I am playing with, in draft form. I’m going to revise it over the next few days.
There’s a story about The Great Carouso that someone once cornered him while he was on a cross-country tour, and suggested that it must be wonderful to be able to go on stage every night knowing he could sing like that. Caruso’s answer surprised the fan (and here I paraphrase): “No, it is terrifying: every night, I am expect to sing like The Great Caruso; but I am only a man, and very disappointing. “I suspect that is true of many champions and stars of stage and screen.
I believe that bit of apocrypha has corollaries in our lives. We are all what we have made of ourselves, whether that is pleasing to us or not. Whether we wake up and have to resume the spousal fight interrupted by sleep, or awaken to that brutal fact that we are still two hundred pounds overweight, or still dying, or still in pain, or still unemployed or in some other way still angst-driven, there is that lingering wish that awakening could reset us to factory condition and we could start over.
Those who believe in reincarnation often believe that death is just that: a sort of reboot—a chance to start over and get it right this time. In a sense, I suppose morning is, too; after all, when do we make changes? What gives us the motive or ability to stop the grudge or the vendetta or feud or whatever motive we have for being unpleasant or furious or dangerous?
Let’s create a magic potion, and call it Doctor Whizbang’s Elixir!. There really is nothing magical about it, but let’s pretend there is. It’s real potency is this: if you go to bed angry and ready to kill, you wake up happy and ready to forgive. And the great thing about it is this: nobody will ridicule you or be disappointed if you don’t kill or maim.
Here’s the motto: If waking up is a disappointment, you need Doctor Whizbang’s Elixir!.