I don’t do book reviews, so this is not. It is a record of an odd attraction for me to read the book, The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake by Aimee Bender.

The book caught my eye on a shelf at a local store about a month ago. I tried to ignore it, but the lemon cake photo and the teal-colored cover kept nagging at me to pick it up. It thought it might be one of those chick self-help, feminine exploration books.

It wasn’t. Not really. Maybe a little. Maybe one could read it that way.

It was weird. The lemon cake, the play Brigadoon, the father denying his special skills in favor of living a “normal life” free from any attention and the desire of one of the main character to disappear into his environment unnoticed.

Too many things too close to the soul.

I’m not really sure I believe in fate or destiny or any of that metaphysical crap that says I was meant to read this book, but sure seems a bit creepy nonetheless.

I had an interesting conversation with someone a few weeks back about a recently unemployed fellow colleague who was writing a blog. When he had a day job, it was a fight tooth and nail to get him to write more than 300 words every few weeks on the corporate blog. He was busy, he was doing cool stuff.

And then the day job came to an abrupt end. And now, he won’t shut up.

“He blogs like he is unemployed and got a great separation package,” I remarked.

We both laughed at the instant recognition that brought.

Holidays have always been a “how much do you love me” contest. I could never buy the right present or do the right thing. And if I did, I just didn’t do enough of it. There was always a passive aggressive undertone that went with the receipt of the gift.

Especially bad were the Hallmark holidays — Valentine’s Day, Sweetest Day, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day.

“At least you have a Mother to call…”

“Father’s Day is not about what you want, it is about your kids having a day for you…”

“I really wanted the brown one. I swear you don’t listen when I talk to you…”

Oh, yeah. Happy Mother’s Day everybody.

I have a friend who is working through a NEEDS vs. WANTS chart.

I have a simpler chart: NEED nothing.

When you admit to yourself and others that you NEED something, that is the moment you can’t live without it and others can take it from you. Sex, money, power, clothes, homes, love, companionship, dignity, food — all stuff you can live without. All stuff that you may want, but never need.

Treasure these things when you have them, but never need them.

I’m still working on air. That apparently will never be a want.

Maybe.

Through a string of comedic errors and serendipity, I found myself in Times Square on Wednesday morning, eating a bagel and drinking a small coffee from a street cart. Next to me on the park bench was my son whom I had not seen for several months.

I’m almost never in Times Square. It is a loud, noisy “tourist” spot. I have had some interesting past couple of months where I felt pushed or pulled along against my will and pace. It has caused a lot of internal rage and resentment.

But in that moment, sitting on the bench with all this activity buzzing around me, enjoying a cup of coffee in silence with my son beside me, I realized that I can control the speed at which I want to move. I don’t need to keep up with a pack if I don’t want to. The pack is ferocious and never satisfied.

There will always be disasters and crises, drama and angst. The to do list will never be completed. The inbox will never be empty. I think the trick to serenity is to choose to be an island of calm, regardless of what chaos is happening around you.

And move at your own speed.

“Work/Life Balance” was invented by someone who did not understand your passion and wanted to control you. You can control people by paying them or guilting them. Either is immoral.

Which of us would have told Picasso to paint less, Da Vinci to quit inventing sh*t or Thoreau to give it a rest?

“Here, let me help you with that,” I heard to my left as I was waiting for some testing at the doctor’s office. I glanced over to an older gentleman who was trying to tie his shoe that has come undone. His wife had jumped in to tie his shoe for him.

Our eyes met briefly before he turned his head, silently resigned to the public indignity of having someone else tie his own shoes for him. What made it worse was that he was forced to accept it from someone whom he should be trusting would never inflict that embarrassment on him.

Throughout the drive home, I could not shake this man’s eyes from my own mind’s eye. In a moment, he showed anger, shame and then resignation as he stared off into the distance. He knew I knew what he was thinking and feeling and he didn’t want to share that with me.

What the old man needed from his wife was patience while he tied his own shoe and the resolve to allow him the dignity of self-reliance — regardless of how long that took — even if the nurse came in and tried to rush him along for his testing. While I’m sure in her mind she was helping him, she was really only helping herself cope with her own annoyance at having to wait for him to tie his shoe. To her, the issue was hurrying the process of getting him into his medical testing appointment on time.

Sometimes all we need to help another is the patience and strength to just be there as he struggles through helping himself.