Such and Such
Idioms, aphorisms, bromides, colloquialisms, collocations, and the like control our speech. Verbal crutches and vocal frys build linguistic bridges to finish thoughts we never started.
Knowledge forever propels a confident man, yet lack thereof never stops a confidence man.
Current Communication Connotations
If “Such and Such” hit you right between the eyes—or anywhere else that matters—don’t just sit there nodding in silent agreement.
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When students—and humans—stop reading books to gather knowledge, to develop context, to decipher truth, to cultivate discernment, to determine wisdom... the man who does not read has no advantage over the man who cannot.
Living in 6x9 bathrooms with grown men in a penal society exposes the base truth of human nature. Knowledge forever propels a confident man, yet lack thereof never stops a confidence man. Out of the grasp of grammar and structure lie the fertile fields of inflections, dialects, accents, and asides. My killing field.
Impactful actions arise from precise direction and passionate directives. The ability of connection comes from control of capability. The goal of discipline is self-discipline. The goal of grammar is clarity. The purpose of persuasion is not.
This late-December missive brings less clarity and more confusion to the matter. Living and dying with platitudes, clichés, old saws, and old wives’ tales is the last audibly memorable shared cultural experience left to us.
He was once the life of the party. Birds of a feather flocked together around him—old friends, easy laughter, late nights that flew by. Blood is thicker than water, they said, and for years it felt true. They kept in touch, lent a hand, went the extra mile. Familiarity bred contentment, not contempt.
Then life got busy. He climbed the ladder, burned the midnight oil, kept his nose to the grindstone. Rome wasn’t built in a day, he told himself, and no pain, no gain. A penny saved is a penny earned, so he cut corners on time with people. Better things awaited—bigger titles, fatter accounts. He jumped on the bandwagon of ambition and let old ties slip through his fingers.
At first it was small. He’d take a rain check on drinks. Miss the boat on birthdays. Turn a blind eye to messages piling up. Out of sight, out of mind. He beat around the bush when asked how he was—always “fine,” always “swamped.” Easy come, easy go, he thought of friendships. Plenty of fish in the sea.
Years passed like water under the bridge. One day he reached out to an old mate—straight from the horse’s mouth, no middleman—and heard silence. The friend had moved on. Another had hit the sack for the last time. A third gave him the cold shoulder. Too many cooks had spoiled the broth of their circle, and he’d been absent from the kitchen.
He sat alone, under the weather in spirit if not body. The penny dropped. He’d cried over spilled milk too late. You reap what you sow. Absence makes the heart grow fonder only when the heart still has someone to grow fonder of. He’d let sleeping dogs lie until they wandered off entirely.
Pride goes before a fall, and his had been steep. He’d thought money doesn’t grow on trees, but neither do relationships. He’d taken the bull by the horns in business yet walked on eggshells around vulnerability. Every cloud has a silver lining, people say, but some storms leave the sky gray forever.
One Sunday morning, coffee strong and bitter, he picked up the phone. Actions speak louder than words. He called the few who remained. Apologized without beating around the bush. Ate humble pie. Asked to break the ice again, even if it cost an arm and a leg in pride.
Some doors stayed closed—old habits die hard, and a leopard can’t change its spots overnight. But a couple opened. Better late than never. They met. Spoke plainly. Let bygones be bygones. A stitch in time saves nine, and starting now was the only stitch left.
Slowly, he learned to make time, not excuses. Keep your chin up, but also keep your calendar open. Laughter is the best medicine, shared with others. Variety is the spice of life, but loyalty is its salt. Charity begins at home, and friendship begins with showing up.
He still burns the midnight oil sometimes—old dogs, new tricks—but now he saves daylight for people. Calls just because. Lends a hand without being asked. Goes the extra mile to stay close.
The road to hell is paved with good intentions, but the road back starts with one honest step. He took it. One conversation at a time, one apology, one shared coffee, he rebuilt what he could. Not everything lost was found—some bridges burned stay burned—but enough remained to remind him: a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
On quiet Sundays now, he listens to his own words. Hears the old bromides and smiles. Once they’d been shields, casual ways to avoid deeper connection. Now they’re gentle reminders. Time heals all wounds, but only if you give it company. United we stand. No man is an island.
He’s learned the hardest lessons the hard way: don’t count your chickens before they hatch, but don’t neglect the hens either. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket—spread them across the people who matter.
And when someone asks how he is, he no longer says “fine.” He tells the truth. Because honesty is the best policy, and connection—real, messy, present connection—is the only wealth that truly compounds.
A watched pot never boils, but an unanswered message never warms the heart. So he answers. He calls. He shows up.
Better safe than sorry, he once thought, hiding behind easy phrases. Now he knows: better present than perfect.
The early bird catches the worm, but the steady friend catches the years.
And on this Sunday, like every Sunday now, he counts his blessings—one conversation, one shared laugh, one restored tie at a time.
Make the call, bury the hatchet, find the time, complete the circle.
It may be cliched, but it’s from the heart,
Ric
