At my age, minor disturbances are like shards of glass, broken little things that seem trivial, but needing my complete attention
They may look innocent under the light — sometimes even pretty, but if you step on them, they cut like a razor
I used to ignore these small tragedies, leave them scattered — don’t sweat the small stuff, I said, it’s better to let go and deal with things that matter
But if you ask me now, I’d say it’s wise to fix the sliding door, take the iPhone back to the Apple store, see the doctor before a rash occurs, and throw out the old percolator with the frayed power cord
What may seem meager and a slight inconvenience, may grow into a catastrophe, if neglected