Problems


My friend had been sort of wilting lately, 
Turning pale and faded and a little blurry around the edges. 
Regular doctors saw nothing in particular wrong,
So I took him to the local guru.  

"Needs problems," said the guru with only a quick glance. 

"Of course he has problems," I replied,
"That's why I brought him to you."  

"I didn't say he HAS problems.  I said he NEEDS problems. 
His problem is that he doesn't have problems, 
And not having problems can be a very serious problem." 

"Huh?" say I, and he explains again. 

After a few more rounds it sinks in:  
Man is a problem-solving creature,  
Evolved, or created, or whatever, to solve problems,
And a problem-solver without problems is nothing.  
Some instinctively know this, 
As sales of puzzles show.  
But others need to have problems thrust upon them.  

"You mean I should let the air out of his tires, 
Hide his morning paper in the bushes, 
Or invent foolish errands for him to run? 
Or should I get more serious, 
Hinting of rumors of downsizing at work, 
And asking his landlord to make noises about eviction?" 

"Professional opinions among gurus differ, 
But even if threatening problems are better than none at all,  
I'd try happy problems first."  

Happy problems? 
Those are the ones we face gladly,
Like a painter needing to choose colors for a sunset 
Because she chose to try to capture it on canvas.  
Or being out on the lake in a boat with your fishing pole, 
Wondering exactly where they'll be biting
And how to sneak up on them without scaring them off.  

Some, like scientists, get paid to solve happy problems. 
Others must seek problems elsewhere. 
But they're easy to find.  

Was there something my friend could do to help his other friends?
Some way he could contribute to making a better world? 
Or even something as trivial 
As suggesting a closing line for this poem? 

The prognosis looks quite good. 

                                   -- Thomas G. Digby
                                   written  19:00  03/15/1995