I generally learn as much or more from fiction as from non-fiction. People like Theodore Dreiser, Henry James, Jane Austin, Thomas Hardy, et. al. help me to understand ethics, relationships, history, and so much more.

I've read the entire Patrick O'Brian series, right down to his unfinished notes for another book, about Jack Aubrey and the British Navy when great sailing ships bounded into harm's way. One of the amazing historical facts is that virtually no British common seaman knew how to swim. In an age when a sinking boat meant almost certain death, these sailors couldn't swim a mile to a beach or even a hundred yards to floating wreckage or a stray boat.

Although the admiralty never thought it necessary to teach the skill, surely the sailors could readily have learned it during the long assignments when ships were often becalmed for days on end.

They didn't.

I meet a lot of people like those sailors. On the lighter side, there's the 20-year airline ticket clerk, still using one finger to type and taking five times as long, never having bothered to learn to type despite it being a key element in the job.

On the darker side, there is the teacher who never did understand the need for testing understanding, and never got around to mastering it, thereby undermining learning.

One day I became furious at myself for never remembering when it was "stationery" and when it was "stationary," so I taught myself a mnemonic to remember it. ("Letter" has an "er" in it.) I'm a superb parallel parker, and I sit astounded in traffic held up by a birdbrain who is trying to enter a parking space head-first because parallel parking is not something they've ever bothered to learn. There are people who can't do multiplication in their heads and who can't file alphabetically without repeating the entire alphabet until they arrive at the letter they're seeking.

If you insist on being the bartender at the party but have to keep apologizing because you can't make a margarita, I have a suggestion: Either stop being the bartender or learn to mix a margarita, which I'm pretty sure is somewhat easier than splitting an atom. While it may seem astonishing to you that sailors, whose lives were spent on the ocean, never learned to swim, then contemplate the fact that I constantly meet department store clerks who have no idea where anything is.

A waitress (Oops! -- Server? Waitperson? Watron? Serving wench?) in the southern reaches of England once replied to my question, "What kind of cheese is on the cheeseburger?" with the single word, "Melted." When I asked what KIND of melted cheese, she said, shocked, "Why, I'm sure I don't know!" Well, that's two of us, isn't it?

I have no idea why people make little attempt to master the simple things in the environment which can vastly improve their lives and, perhaps, even save them. I mean, you'd think people would rather swim, than sink, wouldn't you?

I was driving into town the other morning for some coffee, and the manager of the car wash and the two guys who work with him were just opening up, chatting about who knows what, but also inspecting the equipment. They already had their coffee, and waved as I drove by with the dogs. You can watch them do the same thing every day that the weather permits.

We arrived at the coffee shop, and the regulars were in their regular positions, the normal arrivals and departures were taking place, and the owner was chatting away as he hustled java. Once the dogs had their biscuits, I drove home, waving to one of the patrolling officers who always works the morning shift and the Fedex driver who always works a very long shift.

The dogs, having watched carefully where we went for coffee (if I drive instead to Dunkin' Donuts, they know that they have to crowd the window so that the person packing the order remembers to include dog treats), and having devoured the biscuits, were now on their return regimen, which consists of perusing the streets for dogs so that they can bark at them. They do this every day that we go for coffee, never missing a beat or a bark, despite the fact that they know the dogs they're barking at from the last time they barked at them.

It's nice to begin a day with some familiar regimens unfolding. There is a normalcy and a comfort to it. In fact, the novelty of vacations is that you step outside of your usual peregrinations, yet vacationers often strive to immediately recreate them.

("Is there a local Starbucks?" "I'll be down to the pool as soon as I watch the golf match." "I know it's Tokyo, but they must have an Italian restaurant here.")

A morning regimen gives you momentum to gain some speed and tackle the day ahead with vigor and power. An unfamiliar morning can create havoc with your internal metronome and peace of mind. Days upon days of the same actions and tasks can form the rut that sidetracks a productive life. But a consistency in beginning the day can provide that precise, gyroscopic balance necessary to face myriad challenges later.

Star athletes insist on repetitive preparation: certain warm-ups, a routine before shooting a free-throw, exact duplication of steps before bowling. And don't get me started on golfers, who perform a near-religious, constant rite prior to each shot. There must be something to that, right?

Why not start an entire day the same way? Morning ablutions, a certain breakfast, a workout, walk the dogs, hunt down some coffee, open the mail, read the newspaper.

Whatever it is that constitutes your own consistent preparation will probably enhance your performance later.

Is that far-fetched? Perhaps. But veteran pilots go through the same checklist every time in the familiar confines of the cockpit, even though they know it by heart. A doctor always begins with a brief history and update, no matter how obvious a medical condition may be.

The day for me starts like a ski jump. You get yourself set, mentally and physically, and go tearing down the ramp. If you develop sufficient speed and balance, you simply soar over most of the trouble below. Eventually, you'll have to tackle the landing but, meanwhile, the flight is exhilarating.