Tension and Resolve

A Commentary on My First Retirement (2020):

AS THE YEARS have rolled by, I’ve noticed something unsettling: my opinions keep changing. One of the biggest shifts involves tension.

I used to think the goal of life was to eliminate it entirely. Zero tension. Smooth sailing. Permanent vacation. A hammock ministry.

Now I’m not so sure.

Before you decide I’ve finally misplaced my last marble, consider this: any stringed instrument without proper tension is useless. A guitar with loose strings doesn’t make music — it makes apologies. Too tight, and it sounds like it’s filing a complaint.

We call it being “out of tune,” which is a polite way of saying, “Please stop.”

Imagine an orchestra where every musician tuned their instrument according to personal preference. “This feels right to me.” That’s what the last few years have sounded like.

I retired thinking I was stepping away from tension. Three days later, the world shut down for a pandemic. I had planned on easing into peaceful afternoons. Instead, I found myself stockpiling paper products and trying to figure out what “flatten the curve” meant.

Apparently, the universe thought I needed advanced-level tension.

Life felt wildly out of tune. Not just mildly sharp or flat — but kazoo-in-a-symphony sharp (or flat).

We all felt it. (Some of us are still reaching for the tuning pegs.)

Stories, of course, are supposed to follow a pattern: Status quo.Tension.Resolution.

Even toddlers understand this. “The itsy bitsy spider” has better narrative structure than most of my retirement plans.

The spider climbs (status quo).The rain comes (tension).The sun shines (resolution).

Simple. Efficient. Encouraging.

But what happens when the rain keeps raining? When the sun seems to have misplaced its schedule? When you’re living in what feels like Chapter 7 of a 9-chapter crisis?

That’s where I’ve been — stuck in the dissonant middle. Waiting for the conductor to tap the podium.

Now picture me in my little room with my old guitar and a brand-new set of strings. The guitar itself is fine. In fact, age has given it a richer tone. (I’d like to believe the same about myself, though my joints may disagree.)

But new strings require tuning. And tuning requires — you guessed it — more tension.

For a brief and alarming moment, it sounds worse before it sounds better. There’s a point where you think, “Well, this was a mistake. We had a good run.”

You can almost hear the guitar whisper, “Sir, not in front of all these people.”

But here’s what happens next:

I keep turning the peg.

Carefully. Slowly. Listening.

The very tension that feels dangerous is what makes the music possible.

Without tension, there is no song.Without some pressure, there is no pitch.Without adjustment, there is no harmony.

Resolution doesn’t remove tension — it brings it into tune.

And maybe that’s where we are. Not abandoned. Not broken. Just mid-adjustment.

Perhaps the Conductor hasn’t stepped away,

But He’s still turning the pegs.

And maybe — just maybe — what sounds like chaos right now is simply the orchestra warming up.

I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be a well-tuned instrument than a decorative banjo hanging on the wall.

Even if it means a little tightening now and then.

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©️ Copyright 2022, Revised 2026; Gary Landerfelt, MyPericope.com