Detritus

 I, too, fell foul of exactly the same issue as this gent when younger. (Link is to an article titled "I just realized I’ve been misspelling and mispronouncing “detritus” all my life." by Dennis G. Jerz)

Like until about last year.

But I have a far firmer hold onto the detritus of life these days.

Or it on me.

About seven years ago, when working at a small community organisation, I had cause to attempt to document and archive a few rooms for the organisation.

One of the issues facing such small community organisations is that even smaller community organisations have need to dissolve and find a willing resting place in the original small community organisation.

An when they do they leave donations. Some welcome, like currency, and some endured, like histories and files.

Finding the balance between being ruthless and being nostalgic is sometimes difficult in small community organisations.

But sometimes you have to let it drift off with the tide.

It's a bit like being a middle-aged people-pleasing person who receives overtures of friendship from another and, not wanting to appear to be elitist or standoffish, does not firmly say no to overtures of friendship.

One hopes, statistically, that such a response would be the winning option.

But (as I experienced only last weekend) it really only takes one experience of the overturee demanding as price for receipt of this "overture of friendship" that you be available at all times to be the recipient of "overtures of friendship" and if you fail to respond in as alacritius a time as they see fit they react in ways that make you think "hmm, there is something in that  elitist or standoffish option after all."

Finding the balance between being elitist and being friendly is sometimes difficult for  a middle-aged people-pleasing person.

Sometimes the tide is assisted by a deluge. Sometimes white ants.

And sometimes you need to hose.