Editor's note: Robert Faber writes occasional columns for AnnArbor.com about aging, politics and other issues.

I have always been a little lax on logic, relying instead on a combination of instinct and hope -- which is a great formula for disaster. I realize, for example, that investments should be based on a careful evaluation of the likelihood of success, or by balancing the estimated return against the risks, or at least with consideration of the potential long-term value that may be inherent in the venture. It should certainly not be made simply on the high hopes or baseless dreams of rank amateurs - which tends to be my style.

We don’t always have enough control over our emotions, however, to follow that course. And sometimes the problem is more genetic than intellectual -- simply who we are as opposed to the strength and wisdom of the character to which we may aspire.

I’m thinking of that time many decades ago when my mother in New Jersey called me at my store in Ann Arbor and left a message for me to call her as soon as I returned. She then tried one of my other stores, leaving the same message. Then left a message on my home phone to call her back.

By the time I finally uncovered her many messages I was very close to panic, manufacturing crises in my mind that included all the worst forms of disaster -- irremediable illness, debilitating accident, devastating tragedies growing increasingly worse. And was it a problem affecting my mother or another member -- perhaps members -- of my family. I finally got her on the phone and breathlessly asked what was wrong? How was she? How was everyone else?

“Oh, nothing’s wrong. I just got a really good stock tip and wanted to pass it on. San Juan Racetrack! Two-fifty a share and I hear it’s really good.” It was, of course, dead within a couple of weeks -- as nearly was I. But she tried hard and meant well and that’s all we can expect from those near and dear to us.

My game of poker falls into a similar pattern of disregard for caution or logic -- much to my dismay. The book written by my late friend Peter Steiner examines the scientific odds of hitting a full house when holding trips (three of a kind) and advises balancing the risk (the size of the bet) against the anticipated return for that investment.

Unfortunately -- no, foolishly! -- I’m too often blinded by anticipation of the full house promised by the turn of the next card, conveniently dismissing the costly disaster waiting in the wings.

In an entirely different milieu is the irrational way I too often play my game of golf. I am somewhat less than a skilled player, but much more damaging is the blind sense of optimism I bring to it. For example, with a creek or lake shining midway between my golf ball and the green, the wise procedure for an inadequate player would be to play just short of the water, then take a short pitch onto the green with the next shot, or perhaps to aim off to the side of the water hazard so as to be wide of the green, but dry. Or, of course, there is the third approach -- midstream in the creek or in the center of the lake, which has less appeal, but is more familiar.

The point of all this is that for irrational optimism there is a price to be paid, but an argument can be made that the rewards could be equally outsized. A continuing sense of remorse for foolish and costly errors of judgment - such as investing heavily in San Juan Racetrack - deserves serious personal reproach, but it is difficult to redesign the player after decades of malfunction.

The reality, of course, is that we are built according to formulae over which we had little or no control. Whether because of our genes or because of the manipulation of our character by parents or circumstances during our early years, or simply following the fatalism expressed by our 1920s’ philosopher, Popeye, who noted that, “I yam what I yam and that’s all that I yam,” the fact is that who we now are is who we have always been.

Which is an unacceptable excuse for doing nothing to improve our performance or ourselves - many of our pleasures are derived from having met and conquered adversity - but it is a reasonably relaxing way to live with some of our personal flaws. Living through seven or eight decades gave us plenty of opportunity to err in ways both serious and trivial, but that, too, was part of our nature and education. If it is not too late to make amends for some of our misguided actions we should do so now, but at some point we must move on.

Perfection is certainly a worthy goal, but none of us falls into that category -- and now making peace with reality is not such a bad way to continue to go through life.

Bob Faber has been a resident of Ann Arbor since 1954. He and his wife, Eunice, owned a fabric store and later a travel agency. He served a couple of terms on the Ann Arbor City Council. He may be reached at rgfaber@comcast.net.