A beautiful morning here in Seattle: sun! I think it’s going to turn out to be one of those lost days where I sit about in a haze of post-pleasure with no discernible brain activity. I’m very lucky to have the kind of schedule where I can do that now and again (especially if I’ve planned for it, which I have). At some point this afternoon I’ll have to kick into gear: Hild is waiting and I have a Skype interview (for a podcast–more on that another time). But I have hours yet. On my agenda: tea in the sun, with a couple of champagne truffles, and the last of the M.R. James ghost stories.
We’ve also had one of those interesting weeks (so far–the week is still young) full of half-news. Nothing we can take to the bank, yet, but the world, like an overfull glass, is trembling with possibility. I’m sitting here with an idiot grin. I do mean ‘idiot’. I think I have the IQ of a four year-old today: one of the perils of extreme satiation.
Lately, I’ve been thinking of the way people approach life and how one can draw a comparison between world stance and reviews. The most miserable people are not those who, from my (admittedly outside) perspective, have the most difficult lives. No, the gloomy, po-faced people of the world are those who are never satisfied. They look for the lead lining. They look gift horses in the mouth. They find fault with everything. Essentially, they compare what they have, or what they feel, not with normality or ordinariness but with perfection.
The thing is, nothing is perfect. Anything you hold up to perfection–a life (even a really fine life), a moment, a sandwich–will fare badly by comparison. Nothing is perfect. It’s a concept that should be struck off the books, retired. (Sort of like the concept of infinity but, eh, that’s a discussion for another time when my IQ has climbed back to the dizzy realm of three figures.) So when you read that great book, don’t complain about the saggy bit in the middle, especially if there’s only one. When you watch that fab film, don’t whinge about the eye-rolling stupidity of the plot point in Act Three if you’re having a blast the rest of the time. When you eat the delicious duck, don’t point out that the tomato accompanying it is not your favourite fruit. Enjoy what you can, when you can. Figure out what delights you, and allow yourself to be pleased. Revel in it.
Later, sure, figure out how to do it better or get more. Nothing wrong with improvement. But while you’re in it, enjoy it. Don’t constantly hold things up to an ideal, or you’ll make yourself crazy; you’ll become one of the Perpetually Disappointed. Life is good. It’s just not perfect.
That’s all. Time for tea.
Nicola Griffith 
Lofty thoughts from the four year old wunderkind. Seriously lofty. I am in complete agreement and try for that unabashed enthusiasm as much as possible. Children innately understand *amazement* and the older we get, the more it seems to dim, pity.
So, Nicola, bring on the little one when you want to share, it's lovely.
(Must've been a grand celebration.)
jeanne
THIS: Enjoy what you can, when you can. Figure out what delights you, and allow yourself to be pleased. Revel in it.
Amen, Nicola. Focusing on what pleases me has improved my life immeasurably. And it took me what feels like a LONG TIME to learn.
jill, this is a Puritan country. Its citizens are suspicious of pleasure. All very self-defeating…
Nicola – I was going to say that about the Puritan upbringing! Damn them :P.
I think most of them think they're damned already.
Yay for satiation! *grin*
They do think they're damned, they think everyone else is damned, and they damn well want everyone to know just how damned everybody should be. I feel I have license to say this because I come from a long, long line of Calvinists on my mom's side and have seen what such beliefs do to people's lives (there's a ton of mental illness and control freak-ness on that side of the family – coincidence? I think not). I thank the gods daily for all the people (mainly writers) who have helped steer me from that course. I'm currently watching my mom turn un-Calvinist, something which I've worked hard to help her achieve my whole life. She's finally getting it, is blossoming like mad, and life is awesome.
From watching my mom and my grandparents, I strongly suspect that one of the reasons Puritanical people try to make everyone convert to their beliefs is a feeling that if they have to suffer under idiotic, joy-crushing rules, everyone else should too. IMO there's a weird mixture of jealousy and cowardice going on; they're jealous of freedom but don't (yet?) have the guts to break away from blind dogmatism.
Rioght on Nicola!, thank you for articulating this. I have to say I sing alto in this choir: ;-) It took a bolt out of the blue to slow me down but I've learned that every word you speak Nicola in this comment is right the hell on.
Like many people I grew up in a Calvinist, puritanical envirnment. When I was little my grandfather would drive us all to church in his Packard with the wide running boards, my grandmother was the church organist I had no choice in the matter I had to go period. My grandmother was not someone you would want to be on the wrong side of. As a kid I was so scared when people started speaking in tongues and going a bit hysterical, moaning and carrying on and never giving a tbought that they might be scaring the little kids.
Though there are things that are burned into my pshche I am doing my damndest to ignore them and I am a happy camper regardless of the curveballs life has thrown at me. I do however have a rant about something now and then after all I am one opinionated old dyke. Sly
Nicola — There's a modicum of truth there. The question is, how to you go from someone who was told she was never good enough all her life, who's only known abusive relationships, to someone who looks for the half-full, the silver lining — and would she recognize it if she stumbled over it?
I climbed Stone Mountain today and watched the buzzards circle, swoop and dive for an owl that had met its end last night; and with my camera chased a checkerboard-backed butterfly the color of the granite (with a furry blue-gray toupee) as it skipped from daisy to daisy. It's not perfection, but certainly something very close…
Dianne, I don't have an answer. Just lots of questions. And lots of delight :)
Dianne, I'm sure the answer is different each person, but I'm thinking that for a lot of us, getting to the place of not needing to be/have perfection takes a ton of work. The ironic thing about it is all that work leads to learning how to simply let it go. Making the decision and being able to see that's all that's required. Tougher for some people than others. Tougher some days than others.
But yep, I agree with Nicola. Well said as usual, N.
I live with one of those glass half empty people. Thing is, I'm deliriously optimistic most times, so between us, we tend to hover somewhere above the earth.
Jennifer, for some I imagine it feels like letting go. For me, mostly, it feels like opening my arms and charging at life, grinning.
ssas, oh, yep, Kelley and I do our best to balance each other. Except for the times when we both feel awesome, and then, fuck it, fuck balance! Embrace the awesome!
For me I had to let go of a lot of extra weight before I could clear the sludge off my windshield enough to see what was in front of me. And then I could do some charging and grinning. :)
I agree totally with the idea that you're doomed to failure and disappointment if you try to hold everything up to the ideal of perfection, because perfection can never truly be reached. But I do think there is such a thing as perfect moments. Like watching a full moon slowly rise over snow-covered hills on a frosty night with a stranger you never see again. Or sharing the thrill of standing out in a rowdy thunderstorm with a best friend. They're usually brief and rare, but perfect.