Wednesday, December 26, 2007
new ice, old ice
The day after. Empty campus. Cold office. No good mail, piles of paper, exams to read. I walk over to the College Library to pick up some books. I linger over the new collection. I'm leafing through a volume titled “All the Money in the World.” I’m on the chapter about whether money brings happiness.
Not surprisingly, most rich people think it does not. Most rich people, I think, don’t remember what it’s like to be not rich, in the same way that I do not really remember what it’s like to live in a poor country: I only recall I felt like Nina then and feel like Nina now. Troubled by everything and nothing. Is it that you only notice deprivation when others count on you for a better life?
Outside, I note that Lake Mendota is getting that sheen of ice cover. Not thick yet, not rippled, not covered with snow. Dangerously new, not solid. Kind of like a fresh relationship – the one you shouldn’t feel too comfortable with. Time hasn’t thickened the skin yet. Everything is new. Everything is shiny. Everything is fragile.
I drive to the other lake, the one with the bay at the side, The one favored by the ice fishers. And they are there. Doug-in, safe, on ice-covered snow.
It's good to be able to count on that sheet of ice growing solid. It doesn't cost much to hang out its surface and hope for a fish to make its way into the bucket. You're alone. You let someone else fix supper and welcome you at the end of the day.
The world is different depending on where you throw your stool.
Not surprisingly, most rich people think it does not. Most rich people, I think, don’t remember what it’s like to be not rich, in the same way that I do not really remember what it’s like to live in a poor country: I only recall I felt like Nina then and feel like Nina now. Troubled by everything and nothing. Is it that you only notice deprivation when others count on you for a better life?
Outside, I note that Lake Mendota is getting that sheen of ice cover. Not thick yet, not rippled, not covered with snow. Dangerously new, not solid. Kind of like a fresh relationship – the one you shouldn’t feel too comfortable with. Time hasn’t thickened the skin yet. Everything is new. Everything is shiny. Everything is fragile.
I drive to the other lake, the one with the bay at the side, The one favored by the ice fishers. And they are there. Doug-in, safe, on ice-covered snow.
It's good to be able to count on that sheet of ice growing solid. It doesn't cost much to hang out its surface and hope for a fish to make its way into the bucket. You're alone. You let someone else fix supper and welcome you at the end of the day.
The world is different depending on where you throw your stool.
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Maybe the main thing to learn -- whether you're 8 or 80 -- is that you have to eventually live your own life. Feel comfortable in your own boots, and not think happiness is elusive -- something out there that only if you can get to, you'll find yourself complete. It's tempting to try to grab on to what makes others happy, thinking that's what we need for ourselves. But in the end, we all have to make our own homes -- whether they be in a sheepshed, apartment, city, or foreign country. Until a person figures this out, what it takes inside to make them happy, and discards all the outward comparisons to others seeking their own joys, probably one remains restless, thinking it's something external needed, some thing that holds the secret. In truth, it's found within, and it's been there all along if only one listens and stops looking outward long enough to know themself.
ReplyDeletePlus, it makes it a lot easier on those loved ones around them who don't have to continually "compete" and are then freer to concentrate on their own personal satisfactions they've come to recognize and feel comfortable with. (And remember, those fishermen could teach one there are a lot of fish in that "sea", and it's not a failing to put some back in the water, and not settle for the first one that appears in the bucket. Particularly if you it takes a lot of time and effort on one side to find satisfaction with the unfamiliar taste of that type of fish.)
Wishing you a content 2008!