Once upon a time, I began my mornings around 3:30 or 4. I'd have a vat of coffee with Splenda (this is why I no longer use artificial sweetener) and translate like a motherf*cker until 9, when I'd head off to class. Each week I had five classes of my own (each met three times), three classes and three sections of the class I TA-ed, research for my advisor, and daily exercise. I always made time to exercise. I didn't make time to have friends, but I did stalk a very cute coffee guy at the Tuesday farmers' market, and I pretended that I knew the patrons who sat at my favorite cafe. I'd cook a small dinner in the evenings, work for a few more hours, and then I'd head to bed around ten, though I made sure to read one short story before sleep, just so I wouldn't lose all sense of propriety.
While I don't reminisce fondly about this particular interlude, I do frequently marvel at my former self. So driven! So regimented! So diligent!
I was just coming off this schedule when I met n.o.c., and six hours of sleep seemed like the ultimate frivolity - a selfish and slothful waste of time. Then we spent a solid month sunning ourselves and sleeping when the mood struck, and - *SHAZAM!* - that driven, regimented, diligent person decided that she was done with that shit, threw her book bag in the trash and cracked a beer. Last I heard, she was tanned like luggage and slinging cocktails in a seedy South American bar on a dangerous but beautiful stretch of beach.
Lately, I've been sleeping a lot - going to bed around 9:30, getting up around 6:30. I love it. In fact, it feels so good that I wonder if I might be happy just sleeping my life away. When I think I've finally gotten my nap out, I find that I can easily sleep for several more hours. I don't feel badly about this, although I do suspect that I'm being judged by some past me. I also feel a little duddish and phlegmatic when I come across someone like this, who is inhumanly productive and probably sleeps less on purpose so that she can do more. But, I was never into computers - or anything profitable, for that matter - so there's really no sense in comparing apples to wildly successful, techy oranges.
At the moment, I spend most of my time reading, writing, cooking, and sleeping. I'm basically a literate cat with culinary ambitions. And I think that's fine. I think. For now.
Showing posts with label the good life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the good life. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
The Good Life
I spend a shitload of time pondering the sorts of things that make a life good. Like, does a life have to be big and impressive in order to be good? Obviously, the answer to that is NO. Do you have to have a PhD in order to have a great life? No, but I'd like one. Are moderation, vegetarianism, and yoga necessary components of happiness? No, maybe, and I have studied too much Sanskrit to talk about Americans and yoga. Do you need love? Probably. Friends? Definitely. n.o.c.? Absolutely.
After much discussion - with myself, with others, with a bottle of rye - I've come to the conclusion that many kinds of lives can be good ones. Obviously, a good life is nearly impossible to craft if one is plagued by hunger or poverty or bombs or dysentery, but let's lay those circumstances aside because, at the moment, there's not much that I can do about them other than feel vaguely and persistently indignant - something must be done! - and give homeless Rick another granola bar (I try not to give Rick money, because Rick likes to smoke crack). Anyway.
I bring this knobby topic to the fore because I've been working to organize myself - my life - in the absence of official expectation. All of my bills are on autopay, my checks are directly deposited, and n.o.c. can feed himself. Other than a three-day think tank (groan), there is not a damn thing that I have to do. So, I get to do what I want to do. All day. Now wait - wait! Think about this for a minute - how do you live your life when there is nothing that you must do? I'm not talking about how you spend your time on a lazy Sunday or about how you drink gallons of banana monkeys and you cook yourself to a crisp while vacationing in Majorca. I'm also not talking about what you do when you're spending months in an ashram or backpacking across Europe. I'm talking about how you would live months of obligation-free life right where you are. In that chair. In front of that computer. Oh, and you can't spend any money. Important point.
I come from a long line of Southern Protestants, which, in case you're unaware, means that I'm often riddled with guilt about everything. I hide it well, but I'm generally perseverating about people I haven't called, thank you notes I haven't written, floors I haven't scrubbed, chairs I haven't reupholstered, physicals I haven't scheduled, applications I haven't finished. I've also spent a goodly amount of time in New England, so I'm basically f*cked. Doing what I want to do makes me feel devious and afraid that I'll be discovered and punished. For example, whenever I reread an entertaining book for pleasure, I feel compelled to hide it before anyone sees. Naps seem lazy and self-indulgent, so I have to fall asleep "accidentally" while doing something else. Buying food for myself while traveling alone seems wasteful, so I sit and watch others eat while I patiently wait for fifteen tasteless pretzels and a shot glass of water. All of this reading and writing and pajama wearing and cobbler eating that I've been doing? I feel as though I need to fast and self-flagellate.
Guilt be damned, this morning I sat on the couch for three hours and thought. Just thought - nothing measurably productive about it. That's what I wanted to do. And while I did it, I realized that having the time and space to really give things a solid f*cking think is a big chunk of what you need to live a good life. I know that Socrates beat me to this punch thousands of years ago, but sometimes a reminder is in order.
What else did I want to do today? I wanted to see n.o.c. off to work and pack his lunch. I wanted to write, I wanted to research and I wanted to do it all in my motherf*cking nightgown. So I did it. And then I wanted to take a nap, because being a self-fulfilled, good-life-living person is tiring shit, so I sat down with a book that I'd read before and pretended to read until I fell asleep. And then I slept through my guilt.
After much discussion - with myself, with others, with a bottle of rye - I've come to the conclusion that many kinds of lives can be good ones. Obviously, a good life is nearly impossible to craft if one is plagued by hunger or poverty or bombs or dysentery, but let's lay those circumstances aside because, at the moment, there's not much that I can do about them other than feel vaguely and persistently indignant - something must be done! - and give homeless Rick another granola bar (I try not to give Rick money, because Rick likes to smoke crack). Anyway.
I bring this knobby topic to the fore because I've been working to organize myself - my life - in the absence of official expectation. All of my bills are on autopay, my checks are directly deposited, and n.o.c. can feed himself. Other than a three-day think tank (groan), there is not a damn thing that I have to do. So, I get to do what I want to do. All day. Now wait - wait! Think about this for a minute - how do you live your life when there is nothing that you must do? I'm not talking about how you spend your time on a lazy Sunday or about how you drink gallons of banana monkeys and you cook yourself to a crisp while vacationing in Majorca. I'm also not talking about what you do when you're spending months in an ashram or backpacking across Europe. I'm talking about how you would live months of obligation-free life right where you are. In that chair. In front of that computer. Oh, and you can't spend any money. Important point.
I come from a long line of Southern Protestants, which, in case you're unaware, means that I'm often riddled with guilt about everything. I hide it well, but I'm generally perseverating about people I haven't called, thank you notes I haven't written, floors I haven't scrubbed, chairs I haven't reupholstered, physicals I haven't scheduled, applications I haven't finished. I've also spent a goodly amount of time in New England, so I'm basically f*cked. Doing what I want to do makes me feel devious and afraid that I'll be discovered and punished. For example, whenever I reread an entertaining book for pleasure, I feel compelled to hide it before anyone sees. Naps seem lazy and self-indulgent, so I have to fall asleep "accidentally" while doing something else. Buying food for myself while traveling alone seems wasteful, so I sit and watch others eat while I patiently wait for fifteen tasteless pretzels and a shot glass of water. All of this reading and writing and pajama wearing and cobbler eating that I've been doing? I feel as though I need to fast and self-flagellate.
Guilt be damned, this morning I sat on the couch for three hours and thought. Just thought - nothing measurably productive about it. That's what I wanted to do. And while I did it, I realized that having the time and space to really give things a solid f*cking think is a big chunk of what you need to live a good life. I know that Socrates beat me to this punch thousands of years ago, but sometimes a reminder is in order.
What else did I want to do today? I wanted to see n.o.c. off to work and pack his lunch. I wanted to write, I wanted to research and I wanted to do it all in my motherf*cking nightgown. So I did it. And then I wanted to take a nap, because being a self-fulfilled, good-life-living person is tiring shit, so I sat down with a book that I'd read before and pretended to read until I fell asleep. And then I slept through my guilt.
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