Human beings have the capacity to understand and, at the very least, tolerate people who look, speak, or think differently. But that capacity is tested in too few human beings. Instead of treating differences as both interesting and acceptable, humans tend to see them as unpleasant and threatening. Different languages, appearances, and approaches to interactions with the world around us make life interesting. I find it difficult to understand insular people who assume differences are bad. The world would be so much more peaceful if we accepted others whose worldviews differ from our own. Saying that, of course, I recognize that my own prejudices and bigotries reject my preference for open-mindedness. That is to say: hypocrisy.
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“The house” occupies almost every corner of my mind almost all the time. “The house” being the one we’re updating with new paint, new flooring, several new light fixtures, some new plumbing fixtures, garage door tune-up, etc., etc., etc. Although the process of updating it is engaging, I am getting a bit tired of the project’s tendency to control every aspect of my life. Spur-of-the-moment activities interfere with the predictability required of the process of updating the house. Appointments must be kept because delaying them could result in lengthy, troubling delays. But it’s not really so bad; just a tad annoying. And I really do look forward to finishing the project, at least to the extent that we can move in, sell my house, and get on with a moderately stable life.
Speaking of “the house,” we had something of a reprieve yesterday afternoon while the flooring was being removed. We visited with a friend for a few hours and, late in the afternoon, even took her over to have a look. While occasional reprieves are nice, they seem to contribute to the delay; yet we could not have been productive yesterday afternoon, so there was no such contribution. It was a welcome and necessary delay. And today we will take a couple of hours to visit another friend. Then, back to it. I look forward to having more time to cogitate and mull and muse.
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You cannot tell whether a person is good or bad by his vicissitudes in life. Good and bad fortune are matters of fate.
~ Yamamoto Tsunetomo ~
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Facebook had a friend suggestion for me this morning. A woman from my high school class; I knew her then, but only vaguely. Her profile indicates she’s a politically conservative and religiously over-the-top fundamentalist. I skimmed a few posts: bible verses, intellectually-stunted memes, right-wing blather, and other content that suggests a dim wit cemented with unwavering opinions. Sure, sounds exactly like the kind of person I’d find appealing. I can imagine communicating with her would be a bit like arguing with a lamp post. I think Facebook has me confused with someone else.
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A year ago, ice and snow confined me to my house for several days and tested my patience. But it also caused me to consider, with gratitude, my good fortune. As much as I might have wanted to get out of the house, I was comfortable where I was. I had plenty of food, clean water, electricity, warmth, a beautiful view out my windows, and everything else I needed…and then some. Whenever I felt irritated at being caged in my house, I forced myself to consider where I might be, instead. If circumstances had been unkind to me, I might instead have been shivering in a cold tent, aching from hunger and thirst, and craving any creature comfort that might help warm me just a bit. I might have had nothing for entertainment but time…and thoughts of how I could secure enough food, water, and warmth to survive. Those thoughts, forced on my by my guilt for wanting even more, should float through my brain more often.
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He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has.
~ Epictetus ~
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I have a very, very vague recollection that I once read a novel by Orhan Pamuk, but I cannot determine whether, in fact, that recollection is true. In reviewing information about the novels he has written, the only one that seems even a little familiar is Snow. But that would be a stretch. Because I cannot determine whether I really read a Pamuk novel, I think I should create a list of all the books I’ve ever read. But that would be a nearly impossible task, because I generally forget books within a month or two (or less) of reading them.
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It’s time to embrace another day.
