This is a glorious Saturday morning. Tuesday is the last game of the season, and our play-off hopes are pretty slim. Last night, on Senior Night, we won big in our last home game, so today there is no practice. The boys' basketball games aren't until this afternoon. So I woke up a little later than normal, didn't get out of bed for an hour or so, took the dog for a walk, then sat down to a quiet house.
Do you remember when you were a little kid and you tried on your dad's clothes? Or when you saw him shaving and wanted to do it with him? (I'm sure girls remember something similar: trying on heels, wanting to put on make-up.) It was fun trying to feel "grown up."
But when you do grow up, all the anticipation is gone with the reality that those tasks aren't really all they're cracked up to be. Shaving is a chore. Driving can be a hassle. But what I discovered this morning is that there are still moments when I feel like I'm trying to play grown up. I made myself some orange rolls, brewed some coffee, grabbed my well-worn copy of "Walden" off the bookshelf, turned on my Classical Best-Sellers album, and settled down on my nice, warm (albeit somewhat dog-smelling) couch. The first sensation was, "Ah.... Nowhere to be. Nothing to do. Nice and quiet. Relaxing. Rich and sweet tastes. Stimulating thought. Beautiful, soothing sounds. What a perfect morning!" Then I thought, "This feels so weird! It feels like I'm trying to be some uber-sophisticated adult, soaking in all the luxuries of life. I feel like I'm still trying to be an adult...and maybe trying too hard." It was odd, but it was still glorious.
And in the middle of this thinking, I read the following passage from Thoreau.
Meanwhile my host told me his story, how hard he worked "bogging" for a neighboring farmer, turning up a meadow with a spade or bog hoe at the rate of ten dollars an acre and the use of the land with manure for one year, and his little broad-faced son worked cheerfully at his father's side the while, not knowing how poor a bargain the latter had made. I tried to help him with my experience, telling him that he was one of my nearest neighbors, and that I too, who came a-fishing here, and looked like a loafer, was getting my living like himself; that I lived in a tight, light, and clean house, which hardly cost more than the annual rent of a such a ruin as his race commonly amounts to; and how, if he chose, he might in a month or two build himself a palace of his own; that I did not use tea, nor coffee, nor butter, nor milk, nor fresh meat, and so did not have to work to get them; again, as I did not work hard, I did not have to eat hard, and it cost me but a trifle for my food; but as he began with tea, and coffee, and butter, and milk, and beef, he had to work hard to pay for them, and when he had worked hard he had to eat hard again to repair the waste of his system--and so it was as broad as it was long, indeed it was broader than it was long, for he was discontented and wasted his life into the bargain; and yet he had rated it as a gain in coming to America, that here you could get tea, and coffee, and meat every day. But the only true America is that country where you are at liberty to pursue such a mode of life as may enable you to do without these, and where the state does not endeavor to compel you to sustain the slavery and war and other superfluous expenses which directly or indirectly result from the use of such things. For I purposely talked to him as if he were a philosopher, or desired to be one. I should be glad if all the meadows on the earth were left in a wild state, if that were the consequence of men's beginning to redeem themselves. A man will not need to study history to find out what is best for his own culture. But alas! the culture of an Irishman is an enterprise to be undertaken with a sort of moral bog hoe. I told him, that as he worked so hard at bogging, he required thick boots and stout clothing, which yet were soon soiled and worn out, but I wore light shoes and thin clothing, which cost not half so much, though he might think that I was dressed like a gentleman (which, however, was not the case), and in an hour or two, without labor, but as a recreation, I could, if I wished, catch as many fish as I should want for two days, or earn enough money to support me a week. If he and his family would live simply, they might all go a-huckleberrying in the summer for their amusement. John heaved a sigh at this, and his wife stared with arms akimbo, and both appeared to be wondering if they had capital enough to begin such a course with, or arithmetic enough to carry it through. It was sailing by dead reckoning to them, and they saw not clearly how to make their port so; therefore I suppose they still take life bravely, after their fashion, face to face, giving it tooth and nail, not having skill to split its massive columns with any fine entering wedge, and rout it in detail; - thinking to deal with it roughly, as one should handle a thistle. But they fight an overwhelming disadvantage--living, John Field, alas! without arithmetic, and failing so.
I love "Walden" so much because of passages like these. Thoreau constantly challenges me to live simply. So much so that the word, "Simplify" hangs on my living room wall. Elsewhere he says, "Instead of three meals a day, if it be necessary eat but one. Instead of a hundred dishes, five; and reduce everything else in proportion." The hour in bed this morning was spent researching rain suits. Since I'll be in Scotland in early March, and since my current rain suit is at least 15 years old (when it was my constant companion at every Ohio high school track meet), I want to get something new. My four-fold goal is durability, wearability, light weight, and economical. You probably don't need me to tell you that the four rarely meet in one jacket. Quality is not cheap. Durable clothing isn't always light. So I've been researching exactly what I want for the past several days and I think I've come to a contender I might actually buy. But in the midst of this, Thoreau whispers, "Why not just use the ratty old rain suit? Sure it leaks a little. Sure it's not 'breathable' like newer materials. Sure it doesn't stretch, it's a little worn, it's kind of ugly...but in the end, doesn't it basically get the job done?" Maybe that's not Thoreau. Maybe it's the Holy Spirit reminding me to be a good steward of my finances. Maybe it's neither. Maybe I'm just a cheapskate.
In any case, the reminder to simplify doesn't end there. In the past six months I've done the exact opposite of Thoreau's recommendation. Instead of three meals, I now eat six. Instead of starting simply and working easily, I start with meat and wear my body out. I have always said such a fitness regimen would only be an experiment, but I have liked the results enough that I want it to be a lifestyle. But is that the life I've always said that I wanted? See what I mean? "Walden" is great stuff: challenging, thought-provoking, and constant in its reminder to "front only the essentials of life, and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not truly lived."
No comments:
Post a Comment