At that dinner with Susie the other night, I remarked, "This is the best guacamole I've ever had." When Susie's husband nodded noncommitally and said, "It's okay," I realized that I needed to examine what I mean when I say that something is "the best ever." While my statement seemed to be comparing quacamoles, what I really meant was something like, "I can't imagine that this quacamole could be any better than I find it to be at this moment."
I suspect that my capacity to experience things in this way (as new and total in themselves) is a main reason I enjoy my life so much from moment to moment, however plain and "uneventful" it may be. This attitude goes along with a sense I have long had that the commonest of daily chores (washing dishes, making up beds) can be experienced as sacraments. That is, for example, washing a dish can be, if regarded with requisite mindfulness and awe, fully as worshipful as, say, taking communion can be for a Christian, or blowing up American servicemen can be for an Islamicist suicide bomber.
Great attitude! And one that I would do well to cultivate rather than tipping the scales toward the curmudgeon direction.
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ReplyDeleteYou really don't seem the curmudgeonly type, Serena. But, then, I've sometimes accused myself of becoming curmudgeonly, but friends have unanimously called me on it. Maybe we just speak our minds but aren't entirely comfortable with it?