Zealot

The bad mood which threatened last week has largely passed me by - sometimes you just don't have time for self-indulgence... Birmingham was particularly hectic - I returned to London on Friday night and went straight to bed: no dinner, no television, no phone calls, no alarms and no surprises. A hopeless, foetal surrender to my jagged, back-breaking mattress and the melancholy underworld of my subconscious. CM, what did you do to that mattress by the way? Wait - don't answer that...

The weekend was mixed, the best part being the time I spent with a couple of friends I used to live with who had come to visit. Unfortunately, Saturday night was the second time in the last year that I got so drunk that I became the obnoxious, depraved adolescent I thought I had left behind at University. What a disappointment.

Anyway, there is a point: appreciation. Since what I have already referred to as the enlightenment of my young adulthood, my moments of appreciation have become increasingly frequent. Perhaps the breakthrough came a few years ago when I was driving alone from Montpellier (where I used to live) to the beach on a scorching summer's day, in a car that was given to me by my cousin. I remember the particular track I was listening to - Façade by Spylab - in which there is a sample of the following extract:

I asked God for strength that I might achieve;
I was made weak that I might learn humbly to obey.
I asked for health that I might do greater things;
I was given infirmity that I might do better things.
I asked for riches that I might be happy;
I was given poverty that I might be wise.
[...]
I asked for all things that I might enjoy life;
I was given life that I might enjoy all things.
I was given nothing that I had asked for, but eveything that I had hoped for.
So despite myself my prayers were answered;
I am, among all men, most richly blessed.

Taken from The Blessing of Unanswered Prayers - Unknown Confederate Soldier

How can I follow this up? I have already deleted several paragraphs explaining why the words in this extract felt relevant to me at that particular time in my life. I even had a serious thought over whether I should mention that this used to make me cry whenever I heard it. There, I've said it. But did I say it because I want those people reading this to know that I cry; because there is some inexplicable kudos in a male's admission that he cries? Am I trying to impress you? I fucking hope not...

A few thoughts then:

Almost nothing is ever as good as you hope for or as bad as you fear
My dad taught me this, and it seems to be at least connected to what the text is saying: a logical consequence of realising that, despite your fears and wishes, you have not after all been subjected to those absolutes.

Maintain a perspective
Part 1: Appreciate what you have for what it really is
Ok, so there is plenty in my life about which I am not ecstatic, but for fuck's sake look at where I am and how I have been able to manipulate the chances I was fortunate enough to have been given into favourable outcomes. If this is about comparison, it's a comparison to how much worse things could have been. In basic Humean terms, I can easily construct a complex idea consisting of so many of the less favourable situations I see every day on the news, in the street, all around me. Fuck, it wouldn't even have to be a complex idea - there are very few people with whom I would even consider trading places. I feel infinitely grateful that I am me.
Part 2: Those you perceive as less fortunate deserve equal respect
Another gem from dad - he has certainly taught me some important lessons, some intentionally, others not. I am at this point compelled to at least summarise the comlpex relationship I feel I have with my father and my feelings towards him. This isn't the time. Anyway, this piece of wisdom was passed down from my grandfather, and was told to me as a very brief anecdote during my formative years. The story goes that long ago when my father was a child, he and my grandfather were out walking one day and came across a street cleaner who was hard at work. My grandfather took my father aside and said to him sternly, "Look. Always remember that he might not be able to do my job, but I can't do his either." Ok, so it's not exactly watertight, but in the context of my grandfather's personality and what he stood for, his words were without doubt shorthand for the following sentiment: This man is as much an integral part of society in his job as I am in mine. Each of us has skills and training: mine make me a good shopkeeper, his make him a good street cleaner. We both deserve equal respect for that. Plato would have been proud - and when I understood the message, so was I.

As there are always clauses and conditions, the proviso for these thoughts is that they are mere ideals. If these ideas penetrated my every action I'd be a much better person. They don't, and as things stand I'm still going to hell. My original point though was that I am thinking about these things more often than ever: when I am served in a shop, restaurant or pub, when I'm working late and I see the cleaners... This isn't pity or guilt, it's part of my attempt to grasp the concept that the world is full of people (and other sentient beings, which I intend to pursue another time) each with their own first-person perspective and all that that entails.

Depending on how you read this, it is either intensely humbling or mind-numbingly obvious.