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Human nature fascinates me. I have only
my own to go by with any degree of accuracy, and that which I can
extrapolate from the actions of others. But I've never quite
understood the optimism with which, having attempted to do something
fifteen times and failed, I (we) are under the illusion that exactly
the same thing done exactly the same way a sixteenth time will work.
I sometimes surprise myself by doing
something for no reason other than that the thought struck me to do
it. It was thus, the other day, when I found myself going into a
Panera's coffee shop I almost never visit unless I'm with someone, to
have a cup of coffee and a small pumpkin muffin Panera's insists on
calling a "muffie"....an appellation so cloyingly "cute"
that I never ask for one by name, merely pointing and saying "One
of those." As always, the place was full of couples and singles,
many of them working on their laptops, and all apparently having a
very pleasant, relaxing time enjoying that great American ritual, a
cup of coffee. I didn't want to take out my own laptop, which I had
with me, since I knew I'd not be there all that long, and decided to
pretend I was just like all the others seated quietly and contentedly
with their coffee.
The fact is that, though I have an
average of two cups of coffee a day I cannot remember the last time I
actually finished one. Yet I never seem to face the fact head-on that
I simply am not all that wild about coffee and never have been. I
don't dislike it, but the joy that others so obviously take
from it is totally lost on me. I suppose that somewhere, deep down
inside, I really think that the next time I have a cup of coffee I am
actually going to finish it and truly savor the deliciousness of
every sip. My inability to love coffee sets me even further apart
from the herd than I already am. No matter. Everyone else seems to
enjoy it, so I just go along with it and hope no one discovers my
secret shame.
I have never done sitting quietly and
contentedly very well, so what made me even remotely think I could do
sit there this time with my coffee and
Pastry-Whose-Name-Shall-Remain-Unspoken was mystery. So I sat there,
slathering little tubs of butter onto my....one of those....and
sipping my coffee as though I were enjoying it while really, really
trying to be relaxed and comfortable. What's wrong with me that I
can't do it? I looked around me. There were maybe six or eight other
people sitting alone, minding their own business, taking their own
time, apparently without a care in the world. What were they doing?
Surely they had to be thinking of something. They couldn't
just sit there, thinking and doing nothing at all, could they? Then
why did it appear that that was exactly what they were doing? Was
nobody home behind the windows of their eyes?
I'm sure anyone looking through my own
little hazel-colored windows would see ten thousand thoughts and
ideas and things-I-should-be-doing-rather-than-just-sitting-theres
bustling around, bumping into one another. Thoughts are as fleeting
as smoke: if you don't capture them and put them into words they
become harder and harder to remember, and nine out of ten of them are
gone forever, or trampled beneath a stampede of the thoughts that
come directly behind them. I lose far too many of them as it is; to
willingly sit idly and lose so many others is unconscionable.
Obviously, my inability to sit still,
to breath deeply and slowly, and float calmly along the surface of
time is some sort of character weakness. I know I am undoubtedly
missing out on the wonders of silent contemplation and meditation:
Buddhists dedicate their lives to it. I would go stark raving mad
within ten minutes. And I wish I could say that I envy people who can
find deep fulfillment in doing nothing, but I honestly cannot.
There'll be plenty of time for doing nothing when I'm dead. I don't
need practice in it while I'm still alive.
There's an ad running for a an ocean
cruise line which outlines all the wonderful things one can do aboard
their ships, and it sounds great, until they add, as part of their
list: "Or just do nothing at all."
Nothing at all? I'm going to pay
several thousand dollars to do nothing at all? What's wrong with this
picture? If they want to do nothing at all, let them save all that
money and stay home. Or better still, have them come have a quiet cup
of coffee at Panera's.
3 comments:
I find that I relate to your observations and relative dissatisfaction with what society finds pleasing and, it would seem, intellectually stimulating in the absence of apparent intellectual delving. Perhaps more resides behind the glassy eyes of those you observe, but as I have actually subjected myself to the 'coffee venturing' for the first time this week, I have seen - and felt - much of what you describe. It's difficult to jot down in words, this experience, as it is more of something which is felt... but the appeal of what has been typified as a "typical American affair and act of sociability" is, in my opinion, lacking. A bit humdrum, even. Perhaps I seek something more in what never has been, but either way, my curiosity for what attracts a fellow's nature compels me to seek an answer.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts this morning~
I'm always delighted when something I write strikes a chord in someone else. It is, after all, the reason I write...to stress that we are generally far more alike than we often feel.
Thanks, "Life"
I cannot go into a restaurant or other establishment like a coffee house by myself without a laptop, book or magazine. If I don't, I sit there wondering if everybody else is looking up when I can't see and wondering why I don't have something to do or why I'm alone. Why is this person sitting there with nothing in front of him except his cup of tea, meal or snack?
I end up leaving as soon as possible and frequently without bothering to finish what I came in there to eat/drink.
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