The joy of less

[Art Gardner]

http://happydays.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/06/07/the-joy-of-less/?em

[Tardy Eye of Common Courtesy]

You have a sweetheart , you play ping pong and you have your books ,music and friends...
Sounds luxurious! Enjoyed your Blog

[Morticia (Not My Real Name)]

What's your take on this, Art? Why did you think of posting it here?

[Art Gardner]

Hey Margaret,

The reason for posting the article came out of an experience I had just prior to reading it.

I was feeling rather down over some ongoing personal circumstances when I went to the supermarket. While roaming the aisles thoughts of my situation preoccupied my mind until I found myself at the meat counter. “How’s it going?,” asked butcher enthusiastically. “Fine,” I instinctively replied, looking past him and focusing on what was for sale.

But then there was a moment of silence. I looked up and saw the butcher looking directly at me and smiling. This simple act caused me to snap out of my head and into what was going on.

So I decided to tell the truth.

“Actually, it’s been a pretty rough day,” I said (although in retrospect it really hadn’t, it just felt that way). The butcher nodded in understanding while at the same time his smile grew. “Hey, it could be worse,” he replied and then started to chuckle.

His response gave rise to something in me and we both started laughing, nodding, and repeating aloud what we knew to be true. “It could be worse.” Then, as the moment started to trail off, he leaned in towards me and a much more serious tone overtook him. “It could be worse,” he said while lowering his left eyelid in the slowest, most deliberate wink I have ever witnessed. I instinctively leaned towards him to hear what was next.

“My house and everything I own was destroyed in Katrina,” he said in a calm, quiet tone. There was a beat or two of silence then the grin and chuckle returned. “But I’m still here and still smiling,” he went on in genuine joy. “It could be worse.”

We carried on the conversation for a few minutes more talking about the city we both love. He then thanked me for making his day – which nearly a week later still dumbfounds me -– and I went home noticing there had been a shift inside. An hour or two later I came across the article The Joy of Less and posted it here just to share it with others.

******

I’m still trying to let both the encounter and the article settle in me without trying too much to intellectualize them or manufacture a meaning (both of which are activities in which I excel, btw). I find it far too easy to rush to simple conclusions that miss the point entirely. Much like the proverbial dog, I find myself focusing on the finger instead of the moon.

The desire for happiness, the attachment to that state, runs deep. It is often the unacknowledged lurking goal in my practice. So when I read in the article ‘running to stand still isn’t where your joy lies’ there was a resonance within.

While obviously true, it is a great oversimplification to say the things won’t make you happy. It also a somewhat dangerous adage since one could infer from it that not having things will make you happy. And it is in that sense that I wonder if the article is somewhat incorrectly titled. Is it really The Joy of Less or Joy Arising from Presence?

There was absolutely no mistaking that along with joy glimmering in the butcher’s eye there was also a deep sense of loss and pain. Everything he owned, his entire way life, and the city where he was born and raised were all destroyed in a matter of hours. The ache of his heart for what once was was unmistakable.

Yet co-existing with those emotions were a very real sense of joy and a simple yet deep acknowledgment of what was. It was not, as I understand the phase, the equanimity of a cow.

The author also seems to indicate what he finds so joyful about his current conditions are the lack of distractions and business. A simpler life gives rise to greater openings to presence, which he in turns seems to find joyful.

A cynic (like some of those leaving comments in the online article) could say for the author it is a choice whereas for the butcher it forced by circumstances. I don’t agree with that perspective. The butcher too has a choice. He didn’t become angry or bitter over the situation. He seems to have opened to it, acknowledged it, and gone on with life.

As for me, what seems to be taking hold deep within is a greater understanding that the purpose of practice isn’t joy or happiness, it is presence. Yet when one is present, there are great opportunities for authentic joy to arise in the most unusual of situations.

[Morticia (Not My Real Name)]

Art, thank you so very much for sharing this. You've given me a lot to think about.