When I was a little boy, I remember watching The Sound of Music with my family. It was a precursor to the mornings around dining room table as we sang out solfedges; Do, Re, Mi… The movie also contained the song My Favorite Things; one of my favorites.
One of my favorite things in my life happens every Thursday, because that’s the day I have a ‘scheduled’ call with my older sister, Lydia. Sometime within the last year or two, we landed on one day a week where we could call each other; Thursday, because it’s her off-day from work. Before we landed on that day, I’d often call at various days and she would often ‘feel bad’ because she couldn’t take the call due to work/family obligations.
She probably doesn’t know it, because I haven’t shared it with her, but our ‘Thursday call’ is something I look forward to every week. Last Thursday (blursday) I remember getting my coffee ready in the morning with a twinge of sadness, because I thought it was Wednesday, and I’d have to wait another day to chat with her. Clearly, I needed coffee, because it was Thursday. Once I realized it, I called her right away and we had one of the best conversations of our life.
During the call, she recommended I read a book called The Midnight Library. While I’m currently headfirst in a small pile of books, I decided to buy it and start reading it.
Unlike ‘shows’ which seem to get progressively worse the further you get into them, The Midnight Library proceeded to get better and better with each page. I finished it in about three sittings and couldn’t put it down for the final 75 pages.
Without spoiling the plot, the ‘skinny’ of the book is that the main character attempts suicide and finds herself in a library-of-sorts, filled with an eternal number of books; each representing a life she ‘could’ have lived. Opening each book would transport her to that life, and she would stay in it until she reached the point of disappointment.
What would you do if you could instantly travel to a life where you had everything you thought you wanted, as an outside observer to the one actually living the life? The book answered that question in a beautiful way.
There was one line that stood out to me the most.
“The feeling of deep regret she carried her entire life – was nothing more than the feeling of the ‘wasted’ lives’ she didn’t want to actually live.”
That line gave me an awful lot to think about, because I’ve often found myself guilty of feeling both regret as well as wanton desire for the lives of others in fleeting moments as short as the passing-by of an expensive car or a drive through an opulent neighborhood.
A few weeks ago, I found myself in an ultra-wealthy neighborhood. As I drove into the gated driveway and drove my car down a ‘driveway’ longer than some city blocks, I eventually stopped in front of the garage, as the owner waited there to greet me.
“This place is palatial!” I exclaimed as I got out of my car, inquiring what was inside of the large 6-bay garage – 3 of which were large enough to fit a large boat.
“An indoor basketball court and a bunch of trucks” he responded.
It was impressive, really.
As I drove away that night, there was something I noticed as I was exiting the block-length driveway; I didn’t want to live there, nor could I imagine myself being happy in that sort of a property.
Why?
While Atlas might have had a safe gated driveway to ride his motorcycle inside of, he’d be light years away from playing with any neighborhood kids – something he regularly enjoys on the quiet stretch of suburban neighborhood we occupy. Additionally, I looked at the vast emount of land – and home – and wondered just how much time would be spent caring for it, rather than enjoying it.
As I pulled into our garage that night, I never felt happier to be – well, at home. Greeting me wasn’t a 6-bay garage with an indoor basketball court; rather, it was filled with childrens toys, a Porsche 944 that I love and a 1996 Honda Helix Scooter/sidecar. It felt like home – the home I’ve always wanted to have.
Satisfaction and contentment aren’t traits that are encouraged in our global society – much less the ‘American dream’ which is far more about perpetual aquisiton and upgrades than it is being content with what you have and investing yourself into it. I liken the ‘rat race’ mindset to running yourself ragged sprinting loops on a running track, only to discover you would have been much happier had you simply run a 100 yard sprint and called it a day; accepting, and settling [making peace] with, your personal best.
Home is where the heart is. However, a heart that isn’t at peace won’t feel at home anywhere – no matter how beautiful, rich, exotic, vibrant and equisite the circumstances may be. A pauper at peace is far richer than a billionaire without contentment – and that doesn’t necessarily apply only to money.
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