“I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve (or save) the world and a desire to enjoy (or savor) the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.” – E.B.White
In the very earnest circles I run in, there’s a tendency to despair (1): To be so keenly aware of the suffering of the world at each moment that to enjoy a meal or to take an afternoon to feel the sun on your face feels like a betrayal of your values.
Yet we do each only have this one life, and if we spend it in suffering, we will (oh no) *add* to the suffering of the world. I don’t have an easy answer. It’s a constant dance, in and out of awareness, touching the narrative that invites you in and withdrawing to recover. Knowing enough not to deny it, and withholding enough not to be consumed.
I just found out (looking up the exact wording, two minutes ago) that the second half of the quote is: But if we forget to savor the world, what possible reason do we have for saving it?
In a way, the savoring must come first.
The funny thing is, I came here to make that exact argument. What we savour, we value. And what we value, we preserve.
In swim rescues, we approach a drowning person feet-first. We offer objects to climb on, not our own bodies. We also assess our own skills and capacities – do I even know how to accomplish this rescue, in heavy surf, in cold water, with no equipment to hand?
The place we find ourselves, right this moment, is awash. The number and scale of the problems are immense. I could start listing them, but I’m sure you could, too. We would get tired, enumerating.
And still, when I get up in the morning, I pause and drink my tea. I hold my cats and stare into space. I go for walks for no particular reason and read novels that lack educational value. This weekend I went sailing on a smallish boat on a slightly-too-cold day at the end of the season. I hung out with people I just barely know (one of whom owns a boat) and at the end of the day we shared a bottle of champagne and ate snacks. I made pumpkin scones with a hand milled spice mix, and they were amazing.
Everyday pleasures. I savour my everyday pleasures to remind me of the vision. There’s no point in building a world in which we are all equally miserable. But I can feel that my liberation and yours are entangled – not that mine is extracted from yours, but that (somehow, in a way as yet to be determined) we flow into a better future together.
And I wish everybody had this… not this cat, not this sailing, not this tea. But this contentment. This sense of being right with the world, if only for a moment.
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1. Quite possibly justified