“The world is a comedy to those who think, a tragedy to those who feel.” -Horace Walpole
Oh the irony of Walpole’s expression. Yet as I get older, the more I see this to be blatantly true. Sometimes I’ll be driving in my car and just begin to laugh, out loud, alone at all the dumbfounding things I see or hear. It is a thinker’s laughter that saves him. Otherwise he risks depression, which in my opinion accomplishes nothing.
But then there is that “gift” of feelings (if you can call it a gift at all). As a woman, I find it very difficult to maintain sanity with the ecstasy of feeling loved and the murder of feeling alone, both fighting for supremacy. It is hard enough trying to decide whether to follow your heart or your mind, but then when you have to decide which part of the heart or which part of the mind to follow it becomes increasingly more challenging.
Simplicity, I hear everyone say, is an excellent state of being. But I do not think that I have ever truly met someone that lived a simplistic life. At least not in America. (Personally, I struggle between being a romantic idealist and a logical realist; which is better, I will never know.)
I am in this sort of “funk,” if you will, where few things seem appealing and the things that do are just out of reach. It is frustrating, actually. There are many things, obtainable things, that history tells me is not worth the effort. Then are a few things, unobtainable things, which my lack of history makes seem enticingly desirable.
I read a quote once that said, “If the grass is greener on the other side, you can bet their water bill is higher too.” We sure selective creatures, aren’t we? Instead of focusing on the big picture, we pull out our magnifying glass to look at the tiny details. But what is life more than details? Wouldn’t it be bland and ordinary without them?
I mean what if the hokey pokey is what it’s all about?