I read that quote somewhere fairly recently. And I can’t find the original article any more, so I can’t attribute it; and to boot, I’m probably mis-quoting it (if you remember where it came from, let me know). However, when I read it, I realised that that’s been one of my base principles for a long time. So let me repeat it:
Life is better when you like more things.
I have a master’s degree in liberal arts; to be specific, in literary studies. That means that by definition, I’m trained in critical thinking. No, critical thinking doesn’t mean “criticising”… Well, actually, in practice it often does. It means looking down one’s long nose (and I have quite a long one) at a lot of things, and feeling superior because of it.
I’ve spent a lot of my life feeling superior. Feeling “better than” because I belonged to a certain group of people, subscribed to a certain set of beliefs; because I was intelligent and could critically evaluate.
And you know what? Superiority is so much baloney. It doesn’t add one iota of joy to your life. In fact, it goes hand in hand with its shadow side: I’ve spent the very same time that I felt superior in being plagued by feelings of inferiority. As much judging as you do, you know (or strongly feel) that you’re being judged yourself. And the more critical you are of others, the more you feel criticised.
I’ve given up a lot of my criticism over the last decade or so. It’s not worth it. And in turn, I’ve discovered so much more joy. When you stop feeling superior, you can start to belong. It’s wonderful.
Life is better when you like more things.
Life is better when there are more things you can say “yes” to, instead of raising your pointy noise, pursing your thin lips, and going “Oh. Eew. No, thank yew, not for moi.”
I used to be quite a picky eater when I was a kid; now, there are few things that I don’t like to eat (unfortunately, a few things don’t like me, but that’s another topic). It makes for great fun in travelling, because you can try out all these cool foods that you can’t get at home. Of course, there is a vast difference between a McDonald’s burger and an expertly cooked Jägerschnitzel (hunter’s schnitzel, topped with mushrooms in cream sauce – oh yeah!), but I’ll eat either if that’s what’s available; I don’t go hungry; and my taste buds are not unhappy. I’ve known folks who needed to find a McDonald’s wherever they went, and there are others who couldn’t eat at McD’s even if that’s all there is – either one lives a very circumscribed life.
The trailer for the new live-action Aladdin movie just came out. “Eew, Disney!” You know what? I’m really looking forward to seeing that film. My enjoyment of Disney fairy tale movies doesn’t take away one jot from the quality of, say, Drei Haselnüsse für Aschenbrödel, or Cocteau’s La Belle et la Bête. Reading and enjoying a Harlequin novel doesn’t mean that Jane Austen is one smidgen less of a genius.
You see, that’s the problem with criticism: somehow we have the idea that if we enjoy something, it impinges on what’s better, so therefore we shouldn’t take pleasure from something that’s less than stellar. We need to criticise everything, because if we don’t, it means that we are less than superior.
But take it from me: superiority takes a lot of effort, and it’s not worth it. Enjoyment, on the other hand, opens up your life and lets it blossom.
There are a lot of things I like: Small stuffed bears, Jägerschnitzel, folk music, fuzzy blankets, Agatha Christie novels, sunshine on fresh snow, lemon balm plants, fairy tale films … Yes, all right, even raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Actually, I’ll take the whole kitten, thank you, and keep him until he’s a fat grown-up tabby cat, and get daily pleasure from petting him and laughing at his antics. So many things to enjoy. You can keep your critical superiority; I’m too busy with the things I like.
My blog’s tag line is “Life, the Universe, and a Few-Odd Other Things” – Amo Vitam, “I love life”. Because Life Is Better When You Like More Things.
The snow kept falling thicker and thicker. Whirling, blowing, biting, cutting. Clinging to his whiskers, to his eyelashes, to the hair on the side of his face. His nose and cheeks had grown numb, his fingers so cold he could no longer bend them. When he tried to raise them to his face to brush the snow out of his beard, they felt like hard claws on the end of big, clumsy, fur-covered paws; claws that had no feeling in them and could not move to his will.
He tried to climb up the side of the ravine, reached for a snow-covered branch. Could not close his hands on it—where were his thumbs? He staggered on his clumsy legs, then dropped down onto all fours.
Like an animal.
Keep reading this story on Enchanted Conversation Magazine
I wrote this last November during NaNoWriMo, when I was doing a retelling of “Snow White and Rose Red“. It was sort of a prologue to the story, the moment when the “prince” turns into a “bear” – except in my adaptation, he’s not a real bear, just a very hairy guy (and he’s not a prince either, being an ordinary 21st century Canadian). But then it occurred to me that this could work as a standalone Flash Fiction, a regular adaptation of the regular fairy tale, so I sent it to Amanda at Enchanted Conversation. And here it is.
You can decide for yourself if you want to take the transformation as an actual guy-turned-into-bear thing, or keep it metaphorical. I’m not entirely sure yet which one I prefer.
I’m on a few weeks’ family visit in The Old Country (hence the long radio silence). Here, for your delectation, is a random and interesting little thing I noticed while stopping in at the Stiftskirche (Collegiate Church) in Stuttgart for a break during a shopping trip the other day: Chainstocking Feet.
This guy is one of a profusion of Eberhards and Ulrichs, Dukes of Württemberg, pictured along the side of the choir. The sculptures are from the late 16th century, but I assume the depiction of medieval armour is reasonably accurate.
Some of the others have plate-armour shoes, but this guy (he’s an Eberhard; to be precise, Eberhard I the Illustrious, 1265-1325) and his immediate neighbours have chainmail stockings all the way to their toes. I guess they wouldn’t have been much good on foot.
Also, the lions they’re standing on look thoroughly unimpressed. I guess having a dude in full armour planted on your head doesn’t feel all that great, whether they’re wearing steel shoes or chainstockings.
In brief, that’s Life, the Universe, and Travel Time. Keep your chainstockings dry!