Iced Borscht

Ruth Waytz

Not-Me: Is there no way you can do that?

Me: There’s now way I Want to do that.

Not-Me: It’s not about “want.”

Me: That’s ALL it’s about. In fact that’s all Anything’s about.

Turns out you really can get through life doing only what you want. The interesting revelation is that you may even be able to pull it off without first becoming a complete asshole.

Take the seasons for example –

I was just out on the East Coast (purely because I wanted to be).

The brightly colored fall leaves delighted me, and as I’d not seen that show in probably 30 years, I never stopped enjoying it.

I was talking to someone who lived out there, and who was adamant that the seasons – and the inevitable discomfort and compromise that define them – were not only enjoyable but in fact essential to a meaningful human life.

That without that cyclical suffering, human beings can’t properly experience life.

I had that conversation, and I absolutely saw her point. I wasn’t killed by the cold weather (but it had yet to begin in earnest, let alone drag on an imprison me indoors for months), and those leaves sure were gorgeous.

(Glad I didn’t have to rake ‘em though.)

Days later, I flew home – to my clear, sunny, mid-upper 70s. In other words, LA November.

In Other other words, Perfect.

Donna’s argument – and other people’s too – was that you just can’t live in Perfect every day. That it’s Just Not Right.

Standing there in the middle of it, though — arms outstretched, sun certainly warming me but not cooking me, I forgot about the colored leaves and felt nothing but wonderful under the wide blue expanse. Sorry Donna, the only thing to be said about living in Perfect… is that it’s perfect.

Agreed, I’ve had more than a few “where did those 20 years go?” moments lately, but it’s not because I didn’t freeze my ass off scraping ice off my car windshield or rake a few thousand leaves. It’s probably because I didn’t have a couple of kids, which is The Other mechanism by which we make ourselves feel the passage of time.

But that’s another story.

But living somewhere where every day is perfect? Yup. It’s perfect.

Appreciating this — Choosing this — is no more or less valid than any other life.

And suffering does not in fact build character; it just builds suffering.