Soak Up the Sun

Why is our house so big, Mom?

Because we’re lucky, Gavin.

Gavin and I have many exchanges like this. We discuss why our kitchen is so big, how much he likes our bathroom, and why there is so much food in the pantry.

Our house is not big. It is a 1910 threadbare farmhouse. Sometimes I love it dearly. More often I am dissatisfied with its drafty, worn rooms, with no budget (and limited energy) to do much about its flaws.

The first time Gavin asked some of these questions, I could have posed different answers.

It’s not big honey. Don’t you remember Nicole’s house? (Now that’s big).

We don’t have a lot of food, honey. We have to go shopping again.

But Gavin seems to like my standard answer. Sometimes, if I am feeling more instructive, we go on to talk about people who have no home, or not enough food, and how they need our help.

I went with Because we’re lucky because I wanted to reinforce Gavin’s natural optimism and appreciation. I wish I could retrieve the perspective I had as a child. My mom nicknamed me Pollyanna, for the child who played “the glad game”, an enthused, persistent hunt for something positive in every situation.

Young children live in the moment, and only see what is in front of them. Then, as they are exposed to more of the world, they start to make comparisons. When I started to lose the knack for the glad game, Mom started reminding me that “Comparisons are odious” , a quote that goes back many years and is attributed to John Donne and Cervantes, among others.

The quote was Mom’s way of saying “Stop comparing yourself to others.” Funny, though. I always assumed odious meant something more benign, like meaningless or useless. I looked it up today, and the word goes so much deeper than that. It means hateful, horrible, abhorrent, revolting.

Let me add toxic. This week, I found myself wrapped in a suffocating web of tangled comparisons. I compared the clutter of my house to my friend Pam’s pristine, well decorated abode, and my lack of money to someone else’s sudden windfall. I compared my medical writing job to my dream of writing creatively full time. And, worst of all, I compared myself to my own impossibly high expectations (and, of course, came up sorely lacking).

Persistent as Pollyanna, the universe keeps sending me messages. I listened to Sheryl Crow on the way to work, and she urged me to Soak Up the Sun: “It's not having what you want; It's wanting what you've got.”

Tom is reading books on Buddhism, and they seem to be leaping into my hands, with similar messages on almost every page. In a chapter on Right Livelihood, one author talked about peace and acceptance through perspectives like I am what I am, I do what I do (as opposed to I am what I do, or I am what I have). Right away I tie this to my Sunday School days. God said to Moses from the burning bush, I am that I am. Like an adult child seeing her parent in a new light, I think maybe God had something there.

The hard part of all these insights is applying them in a concrete way. But the universe had an answer for that, too. Sarah Ban Breathnach wrote Simple Abundance, a great book for righting a warped perspective. It is time to dust it off. In the meantime, she has created an online gratefulness journal in list format that I have saved to my computer desktop. I can manage a quick list of what is right with my life, and it will be great medicine for the odious ailment of comparison and complaint.

I am playing the glad game today. I don't think I'll ever play it with the same vigor of childhood, but I am happy to know it it is still mine. Maybe my gratefulness journal will become an incubator for great story ideas. Maybe I can send the link to a few weary friends. Maybe this house does have some charm, maybe my job offers more than just a paycheck. I feel so much better already.

Thanks, Gavin.