By Olga Agafanova
A story I heard on the radio the other day made
me think about how many people have resigned themselves to muddling through
life, some at a surprisingly young age.
I remembered meeting this stereotypically
awkward programmer who shied away from nearly everything, unwilling or unable
to change his habits, not taking the risk of inviting someone into his
world. His colleagues considered him to
be very good at his job and very bad at living.
He made me wonder how things would play out for
a guy like him in a setting other than a Southern suburb: what if he lived in
some charming small European town, where old men while away the evenings
playing checkers and couples stroll through generous public parks? Would he
feel more at ease in another society where people are forced to interact with
each other simply because there are more of them living together per square
mile? Would Tokyo with its thirty-seven million dwellers in tiny apartments be
too much but the island of Cozumel in Mexico, with a mere 100, 000 people
living in tropical paradise, could be just right?
Or, perhaps it really is all in one’s head and
the measure of success is to what extent we can squeeze the best of out what we
get handed by fate. The rule ought to be
that you’re better off taking a stab at something than not. Every day does not
have to resemble an issue of National Geographic: it can be as simple as
finally auditioning for that community theater troupe or joining a writing
group such as the SCWW Columbia II. Some people are very physical and they express
themselves by doing physical things. That’s not my life but I do admire those
who have the inner drive to climb mountains and run triathlons.
Life is rarely spontaneously delightful: we have
to make an effort to experience it, instead of just sleepwalking, stumbling
from one decade into the next, until one day the end is near and the regrets
kick in.
Another memory comes to mind: once, I observed
this unhappy woman in a checkout lane. Her kid was nagging her, the supermarket
was crowded and noisy – all mundane things -- but there was something about the
expression on the woman’s face that caught my eye. She was not just tired or
annoyed, she was defeated, not by an
insignificant interaction with the cashier but by life itself. Her eyes did not shine or twinkle: they were
dull and dark, all joy having gone out of them a long time ago. The woman
clearly was not looking forward to the next day or the next thirty years.
That, to me, is the life that is absolutely worth
avoiding. So let us keep on writing and
keep on trying to have an abundant, purposeful life.