A moralist, watching me standing there, might have remarked,
smugly, that it cuts both ways. The peer of the realm, he might consider me to
be, enjoying a robust fitness far above that which his irresponsible younger years
warrant, often suffers the outrageous slings and arrows of uncertain fortune.
This world is, after all, full of uncertainty and bogs filled with
duckweed—duckweed, and alligators! At any moment, life may come swooping down
out of the blue and smack one behind the ear with a sock of wet sand. It pays
to be ready.
I, of course, have none of the training of the normal person
who after suffering years of waiting 45 minutes to be seated is prepared to take the
big one in stride. No, I am one of the blessed ones who have slept well,
learned quickly, and measured up to the demands of a rigorous life. In short,
the universe has worked things out in my favor. Oh sure, sometimes the moment
seems to be lost but it always works out all right in the end.
Is it any surprise then that in the agony of this sudden,
treacherous shock I was left feeling and looking stunned, like the blowfly
that has met the swatter? You may have seen a comic illustration of the ostrich
that has swallowed something he shouldn’t. You may have or you may not but,
seen or not, that’s the way I felt. And I’ll
tell you why I felt like a large flightless bird with a brass doorknob in its
throat. I absolutely insist on being happy, joyous and free that’s why. Well,
maybe just a tad more explication is called for.
I’ve recently become acquainted with the work of Nobel
laureate, Daniel Kahneman, founder of behavioral economics and widely regarded
as the world’s most influential living psychologist. When you’re a
psychological phenomenon like me, you pay attention to what the world’s most
influential living psychologists are thinking. According to Kahneman, we are
happy when we can look back over our lives and remember plenty of happy
memories.
If happy experiences are to be stored in long-term memory, he argues, those experiences must
be as meaningful as they are happy. Otherwise, all that short-term happiness doesn't amount to beans. To
be happy, really happy, we must have happy experiences that are truly meaningful. Now you will understand I think, why a recent scheduling conflict that
prohibits the happiest and most meaningful experience of all, had led to the
melancholy that flooded my soul. Melancholy heaped up, pressed down, and
overflowing.
As I stood brooding, if that’s the word I want, the door behind
me opened and Ms. Wonder entered the suite with coffee. I glanced at her with an apprehensive
eye because she is not known for great empathy with those who, as she would
express it, whine. I feared she might wound me with some flippancy. My concern
lessened when I took in her countenance and discerned no frivolity, only a gravity that became her well.
“Bad business,” she said handing me a cup of Jah’s Mercy
from the Rastafari Café on the corner.
“Hell’s foundations quiver,” I said.
“What are you going to do about it?” she said.
“Do?” I said. “What can I do?” This is my standard answer to
a question about what I plan to do but it seemed especially appropriate in this
case.
“Well, there’s no need in spending extra money when we can
get a discounted rate at an inn farther away from the arts district,” she said.
“Wonder,” I said, “just what are you talking about?”
“Spring training, of course,” she said.
“I’m sorry, but it sounded to me that you said spring training.”
“Spring training is what I said,” she informed me. “It’s
March and the baseball games have filled the hotels up and down the
coast, right? We can’t stay an extra night in this hotel so we have to find
another one and I have a coupon for the Fairfield by the Interstate.”
I stared at her dumbfounded. In my darkest hour, she has
focused her attention on where we will spend tomorrow night. We have within
easy reach a prime opportunity to experience a day full of wonder and amusement
leading to many long-term happy memories. It’s so close by, less than an hour's
drive, and yet it’s so far away because we have not been able to fit it into
our schedule. It could very well determine our future happiness. I’m sure Dr.
Kahneman would agree. I would sleep in the car if it meant a chance to be happy.
Wouldn’t you?
“Wonder,” I said. “I would gladly sleep in the car to ensure a
joyful tomorrow.”
“We are not having that discussion again,” she said. “Can’t
you simply accept that we need to focus on exploring Cocoa? We can go to
Orlando on our next trip down.”
She turned, shaking her head, and left the room but I heard
her say as she walked out of sight, “I’m calling the Fairfield to see if they
have any rooms left.”
Once again I turned to stare into the bog. Memories of a
happy childhood played out like movies in my mind. My dearest and most
cherished memories lived once more and it created a bitter-sweet mood because
of what might have been. I felt the impact of Tom Hank’s words, like a sock full of wet sand to the occipital bone when in the role of Walt Disney in
the movie, Saving Mr. Banks, he said,
“I love that mouse.”