SMALL COMFORT
Yesterday, Sunday, we left the little Tuscan island where we had been since last Monday, two days earlier than planned. A mistral had blown in and the forecast for both the island and here at home predicted a week of storms with heavy rains and lower temperatures. We decided we’d be happier at home, snuggling by the fire and cozy in our own bed. Maybe “happier” is pushing it a bit; “more comfortable” would be a better fit.
I have fond memories, both from my English seaside childhood and, later, our many years on Cape Cod, of swimming in rain-splatted seas; watching the drops dent the gunmetal surface, the magic of water on water, the sky literally penetrating the sea. I remember an almost giddy feeling of comfort at having reached the summit of wetness and then the discomfort of coming out of the sea and feeling the chilly ping of rain on increasingly chilly skin; the impossibility of toweling-off and the insult of sandy feet struggling into damp socks. The bitter shock of going from bliss to misery.
Years ago, when I was training to become a therapist, my teacher introduced me to the concept of the 50/50 nature of reality and how we very often make it the either/or of 100/100: 100% black or 100% white, ditto good/bad, positive/negative and so on. He gave the example of a three year-old child being given an ice cream by her parents. The child enters a state of bliss and believes her parents to be the best in the world. When the cone is finished she asks for another and is told “No.” Immediately the child is in hell and believes her parents to be the worst in the world. In the training I underwent this is called an “emotional reaction” that places us in “child consciousness.”
Surely this year feels like a 100/100 to many of us and we are all looking for comfort. The simplest decisions we used to make with nary a thought pre-2020 now stop us in our tracks. Should we sit outside on the ferry and be in fresh air but surrounded by mask-free people, or do we sit inside and hope that all the surfaces were sanitized? Should we hug old friends because, well, they’re old friends and we need to hug and be hugged? Or should we elbow bump because actually we have no way of knowing if they are infected? Our instincts tell us to go ahead, but later comes the niggling possibility that our instincts can no longer be trusted.
Comfort and safety are qualities we all want, all the time. The truth is they were never possible to have 100 percent. But the illusion that it was possible allowed us to believe it could be so if only…if only we had more money, a better marriage, a bigger house. If only we lived in that city or that country we would feel safe and comfortable. We are constantly trying to pat our lives into a shape that will achieve 100 percent of what we want.
2020 is the year of discomfort. Every single person on the planet is experiencing discomfort and discombobulation to some degree. Even the deniers. And yes, it 100% sucks. We are all three year-olds who have had our candy taken away and we’re not in the mood to be grateful that it’s better for out teeth. Child consciousness.
A few years ago I decided to do a DNA test to find out a bit about my heritage. As an adoptee I literally have no idea from whence I came. The results showed that I have Viking origins – shame about the headwear – and then a few centuries of Ireland – which might account for my earlier career in alcohol. But the greater percentage of my heritage placed me firmly in the South West of England, which makes absolute sense given that it is the one area of the world where I experience a sense of belonging. And then there is a dash of Italian, 2% to be precise. Probably some Guido who snuck in during the Roman invasion of England and seduced a long-ago relative of mine with the promise of gelato…something with which I enrich my DNA on an almost daily basis.
Percentages. We play them all the time. But now they are playing us. Every day we get the print out: the percentage of cases, the percentage of old people, young people, ethnic minorities, 98% antibacterial, 40% chance of survival, percentage of Blacks killed by white cops, percentage of people working from home, taking public transportation, moving out of cities. Percentage of conservative justices on the Supreme Court, percentage of voters for Biden, or Trump. Percentage of Brexit leavers-v-remainers, of women in leadership positions, percentage of Boris’ brain taken over by Cummings, percentage of women and children suffering abuse, percentage of rich people becoming richer as a result of the pandemic, percentage of mask-wearers. We are all playing the odds hoping to win survival, comfort and safety. But in so doing we are becoming permeated with negativity wherein it is impossible to experience comfort.
I now live in the country to which the smallest percentage of my DNA belongs and I am 100% grateful. And yes, some days I yearn 100% to be in the place from where the greater percentage of my DNA derives. That’s life. No matter what, it’s a 50/50 proposition: some days are good, some not. Some years are harder than others. Nothing is fixed. Everything changes. Comfort lies in the acceptance of this.
Stay safe. Stay in touch.
with love, Maggie
