Dear Vix,
This might sound like a bit of a weird problem (or, maybe it’s not a “problem” at all), but my worry is entirely based around whether I’m too lazy. The thing is, I don’t dislike being lazy – in fact, I’d honestly say I love it – but I have this distant voice at the back of my mind giving me a lot of “shoulds”. I “should” be doing more. I “should” be aiming higher. I “should” be doing more exercise, or going out for expensive nights at the theatre, or training for a marathon, or cooking Michelin-starred meals every night.
My question – or, maybe I’m just looking for some reassurance, honestly – is whether it’s actually OK to be pleased with what I’ve got! I have a quiet life, but I don’t feel bored – I am very happy with it. I love my wife, I’m retired from my job (I worked in insurance for 40 years) and I love not having to put on a suit and go to work and drive to an office.
I love my kids and my grandkids and I love sitting down and relaxing and watching TV or listening to the radio. I would describe myself as “content”. But other people seem to always press me to be doing more, and it makes me anxious.
My son seems worried I’m going to drop dead of a heart attack because I’m not in the best shape, and my daughter keeps telling me I should be joining a walking group or a book club! It makes me worry I’m one of life’s “underachievers”. The thing is, I don’t care! I’m happy with what I’ve got. I just want to be left alone to get on with it!
Is there really something wrong with a life on my own terms – or with being content with what I’ve got?
Contented Guy
Dear Contented Guy,
Wow – I think most of us wish we had your “problem”! I love how you’ve phrased it all here – that you love your wife and your lifestyle, your retirement and your kids and your everyday comforts.
I get a lot of letters from people who are the opposite: people who are worried they’ve missed out on a life they “could” have lived, people who can’t seem to move on from earlier mistakes – mistakes or missed opportunities that haunt them and (in a very real way) act as a vice or anchor or ghost, preventing them from truly living. I always feel sad when I encounter those “glass half-empty” people. We have just one wild and precious life, after all.
Ordinary contentment has earned itself a bad reputation, because I think that as a society we have become obsessed with the “extraordinary” – often, to our detriment. There’s a beautiful poem I’d love you to read by William Martin. It goes like this:
“Do not ask your children / to strive for extraordinary lives. / Such striving may seem admirable, / but it is the way of foolishness. / Help them instead to find the wonder / and the marvel of an ordinary life. / Show them the joy of tasting / tomatoes, apples and pears. / Show them how to cry / when pets and people die. / Show them the infinite pleasure / in the touch of a hand. / And make the ordinary come alive for them. / The extraordinary will take care of itself.”
Isn’t that gorgeous? When I re-read it now, writing this letter, I am reminded of your contentment. I think we could all do with a bit of what you have.
And sure, it’s only because they love you that your children are worrying about your health (and it’s always sensible to keep active, so that you may live a long and ordinary life); but while your son has a point, perhaps it might be worth reassuring your daughter that you’re quite happy, actually.
That you don’t feel – at this moment – that you need to extend your social circle to a walking group or a book club, but still thank her for worrying about (and caring about) you. And if that changes, you’ll think about doing something about it.
One thought I did have, though, is that your anxiety about whether or not you’re “underachieving” might be masking a more conscious worry about things you’d like to tick off your list now you’ve retired. I would recommend writing them down – and it doesn’t matter if they’re small. Plus, it might be fun to work through them – alongside the rest of your enjoyments and hobbies.
I also wonder whether it’s worth a chat with your wife, just to make sure you’re on the same page. Is she “content” too? Is there anything else she feels she needs or wants to be happy? Make sure you check in with each other, so neither of you are blindsided by the other’s resentments or unfulfilled dreams.
One final word: I don’t think your feelings are “lazy”. I think you have found something the rest of us spend a lifetime hoping to find: peace. Enjoy it.
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