With a new year comes new things to fill me with gratitude--but what if I'm not feeling grateful?
BY: Ptolemy Tompkins
New Year’s is traditionally a time for counting one’s blessings.
I’ve never been very good at this. Not because I don’t enjoy a surplus of them, and not because I’m ungrateful for any of them either. But simply because being so blessed makes me…uncomfortable.
As a citizen of the richest country in the world, born in the latter half of the century that saw more medical, social and scientific advances than any other in history, I’m well aware of what an anomaly I am compared to the billions of people who have proceeded me on the planet--not to mention the billions who live today in poorer parts of the world. I’ve been educated, inoculated, fed, comforted, and just basically pampered so much more than the average human being that I practically qualify as a separate species--homo priviligius
Shouldn’t knowing all this make me happy? Maybe. And to some degree it does. But it also instills another kind of feeling as well. Guilt? Not really. More like a feeling of…expectancy.
“You don’t know how lucky you are!” my mother used to like to say when, as a kid, I’d complain about some petty problem. Her voice rings in my ears today when, sitting on my comfortable couch in my well-lit, well-heated apartment, a book open in my lap and a cup of coffee on the table next to me and no immediate physical problems--be it a toothache, an empty stomach, a leaky roof, or the threat of attack by wild animals or Mongol hordes--to concern myself with, I’ll suddenly get that samenow what?
feeling that I got when I was a kid.
So what’s wrong with me?
Well, nothing really. As it turns out, thisnow what?
feeling is pretty common among my fellow super-fortunate members of the modern world. In fact, it’s practically an epidemic. As the writer Walker Percy (taking a tip from Soren Kierkegaard) never tired of pointing out, modern life, for all its breakthroughs and its brilliances, has not managed to make people one whit happier than they were back in the days when life was a brutal daily struggle for existence. Why? Because the one ingredient necessary for genuine happiness--for being totally and completely satisfied with one’s existence right here and right now--is no more widely available today than it was back when most people were hungry or otherwise uncomfortable most of the time.
The poet Elizabeth Bishop captured a little of this feeling in her poem “Anaphora.”
Each day with so much ceremony
begins, with birds, with bells,
with whistles from a factory;
such white-gold skies our eyes
first open on, such brilliant walls
that for a moment we wonder
"Where is the music coming from, the energy?
The day was meant for what ineffable creature
we must have missed?"