If Beggars Can’t Be Choosers…

If Beggars Can’t Be Choosers…

Someone was offering me a gift. It wasn’t quite to my liking and the phrase beggars can’t be choosers popped in my head. In this case, the gift was substantial, something I wouldn’t do for myself and was fortunate to be the beneficiary of. I wanted to want what was on offer, not crave something unavailable. Quoting this phrase to myself was supposed to help achieve that. But no sooner had I said the phrase then I started to dissect it. If beggars can’t be choosers, then choosers must what? Pay a fee? Instead of thinking about gratitude, I started to think about this new phrase.

The phrase implies that getting what you want means you need to have money. The better choices are usually more expensive. I get that with hotels and restaurants and carpets and homes. If choice is the most important thing, then money is the most important thing. The more money, the more choice.

But what if having the ability to choose without restriction excludes you from a different worthwhile experience? Is choice always the best option? Is it ever preferable to be the beggar?

Not everything in life is for sale and not every outcome is predicated on choosing. More often than not, fate is the chooser and makes beggars of us all. You don’t choose who you’re going to randomly meet and fall in love with. You don’t choose your child. You don’t choose to have an accident. You don’t choose the Fiestaware that came with your spouse. You don’t choose the things you find yourself obsessed with like a love of crystals or plants or Fiestaware or art. Many things just happen and often those things affect your life far more than what you do choose. No one’s gravestones talk about their great choice in carpets. So why do we think choosing is the ultimate in self-expression?

Also, while it’s wonderful to have what we want, it’s only wonderful if we know what we want. Our desires are a moving and morphing target. Sometimes you buy something you think you want and find out you don’t. That sucks. How do you learn what you love? You try new things. How do you try new things? An opportunity comes your way. Until you try it, you may not want to. Until you love it, you may be put off by it. There is always an unknown period of just experiencing something and learning from direct contact. We don’t get that with choice. You don’t know what the vegan tacos taste like when you choose the pork.

It’s important to develop both skills, both mindsets. If you are going to pay, you might as well get something good if you can. And for sure, it’s good to use your resources to support your affinities and open yourself to opportunity. But if you are going to be the recipient, it’s best to have the ability appreciate what you have been given, to orient towards the positive rather than ruminate on the negative. To see that maybe you have been given something very valuable and rare. Something you would never have otherwise. Don’t reject something before you really know what it is.

Sidewalk Face 814

Being Efficient isn’t a Great Epithet

Being Efficient isn’t a Great Epithet

Here lies Caren McCaleb. She could put dishes away faster than you. Ponder that and go do something great with your life.

That’s what I am reflecting on after a little incident this morning with a bunch of stray plastic lids. I need to re-frame my habitual response.

I have a pet peeve that’s triggered almost daily. It’s about putting things away. I want every item to have a place in the home where it lives. I want them to be in that place, and only that place, when they are not in use. My husband does not seem to want this. He is okay with things being in all sorts of places. In my model, every object has an assigned parking lot that no one else can park in, in his, the parking lot is first come first serve and just because you got the prime spot yesterday doesn’t mean a plastic lid can’t claim it today.

The reason I prefer my model is that it is more efficient. When I am putting things away, especially the dishes, I can grab what I want to return and just place it where it goes. In his model, I grab what I want to put away, go to the place it lives, notice the space is now occupied by an interloper, set down the object I’m holding, resettle the interlopers, pick up the object again and finally place it. The peeve I feel, the irritation, is that extra few steps. I don’t want to move the stupid plastic lids before I can set down the bowl! I’ve got other important things to do like surf the web for bad news.

Imagine if every time you came back to your apartment, you have to double park your car, knock on the neighbor’s door, ask for his keys and move his car from your parking spot to his. Such a needless pain in the ass.

Or is it?

My husband consistently does a bunch of things I hate to do; bill paying, laundry, feeding the dogs, last dog walk of the night, veterinary interactions, communicating with our tax guy, installing everything that needs installing, car maintenance, Wi-Fi maintenance, staying calm. He also does a bunch of things so much better than me, like making chili and being a DJ. His chili is perfection and he is a genius music curator. Is there something on this list that I would trade for better tupperware management?

If we both did what I can do, how would this other stuff get done? If we both did what I can do, what would be the need for me? Rather than see this an act against my efficiency, I need to see it as an opportunity to be of use.

When I move the plastic lids to free up the space for a small ornamental bowl, I am contributing to this family. I am not being denied quality of life. I need to see my task as a gift of gratitude to those I love and not as stolen piece of mind. The piece of mind that will be lost is when I don’t have my wonderful husband and his wonder skills.

I don’t hold my husband close and tell him how lovely it is to be married to a very efficient man. Please let me give him a better reason to hold me close in return.

Having Too Much Is The Same As Having Nothing

Having Too Much Is The Same As Having Nothing

I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about objects. If you have too many objects they don’t all fit. You start stacking new rows of books in front of old rows of books. Dresses smash too tightly against slacks hiding cute sleeveless shirts. Popsicle molds cover unopened cocktail napkins cover nearly empty plastic satchels of rubber bands. Junk mail hides to-do lists making whole swaths of surface space a desert of utility.

If you can’t see it, you will forget it. Forgetting is, for all practical purposes, the same as not having it at all. Actually it’s worse because it’s robbing you of space. You would be living in a more spacious environment without these invisible space stealers.

What you are conscious of is what you will attend too. Everything else doesn’t exist. Making do with less actually makes everything you have and use a treasure. Real treasure is not an embarrassment of riches but rather the result of conscientious gratitude.