The Shepherdess

All my life I have pitied those who did not live in big cities (even, in capital cities) and, consequently, envied those who lived in metros more metropolitan than mine. As a corollary, I have always wondered how people could be content to live out their lives in some remote backwater, cut off from what I imagined was the “action”, in the thick of which I imagined I was, by virtue of the fact that I lived in a capital city, plus a few other factors that made me feel privileged. It was my thesis that everyone who was someone, not just in the sense of acknowledged position and status but those who thought they were “someone”, must aspire to live in the thick of things. Again, a corollary was the notion that those who did not have such aspirations were not “someone”.

People of obvious consequence who chose not to live by my lights puzzled me. I sought to explain their contrary predilections. Often they were wealthy enough to visit the big city when they chose. That satisfied me and, in fact, helped shape in me a desire for a life away from the maddening crowd; a place from where I could venture into the thick of things whenever I chose to. But what about those who did not fit this bill? Those who lived in relative poverty, did not visit the city frequently and were content to spend out their whole lives absorbed in what they were doing. Such people were an enigma. They radiated a self assurance that I could not but envy.

But this anomaly was not enough to dent my conviction that I was living life while most of the world merely existed. The image was enough to keep me in a state of relative bliss, insulated from signs of my marginality in the scheme of things. Of course I had a circle of friends who I thought were the cat’s whiskers. Being part of my set reconfirmed me in my sense of self importance. Naturally, I imagined that I was as important to my friends’ scheme of things as they were to mine. The type of friendships I made was also geared to reinforcing this sense. We were well informed, political, opiniated. We were also self-righteous and always right. Of course we were all very “nice” people; for I’m a very nice guy too.

I am sitting before my computer screen, with a calendar photo of an elderly lady leading her flock of sheep down the street of a remote Argentinean village. It is the 1st of the month so I turned the page of the calendar a short while ago, revealing the picture. The photograph triggered a chain of thought, some of which I have just penned down. I identify with the shepherdess. I know that there is no difference between her life and mine. Perhaps hers is better. More peaceful, filled with satisfaction and contentment, fun and laughter. I am no longer hooked on my notion of “living” life. I spend my days attending to my responsibilities, nurturing my interests, wrestling with my self, watching the world go by. I know that this is the substance of all human lives.

I have filled my life with things of my choice. I am teaching myself to accept that the things that fill my life with are as empty as my life. Chimera all. I am teaching myself to accept that whatever I “do” with (or in) my life is fine. That no activity is superior to any other; or inferior, for that matter. So, the busy body who accumulates wealth or knowledge or skills is the same as the ne’er do good who whiles away his time in idle gossip. Ironically, I am also learning that the one thing that I was pretty good at even as a teenager – inactivity – is superior to activity in many ways. Of course, I was never a truly inactive person. Now, however, I am incapable of even the level of inactivity that I was so adept at several decades ago. I am hooked to “doing” something or the other at all times. And, I am aware as to how hooked I am. C’est la vie.