Happy to be Here

I could be anywhere.  It's true.  I have the money and the health and the ability to wake up just about anywhere in the world.  I have done just that and, no doubt, will do so in the future. But, for now, I'm happy to be here in suburban Central Texas.  It's not the most beautiful part of the world nor does it possess the most favorable weather.  But, it's home to me, to most of my family, and to my friends.  Plus, it's familiar.  Introverts love the familiar, so much less psychic energy to expend in confronting new people, new customs, new traditions.  And it's easy.  The grocery store, gas station, bank, doctor, dentist, you name it are all within minutes of my driveway.

On this cold, blustery day I'm happy to be here, bundled up with my coffee and a notepad, rocking in the latest and greatest addition to my life -- the swing chair.

Rocking on the porch, I realize that I'm living in the midst of man-made bliss.  For some, "man-made bliss" is a contradiction in terms. But, as I listen to the sound of the packaging plant one row of houses away, which during work hours emits a constant dull, roaring, hard to describe sound. It's not really offensive.  It's just there, like the dull roar of the ocean is just there.  It's one of the endless ocean of man-made sounds -- the rumble of traffic, heard even on suburban streets, distant sirens, delivery trucks, garbage trucks (that pretty much says it all -- bring it in, cart it out) -- that are a part of the modern era in which we live.

Meditative types are supposed to denigrate these sounds and tsk, tsk over modernity.  It's not natural, disruptive to heart and brain rhythms, sending out all the wrong kinds of vibrations. But, if there were no packaging plants, no manufacturing, no trucks cluttering up the highways we wouldn't have our life.  I wouldn't be rocking in my manufactured, truck-delivered swing chair contemplating and being grateful for the society that has secured such a moment for me, and for everyone else, in our modern "astral world" of comfort that is suburban America.  

A friend in India, where even the simplest things such as planting a tree and installing irrigation to keep it alive during the hot season is endlessly complicated and expensive, once described American life as living in the heavenly, astral world.  No going to Lowe's or Home Depot for off the shelf supplies and reasonably priced mature trees.  The fantasy of living a simple life in a simpler town or country created and sustained by cottage industries and farmers' markets is just that -- a fantasy.  It's unrealistic to expect cottage industries and local farmers to provide goods and services for the 224,000 people who live in Waco and the surrounding area.

No, if I'm to appreciate my life I have to honor and appreciate those who make it possible, including the manufacturers and the truckers.  And as I take my morning neighborhood walk, accompanied by both the man-made sounds of packaging plants and cars as well as the natural sounds of rustling leaves and birds, I can appreciate what it took to create this quiet, suburban life that affords me the comfort and the stability and the ease to live a contemplative life.