Are you also guilty of this?
I own a collection of what I consider to be some really beautiful “stuff” (with apologies to George Carlin).
For instance, I inherited my mother’s china set after she died. It’s a brightly colored floral pattern that my sisters thought too gaudy (and which I happen to love), so I got it. To me, the screaming fuscia, yellow, green and gold flowers are not only beautiful, but also lively and cheery. My mood lifts every time I look at that china.
Problem is, I rarely look at it.
Why? Because once I got the boxes from my dad’s house and unpacked everything, I carefully stacked the plates, bowls, saucers and cups in the china cabinet at the back of our living room and promptly forgot about them. They sit there, still and silent behind glass like Snow White in her coffin, waiting to be revived by a charming dinner party.
Now, why wouldn’t I simply use my beloved tableware on a daily basis, thereby delivering joy and satisfaction to my every meal? I have no idea.
Perhaps it was being raised by parents who were both born in the 1920s: we don’t “waste” the good stuff because we might need it “some day.” This mindset comes from “I don’t have enough” thinking, says Gillian Dunn in an article on the Ideas.Ted.Com website.
The other thought that might prevent us from using our “good” stuff is, “I’m not enough.”
In other words, we don’t consider ourselves worthy of whatever it is we hold dear. So instead of making use of our beautiful things and reaping the positive emotional benefits, we deny ourselves access as a way to affirm our undeserving status.
Let me tell you, Zoey does not have this problem.
That’s one thing about dogs: left to their own devices, their self-esteem is pretty darn robust.
Hand over a new Flying Squirrel™ to that girl, and she’s ready to tear into it immediately. Zoey never worries that “it won’t last” or that she might power through its usefulness in just a week, thereby curtailing her enjoyment for months after that. She simply digs in (with her teeth, in this case), begins to gnaw, and celebrates having a new toy.
“Just let me get at it, Mum!”
The unbridled joy she expresses when chasing, catching and nibbling on that thing is always enough to make me smile and laugh, too. So she not only revels in her possession immediately–she brings joy to others as well.
It’s the same with anything Zoey has. When we add chunks of beef to the dog food on occasion, she doesn’t save fresh meat for last; on the contrary, it’s the first piece she eats. Because it’s the best. Because it’s the most enjoyable. Because she deserves it, dammit!
So why do I feel the need to reserve the china for those occasions when we have guests over, or for Thanksgiving or Christmas, but no other time? Let’s face it, I’m not getting any younger. That china will survive long after I’m gone. So why not allow myself to appreciate it on the daily?
I can’t help it; I even impose my values onto the dogs without realizing it. When Zoey was a pup, I bought a couple of toys that looked like rubber barbells (one for Zoey and one for our older dog at the time, Chaser).
The two ends of the contraption could be folded back against themselves so the structure formed a cylinder. Called a BonBall, it was immediately one of Zoey’s favorites. On the other hand, Chaser’s response was “meh,” and she barely touched it. So I tucked Chaser’s away in the toy bin and let Zoey go wild.
In no time at all, she’d damaged one side and the round end (what would be the disks on a real barbell) began to fall off. When she shook it in her mouth, the loose section would flap and knock repeatedly against the wall, its sounds reminiscent of Rambo taking out the bad guys.
“It’s broken,” the HH informed me, holding up the injured toy. “Don’t we have another one? Let’s throw this one out and give her the new one.”
My eyes widened with horror. “No, that’s Chaser’s,” I countered.
“But Chaser doesn’t even like it,” he said. “She never plays with it. So why not just let Zoey have it?”
I found myself clasping one end of the new BonBall, engaging in an unwitting tug-of-war with the hubs. In the end, I couldn’t think of a rational reason not to give it to her. But I knew she’d likely ruin that one in no time, too, and then Chaser wouldn’t have one if and when she came round and wanted to give it a try.
Besides, why send this pristine toy to its certain death? Why not preserve it for “some day”? And–worst of all–what if I could never find it in the pet store again, and then we’d have NONE? (As it turns out, that’s exactly what happened: the company went under and the toy is no longer available anywhere).
Eventually, I relented. As predicted, within about two weeks, that second BonBall was decimated, too. Zoey still sometimes carries it around with its one end intact, the other dangling like a severed limb. But the glee she expressed when it was new is gone, and it’s clear it no longer brings the kind of joy it did in the beginning.
BUT! Oh, the joy it did bring then!
Zoey doesn’t mind that it’s a little broken. . . for now.
In retrospect, it’s clear that she would have missed out on the unbridled glee she got from hours of gnawing, thrashing, tossing, chasing and hiding the thing. And who knows? Even if we’d saved the toy for later use, by then the rubber might have dried out, rendering it useless in the end anyway. At least this way, she had fun while it lasted.
So my question for you is this: Do you eat dessert first? Do you wear that silk blouse to hang around with the hubby on a Sunday afternoon? Do you nibble your nachos on the fine china in front of the TV while watching Netflix?
This week, at least, let’s make the answer “YES.” Let’s enjoy the beautiful, unique, sentimental or rare items we own that we tend to neglect. See how much extra joy you can bring into your life by using them.
Because they are there. They are meant to be used. And yes, you’re worth it.
********************
Follow up to last week’s challenge: Read the Room. How did it go?
If you had to hazard a guess, what would you say is the greatest fear of any teacher (well, perhaps excluding kindergarten–though recent events might change this)?
If you said, “Being threatened (or worse) by a student with a weapon”–well, congrats. You get an A+ on the quiz!
This story comes from the period in my life when I taught college for more than 20 years. One day when a student of mine, a burly, muscular and usually silent young man–let’s call him John–burst into my office after class, that very fear was awakened.
Barely a week earlier, a colleague had recounted how one of her students came after her with a knife. She managed to diffuse the situation (and thankfully, the student was eventually removed from the college).
Her advice? In a nutshell, it was this: no matter how crazy you think the other person’s perspective might be, treat them with respect and demonstrate true curiosity in an attempt to understand where they’re coming from.
With John fairly pulsating at my door, I had the perfect chance to test out her theory.
“You have something against me!” he bellowed. “You prejudice! You don’t mark fair!”
He brandished his latest essay, all five pages crumpled in his fist, as he shook it at me like a crazed cheerleader with a pom-pom at halftime. Though he wasn’t much taller than I, he appeared to be about twice as wide, all of it muscle.
Without moving my body, my eyes checked the hallway behind him and the distance between me and the door. Not good; I was behind the desk. Luckily, he paid no attention to the open door as he moved forward. At least I could scream if necessary.
I wondered how the skin on his forearms could contain the massive muscles underneath. A vein on his forehead throbbed blue with each word he spoke. There was something untethered in his eyes.
I kept my voice as even and calm as I could. “I can see how upset you are, John, and I really want to fix this for you. I honestly try to be as fair as I can with all my students. Would you like to tell me more so I can understand better?”
Right there, he blinked, as if someone shone a flashlight in his eyes. “Well–” His voice seemed a tad less certain.
“Please, sit down,” I said.
He lowered his body and perched on the edge of the chair.
“When I mark papers, I actually remove the first page–the one with the student’s name–so I don’t even know whose paper I am marking until I’m finished. That’s how I try to be as fair as possible to everyone.”
His brow crinkled.
“Okay. So please tell me more about why you think the marks on your papers aren’t fair.”
“Well, you know, English is not my first language,” he said. He glanced toward the window and fidgeted with crumpled paper in his hands.
This wasn’t news to me, given the number and breadth of errors in his writing. I nodded.
“I try so hard. I think I answer what you ask. But then I get D or D-. Every time!” His voice rose again.
“That must be very frustrating,” I said.
“It IS!” His eyes widened. His voice quickened, as if we’d just discovered we shared a distant relative. “But I don’t know how to fix! I need good mark or I get sent back to my country!”
“No wonder it upsets you so much,” I said.
He nodded vigorously. “I don’t want to go back. Too many troubles. I want to stay.”
“Okay, well, I’m sure we can work on that,” I said. “You know, I do offer extra help every week during office hours. We could meet and go over your essays and see where you went wrong and what we can do to improve the writing. Would that help?”
By now, he’d relaxed into the chair and looked more like an oversized toddler than any threat to my body’s structural integrity.
“You do that?” he asked. He considered for a moment. “Yes, okay, I like extra help.” Was that a smile I saw sneaking into the corners of his mouth?
We spoke for another twenty minutes or so, John relating more of his family history and the violence in his native country. He had hoped to escape to Canada, but never anticipated how hard it would be to learn a new language.
By the time we finished, John thanked me profusely for the help and shook my hand. Turns out he had quite a lovely smile.
By the end of the semester, he’d advanced to C+ in most of his writing, a solid mark that ensured he could remain in Canada. Even better, I’d made an ally for life: when other students began whispered conversations at the back of the class, he’d “shush” them and glare with the same crazy look I’d seen when he first entered my office. (They stopped talking).
To be honest, I’m not sure I could keep it together as well if I encountered someone like John today, or if I found myself in a similarly scary situation outside of school.
In that case, though, I’m certain that taking time to consider his perspective, and genuinely listening to what he said made all the difference. It was a powerful lesson in empathy, and one that’s stayed with me for decades.
********************
Now, over to you. Let me know your thoughts, or answer one of the following questions. I love to hear from you!
What is a cherished possession that you wish you’d used more often? (Hint: it’s never too late).
.If one of your favorite things broke, would you keep it? (That’s sort of like when I lose one of my favorite earrings but keep the other one even though it no longer has a match and I’ll never wear it—”just in case.”).
Do people still use actual china to serve their food? Should I start to use mine every day (or is it too flashy)? When do you use yours, if you have a set?
What’s the scariest encounter you ever had that turned out okay in the end?
As always, thank you for reading. If you enjoy Be the Dog, please consider recommending it to someone else–or becoming a paid subscriber to support me and my writing. I’d be eternally grateful either way!
19. Rip into that Barbell: Use The Things You Love Daily
I'm all for using the good dishes etc.
Stuff is just stuff and I appreciate what I have
For some reason I'm like this with clothes more than anything. Since I work from home there's never a good reason to wear the good sweater, or the nice shoes . . .
Guilty, but reforming. My wife and I have declared ourselves recovering hoarders. Something beautiful resides only in a box, never used, should be used or given away. You can't use it if it is hidden. Get it out, use it, love it. If you break it, it died like a soldier.