"If self-improvement were easy," said Ms. Wonder, "then we'd all be perfect, wouldn't we?" She said it between sips of lemon-ginger tea while sitting near the rhododendron, on the southern side of the screened porch.
"Despite all indications to the contrary, I'm constantly working to become the best me that I can be," I said. "And it's not so simple as Deepak and Oprah would have you believe."
"I know," she said. "But I think you sabotage your efforts with worry about problems that may or may not happen."
"Let me tell you something," I said. "I may worry but I don't quit. I keep plugging away at it. Hoping to store up enough points to come back as a cat in my next life."
"But you seem to look for problems that don't exist."
"Well, isn't the anticipation of possible downsides a good thing? It helps to be prepared, doesn't it? Consider Napoleon in Cairo."
"I don't want to consider Napoleon," she said, not in Cairo or anywhere else. You consider Napoleon on your own time."
"I just wanted to point out that Napoleon didn't have to contend with sewer harpies. Harpies aren't Greek pebbles and you can take my word for that."
"Sewer harpies?" she said.
"Sewer harpies," I said.
"Creek pebbles?" she said.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," I said. "You know the reference. I'm talking about that ancient Greek life coach with the stutter."
"Demosthenes?" she said.
"If you insist," I said.
"He cured his speech impediment by talking with pebbles in his mouth," she said. "And he wasn't a life coach. He was an orator."
"I don't care if he was an orator or a computer programmer," I said. "Bet me that he didn't swallow some of those pebbles from time to time and then think about giving up his dream and becoming a shepherd instead."
She stared at me in silence for a few and I reckoned that I'd found a talking point.
She said, "As long as people have been trying to improve themselves..."
"How long is that?" I said.
"Never mind how long," she said. "The point is that everyone meets setbacks and failure. The key is to learn from our mistakes and move on."
"Learning from mistakes is like trying to explain a Zen koan," I said, and I was feeling pretty full of myself because it seemed that I was on a roll. You would have thought the same if you were there.
"Alright," she said. "Look... journaling is said to help by forcing us to arrange random events into a coherent story that explains the lesson. Doesn't your writing do that?"
"Have you read my blog?" I said. "My stories aren't coherent. The harpies throw so many detours my way that writing never gets me to where I intended. Most of the time I end up in the ditch"
"Just don't give up," she said. "Do it for me." And she placed her hand on my shoulder to indicate something. I'm not sure what she intended, but it made me feel better because it reminded me that we're on the same team.
"It just never seems to get better," I said. "No matter what I do. It's depressing. It's demoralizing."
"Just keep trying," she said. "And whatever you do, don't stop writing."
"What?" I said. "Do you mean I should forget about becoming a shepherd?"
"I don't care if he was an orator or a computer programmer," I said. "Bet me that he didn't swallow some of those pebbles from time to time and then think about giving up his dream and becoming a shepherd instead."
She stared at me in silence for a few and I reckoned that I'd found a talking point.
She said, "As long as people have been trying to improve themselves..."
"How long is that?" I said.
"Never mind how long," she said. "The point is that everyone meets setbacks and failure. The key is to learn from our mistakes and move on."
"Learning from mistakes is like trying to explain a Zen koan," I said, and I was feeling pretty full of myself because it seemed that I was on a roll. You would have thought the same if you were there.
"Alright," she said. "Look... journaling is said to help by forcing us to arrange random events into a coherent story that explains the lesson. Doesn't your writing do that?"
"Have you read my blog?" I said. "My stories aren't coherent. The harpies throw so many detours my way that writing never gets me to where I intended. Most of the time I end up in the ditch"
"Just don't give up," she said. "Do it for me." And she placed her hand on my shoulder to indicate something. I'm not sure what she intended, but it made me feel better because it reminded me that we're on the same team.
"It just never seems to get better," I said. "No matter what I do. It's depressing. It's demoralizing."
"Just keep trying," she said. "And whatever you do, don't stop writing."
"What?" I said. "Do you mean I should forget about becoming a shepherd?"