We were quite fortunate growing up. We had a real cherry tree in our back yard. Real cherries meant real cherry pie. And this was the only kind I knew for quite some time. I remember the first time I had cherry pie made with that thick, gelatinous, super sweet cherry pie filling that comes in a can. I felt so sad for those unfortunate people who had never experienced real cherry pie before. What a dour life they must lead. Never knowing that there is something better our there. Never quite grasping that real cherries are not encased in a thick, gelatinous syrup, are not all super sweet and more times than not, don't retain their plump, spherical shape during baking. Those poor people. How sad for them, indeed.
Now that I think about it, though, this is not unlike the first time I had really good chocolate. You know, the kind that melts in your hand as well as your mouth. With the first taste of a real chocolate morsel, came the sad realization that I had been eating chocolate-flavored wax all of my life. Now, how sad it was for me! But this raises an interesting point--taste and joy are all relative. Just as beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose the realness of cherries and chocolate is, too. And so goes with it, one's perception of what constitutes a bowl of cherries. The challenge is to recognize when life has thrown you your bowl of cherries. And when it does, will you let them roll around on the ground and get smashed, or will you pick them up and roll with it?
It's wrapped in our DNA to compare ourselves and our own situations to those of others. We do fall within the animal domain, after all. At least from an evolutionary standpoint, it would be to our benefit as animals, to observe the world around us, evaluate, analyze, and decide on an appropriate course of action for the respective situation. As humans, though, we have taken this to a new level. We have somehow, perhaps subconsciously, come to equate primal survival instincts with coveting thy neighbor's whatever. Not to say that this is altogether wrong; but it does threaten our ability to recognize our bowl of cherries. It is impossible to peruse the interwebs, watch the teevees or read a magazine without being bombarded with the latest celeb and celeb-wannabe gossip. It is the pervasive version of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, without the bonus of the British accent of the ascot-wearing Robin Leach. On the other hand, it is also how annoying fads propagate. Paris Hilton chihuahua fad, anyone? OMG! LOL!
The trick is to learn how to tune it all out and be satisfied with your own brand of happiness. For example, recently, I was hanging out with friends, catching the free concert in Millennium Park. The Great Lawn was filled with people gearing up to enjoy an evening of music under the stars (well, at least the thought of stars--cities--light pollution--sigh). Every group of friends, or family, or family and friends had their own spread to share. One was quite elaborate--olives, fancy sausage, perfectly cut cheese, fruit, brownies, which I am sure had at least three types of chocolate in them--all arranged on a portable, cedar table. The cookies were on a wire tray, raised above the table on a volcano-shaped stand, that I'm sure was purchased from one of those fancy, schmancy, kitchen places ala Williams-sonoma or Crate and Barrel. I stood there thinking, boy, they have good taste. Look at that. Mmmmm-mmmmm. This jealousy was soon deflated the second they cracked open a bottle of Corona. Come, now, enlightened sophisticates. Dost thou not know that without the lime, Corona is as plain as any light lager?
Snapped back into reality, I realized that I was having just as good a time with my bottle of water and the fine company I was keeping. Looking further into the crowd, I realized that each little clique had their own way of celebrating, enjoying each others company, and suffice it to say, chillaxxing. And they all did this, in unison, on the Great Lawn, without disturbing their neighbors. Each group had been thrown their own brand of cherries and had made their own brand of cherry pie. To each their own. How true is that? Grammatically incorrect as it may be, they are definitely words to live by.
Now that I think about it, though, this is not unlike the first time I had really good chocolate. You know, the kind that melts in your hand as well as your mouth. With the first taste of a real chocolate morsel, came the sad realization that I had been eating chocolate-flavored wax all of my life. Now, how sad it was for me! But this raises an interesting point--taste and joy are all relative. Just as beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose the realness of cherries and chocolate is, too. And so goes with it, one's perception of what constitutes a bowl of cherries. The challenge is to recognize when life has thrown you your bowl of cherries. And when it does, will you let them roll around on the ground and get smashed, or will you pick them up and roll with it?
It's wrapped in our DNA to compare ourselves and our own situations to those of others. We do fall within the animal domain, after all. At least from an evolutionary standpoint, it would be to our benefit as animals, to observe the world around us, evaluate, analyze, and decide on an appropriate course of action for the respective situation. As humans, though, we have taken this to a new level. We have somehow, perhaps subconsciously, come to equate primal survival instincts with coveting thy neighbor's whatever. Not to say that this is altogether wrong; but it does threaten our ability to recognize our bowl of cherries. It is impossible to peruse the interwebs, watch the teevees or read a magazine without being bombarded with the latest celeb and celeb-wannabe gossip. It is the pervasive version of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, without the bonus of the British accent of the ascot-wearing Robin Leach. On the other hand, it is also how annoying fads propagate. Paris Hilton chihuahua fad, anyone? OMG! LOL!
The trick is to learn how to tune it all out and be satisfied with your own brand of happiness. For example, recently, I was hanging out with friends, catching the free concert in Millennium Park. The Great Lawn was filled with people gearing up to enjoy an evening of music under the stars (well, at least the thought of stars--cities--light pollution--sigh). Every group of friends, or family, or family and friends had their own spread to share. One was quite elaborate--olives, fancy sausage, perfectly cut cheese, fruit, brownies, which I am sure had at least three types of chocolate in them--all arranged on a portable, cedar table. The cookies were on a wire tray, raised above the table on a volcano-shaped stand, that I'm sure was purchased from one of those fancy, schmancy, kitchen places ala Williams-sonoma or Crate and Barrel. I stood there thinking, boy, they have good taste. Look at that. Mmmmm-mmmmm. This jealousy was soon deflated the second they cracked open a bottle of Corona. Come, now, enlightened sophisticates. Dost thou not know that without the lime, Corona is as plain as any light lager?
Snapped back into reality, I realized that I was having just as good a time with my bottle of water and the fine company I was keeping. Looking further into the crowd, I realized that each little clique had their own way of celebrating, enjoying each others company, and suffice it to say, chillaxxing. And they all did this, in unison, on the Great Lawn, without disturbing their neighbors. Each group had been thrown their own brand of cherries and had made their own brand of cherry pie. To each their own. How true is that? Grammatically incorrect as it may be, they are definitely words to live by.
Comments