Intro & Preface & Contents
Previous: IV. Privilege and tranquility
“Sir,” said [Samuel] Johnson, “all the arguments which are brought to represent poverty as no evil, show it to be evidently a great evil. You never find people labouring to convince you that you may live very happily upon a plentiful fortune.”
He knew what he was talking of, that rugged old master of common sense. Poverty is of course a relative thing; the term has reference, above all, to one’s standing as an intellectual being. If I am to believe the newspapers, there are title-bearing men and women in England who, had they an assured income of five-and-twenty shillings per week, would have no right to call themselves poor, for their intellectual needs are those of a stable-boy or scullery wench. Give me the same income and I can live, but I am poor indeed.
You tell me that money cannot buy the things most precious. Your commonplace proves that you have never known the lack of it. When I think of all the sorrow and the barrenness that has been wrought in my life by want of a few more pounds per annum than I was able to earn, I stand aghast at money’s significance...
“Poverty,” said Johnson again, “is so great an evil, and pregnant with so much temptation, so much misery, that I cannot but earnestly enjoin you to avoid it.”
Beta.
Just now I was getting ready to do a completely optional garden task, when I bent over and hurt my back. I could feel my vertebrae doing whatever it is they do, and instantly knew I was screwed for the next week at least. I will ice the hell out of it -- and already I have on a brace and am using my great-grandfather's walking stick for support -- but I will be sleeping in a chair tonight instead of in my bed, as it is almost impossible for me to hoist myself up out of bed when my back is like this.
As health problems go, this is mostly a nuisance, but it is shocking how any kind of an accident can so suddenly put an end to your plans and routine. While I was still straightening up after injuring myself, I was already making a list in my head of everything I would have to do and plans I would have to change. Obviously, this has happened to me before. I’d like to think the average is less than once a year but it is probably close to an annual event. Accidents and medical crises that are not so routine are even worse, since you have a steeper learning curve and there are more medical professionals involved.
And of course there are major accidents and events that can instantly change your life forever. I remember the story about the man who recently lost both hands while celebrating 4th of July with fireworks. Even worse, there was a well publicized incident, some years ago now, at Grover Beach, California, where a teen got drunk and passed out on the train tracks and woke up short two legs and an arm. When I read about this he was competing in track races on those blade like prosthetic legs. He claimed the accident actually saved his life, because he sure wasn’t going anywhere before then. More here.
I’ve often thought of him in connection to the Good luck, Bad luck, Who knows? story. But, no matter how optimistic he is about his situation, I can’t believe that when he wakes every morning, and remembers that he really is down to just the one limb, he must think, “You stupid ass-hole.”
I have very mixed feelings about the Good Luck, Bad Luck story. On the one hand, it is valuable to keep in mind that nothing (or at least very few things) are inherently either good or bad in themselves. Anything good can lead to disaster and there are silver linings to the bleakest circumstances. But the popular story of the farmer who ends up with free horses and a non-conscripted son, does too good a job of showing how things can turn out in ways that appear to be good. The farmer was not calm about the bad news because he knew good news would follow, he was accepting of both the seemingly good and the seemingly bad news because that’s the life he was destined to live. In some ways, it would be better if the story ended on a down note and the farmer was still alright with that.
Dorothy Parker famously responded to the ringing of her doorbell with, “What fresh hell is this?” I’ve always loved that, and I even borrow the phrase on occasion, but it would be better if we were to greet everything in life with a similar, but less pessimistic phrase. "What’s next?" We don’t know for sure what it will be. We may not always like it. But it’s what we are getting, so we should pay attention.
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