Also, she dictionary-defines her term. I mean, who still does that?
As some of you know, I'm a bit of an NPR junkie. Especially, an NPR podcast junkie: even after removing a few on the basis that I had too many (trying to reduce the fix), I'm still subscribed to five of them. The most regular of these is NPR's Most Emailed Stories, which... well, it's the stories that were emailed the most to each other the previous day. Simple, no?
One nice thing about this is that, almost by definition, I'm a subscriber to "This I Believe", the essay series in which people of all walks of life describe what they believe in. I'm sure there are times when the essay isn't one of the most read stories, but they're (I'm betting) few and far between. They're usually uplifting, occasionally depressing, funny at times, always thought-provoking. People believe in, and speak passionately and eloquently about barbecue, our potential to be brutal, our ability to be happy, the nobility of overcoming obstacles, of the golden rule, of being true to oneself.
I went down to get milk the other day, listening to my Shuffle, and this week's essay came up. And... well, it put me in a bind:
Because it's a true essay. I agree with much of what she says. But I feel obligated to reject it. Forcefully, and in a way that's going to probably make me look like an idiot. Never let it be said I missed a chance to do so!
There's no reason to assume you haven't read the text by now, but if you haven't: The essayist (a Ohioan newsletter writer. Apparently, you can get paid just for writing them. Also: Ohioan? Really?) takes the position that her job, her marriage, her life are "good enough", and that there is therefore no shame in "settling". Which, to an extent, is true. Human beings, as a species, are notorious for being unsatisfied. All contentment, ultimately, is fleeting: we'll always want to do more, have more, feel more, be more, than we do right now. What used to be exiting so soon becomes mundane. And ultimately, that's just the way it is, cats and kittens: once you're not starving to death, happiness is as much a choice as a response to external conditions.
On the other hand: I was put off the essay from the end of the first paragraph:
Not that I knew it was the end of a paragraph listening, but that's irrelevant
On the other hand, he doesn't beat or emotionally abuse me. He doesn't drink or chase other women. He's a good provider. So I'm sticking with him.
Perhaps not the sentences she wants us to fix on. But still, the brief picture I get of their relationship is a very business-like relationship, the kind you'd imagine coming out of an arranged marriage, or a de-novelized Victorian era. It didn't feel... intellectually interesting. I mean, I can imagine a woman with a journalism degree and a man who "doesn't care for journalists" bickering like Benedick and Beatrice, but if that was the case, I'd think the story would read differently. As it stands, the picture I'm getting... well, it's not the kind of marriage I'd like to find myself in.
There are realms in which "settling" (or, to use less loaded language, "accepting") is a worthy choice. But if you can't find a person to marry who isn't your best friend, or doesn't at least number among them, who at least complements you (if "complement" is seen, as I see it, as something less than "complete")...
I think what I'm trying to say, ma'am, is: I sincerely hope you're selling your husband short.
This was all to show you my new icon.