My overt affection for Americans – specifically, the citizens of the United States of America just to be clear – is in one sense understandable, in another paradoxical. It is understandable in that many of my ascendants on both sides of my family are from the United States of America; it is paradoxical in that a good chunk of my ancestors were United Empire Loyalists which hardly speaks well of the early relationship between my clan and those to the south. It would of course be absurd to attach anything but historical significance to that quondam feud. Besides I wager that even though we Canadians have managed to keep up appearances as far as being British goes, the Americans frequently betray more than a passing (though admittedly disguised) admiration for the Crown. If this doesn’t effectively obviate past differences, I submit that the preponderance of current diplomacy speaks to a solid link between all three countries, Canada, Britain and the United States.

Anyway, I’m getting far afield of my original thesis; namely, the unending delight I derive from my American cousins. Let me first disclose that I enjoy bashing the Americans as much as anyone, but in a good way. It requires very little provocation for me to ridicule CNN, Fox News or Bloomberg radio, who doesn’t! And yet I listen to them on the satellite air waves constantly! The bravado, near shouting and entirely insular focus of the announcers and their programming are yet to be admired. Granted the insights are frequently little more than elevated navel gazing, but one has to respect them for their conviction! NPR does at least travel significantly beyond the customary boundaries of mainstream American radio, though in spite of the intellectualism the thread of intense nationality is impossible to ignore. The image of the “ugly American” (something which was especially popular in Europe several decades ago before the Germans usurped the bookplate) is something which has never entirely disappeared though I challenge anyone on a global expedition not to welcome an encounter with an American.

Speaking of travel, a good deal of my vacation time has been spent in the United States of America largely for the reason that the warmer temperatures are a considerable attraction during our frigid winter months and the preferred destinations involve few if any stop-overs. This however is not the entire story. Even in the summer months I have frequently wandered into the United States including Florida in July and August (something by the way which I consider the best kept secret).

Granted the more frequent summer adventures have been to Cape Cod and the Maine coast. When one compares these sorties to those which compete equally well in Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island in terms of beaches, one has to ask what tips the balance. The answer is not simply population, but it is undeniable that the large markets have afforded those with resources the stage upon which to offer up a generous board. Even then, however, the result is not complete without giving credit where credit is due, and by that I mean to the Americans themselves.

It is at this juncture that I become a bit schmaltzy. The fact of the matter is that I find Americans overwhelmingly entertaining (in spite of their often narrow and rock-ribbed views). If one avoids the polemics surrounding an intense discussion of religion, liberty and general constitutional rights, I think you’ll find as I do that Americans are exceptionally well adapted socially. I am further inclined to think that it is only upon delving behind the curtain of propriety that one is privy to the intimate workings of the American mind, but this should be no surprise to anyone for we all harbour those distinguishing features of “family” upon scrutiny. It is only that the Americans are so regularly subjected to that scrutiny that the obvious becomes apparent. One must guard against becoming too uppity when it comes to overall purity.

The true test of friendship is the reciprocal admiration of one for another without strings attached. I won’t go so far as to suggest that either one or the other of the components is “better” nor even that one or the other qualifies for superiority on the strength of any feature or age of development. I prefer to think of our relationship as “mutual” which I’m sure you’ll agree nicely avoids the trap of commitment. In any event my fondness for Americans is neither comparative nor derivative. It’s a stand-alone thing, like a work of art.

It is an inescapable observation that Americans cultivate generosity. I include in this compliment their preference for large portions in everything from food to automobiles. It is for example quite the challenge upon returning home from the United States to adjust to the smaller portions in one’s evening cocktail. The metaphorical thirst of Americans for all that life has to offer is pandemic and reminds one that the Wild West spirit isn’t far below the surface.

As anyone knows who has ventured to New York City, Americans, apart from the tourists, enjoy an enviable sophistication including, if you will, afternoon tea and of course opera, art galleries and architecture. There is of course a tradition of pushing the vulgar side of Americans, but I find that to be largely anecdotal. It is no accident that in its place of origin even the “Occupy Wall Street” movement has been polite.

Compared to many of the world’s more ancient societies, America is still virtually a teenager, indeed often an irascible and upstart youth. It is nothing to hear the so-called “average” American claim lineage to one of the founding Pilgrim Fathers. While it is not uncommon to hear that the “American Dream” is fast fading, that condemnation doesn’t fit well with what many others continue to believe. If anything, the recent pressures on the American economy have illustrated to me that Americans are pulling together to preserve what they have always valued. There is a certain child-like ingenuousness about the American psyche which appeals to me. As rebellious as some Americans can become, in the end I find they are disposed to listen to reason and common sense. The Americans have a certain civility which I think will put them in good stead in the long run.

What I ask could be more frightening than the transparency of the adage that you are what you think! Undisguised revelation! When I first heard the quip (admittedly not my own concoction) I was initially unimpressed, at least until my seer added “…especially as you leave the room”. The immediacy of that supplement tended to vitalize the aphorism. It also heightened the disconnect which frequently exists between our private contemplations and our outward expression. There is apparently nowhere to hide!

Even on occasions when there is a correspondence of mental and verbal, I believe that on the balance the intimacy of our thoughts mitigates against such uniformity. If for example we were enabled to take a look at a comparative graph of our thoughts and words throughout the day I surmise we’d be more than a bit ashamed of ourselves, maybe even startled or dismayed, to discover that what we say and what we think frequently do not jive. So often we fill the crucible of our lives (not to mention the canyon of our mouths) with a good deal of pollution and clutter. More cause to panic, however, is the identification of what it is we really do think. You will I am sure concede that it is not uncommon for each of us from time to time to say one thing yet think another. Ultimately however the dye which colours our emotions is that which is aligned with our thoughts as much as we may feign the contrary. Small wonder we frequently struggle within ourselves, having to decode what we contemporaneously say and think. And equally unsurprising – though initially astonishing – amidst such kerfuffle is that others claim to read us like a book! Attempting to disguise one’s thoughts is the amateur equivalent of trying to be a good liar, normally an unsuccessful feat!

Of course what one thinks is not necessarily malicious or contriving, nor indeed embarrassing for whatever reason. One may for example be motivated by affection and attraction to contort one’s admissions, though probably with about as much success as trying to disguise a deep-rooted aversion. Either way though the fact remains that we are what we think.
Where this proverb assumes really sizable proportions is when it is applied not to what we think of others but to what we think of ourselves. As relevant to others, there is after all always room for reconsideration; but as operated upon ourselves, the inclination is far more inert. If we’re inclined to aggrandize or demonize ourselves, we frequently only poison the process further by attempting to act inconsistently. Once again, however, our thoughts will out and no amount of buffoonery or linguistic gymnastics will succeed to camouflage what’s really going on. The compression of inspiration and voice, like so many fundamentals of nature, is in the end not only the most productive but also the least unmerciful. How often has it been exclaimed, “I can’t go on pretending anymore!” Pointedly the biggest fool in that scenario is oneself. Yet it is the portrayed opaqueness of thought which stirs us to imagine that our behaviour is by comparison transparent. Such paradox!

Assuming for the moment that one prefers not to live a lie, narrowing the gap between what one thinks and what one says is the challenge. First one must acknowledge that the force of what one thinks is not only palpable but also inescapable. Except as a nicety, there is no need to enquire into the decorousness or noteworthiness of one’s thoughts; all that matters is that they are your thoughts and that you are one and the same. It likely astonishes many of us to learn that other people actually prefer to know what we are thinking. It is not only the candidness which lubricates communication; more importantly it is the removal of the dead-heads and other casualties of misguided adventure. How we love to fritter away the little time that we have with idle fuss! It is far more improving – not to say expeditious – for oneself and others to dwell upon what one thinks rather than upon manufactured guff and pretense. Second one must believe in the value of one’s thoughts. I’m willing to bet that if you were to advance that admonition to anyone else you would have no hesitation approving its merit; but convincing oneself to accept it is quite another thing. Bludgeoned as we are by masses of external stimuli and models of conduct, generosity towards oneself is often wanting, a disposition made all the more awkward by that innate shyness which most of us secretly harbour about ourselves. Familiarity with our own carcass tends to diminish our charity; and yet it is those very same seemingly unglamourous thoughts which do everything to characterize our individuality. Besides, it is so much easier to sleep at night!

Discovering meaning and purpose in life has ever been dispiriting and never been effortless. Try getting out of bed in the morning, especially Monday morning. Or even better, a rainy Monday morning! Now there’s a task! If you wish to accomplish the project with anything approaching alacrity, you’re going to need more than a little strength. And here I’m referring not only to physical strength but also to moral strength, that unseen stuff of which real men and women are made! If you’re akin to most of the herd, your expectations are high-principled, something which regrettably only makes the job more difficult – that business about reaching for the stars at a time when you can barely extend your weary legs to the hardwood!

Yet I’ll safely wager that if you were affirmatively to welcome the prospect of what awaited you on the other side of the bedroom door, your motivation would be considerably more aroused. The burden of living is not so much what has come before (if it were otherwise, hang-overs would be a tolerable penalty), but rather what is about to follow. In point of fact, it is far more likely that one will be disabled by the prospect of the future than by the percept of the past. The failures, embarrassments, inadequacies and short-comings which may distinguish our erstwhile personal history will, like so much dust beneath our feet, be washed clean with the benefit of time (not to mention the unfailing predisposition of our reliable friends and colleagues to empathize, something I’m certain you’ll agree we can take to the bank). But left alone to contemplate the distant morrow, watch out!

There is an understandable inertia to lying about one’s bedchamber. The metaphor of the covers is not without foundation. But even prolonged dalliance in the supine will ultimately loose its appeal, replacing complacency with little more than uncomfortable back pain. To horse, I say! To horse!

Here it is that one encounters those nasty bits of philosophy or, what is more probable in the bleary state of early morning awakening, those fears of the cold world that awaits beyond the warmth of the downy feathers. There is nothing comforting about having to face the world (barring of course the purely physical necessity of having to void one’s bladder). Whatever one may have successfully parried throughout the long night, whatever terrifying nightmares one may have forgotten upon the rude start of the day, there will however remain the inescapable confrontation with the proverbial “Why?”, or at the very least the less impressive “Now what?” I’ve heard it said that a similar plaintive ecphonesis (“What is the point!”) by some renowned French existentialist playwright was met with a concise retort from his cleaning maid, “To pay the rent!”, a crushing defeat for the absurdists to say the least. While having to pay the rent doesn’t exactly qualify as inspiring, it does at least have the value of being tangible. The last thing one needs before one’s morning coffee is a lot of nonsense about disorientation and confusion in the face of an apparently meaningless and absurd world. One may as well check into the nearest clinic for schizophrenia!

No, no the deeper question is “Wherein lies the rub?”, or in plain terms, “What’s the catch?” If one is about to commit to a long-term relationship with life, one is entitled to know what likely disappointment waits in the wings. Granted it is a pity to have to re-enact this particular drama morning after morning, but like so many things in life, courage, courage! One cannot for example expect that such superlative awakenings can instantly unfold and disgorge their pearl as though on demand. It’s a matter of putting the right spin on things, showing off the subject to advantage, putting it all in the proper light so to speak. But as I say this takes time and considerable endurance. And small wonder! When you think about it, what I’m really asking is this: “What is the secret to life?”, not exactly a trivial question you’ll concede.

As you may have gathered from something I fleetingly mentioned earlier during the exposition of this thesis, the entire conundrum is made so much less trying if we have an appetite for what follows. Being properly inclined is what I mean to say, ebullience in a word. Now, there is no sense whatever in clinging to all those defeatist reasons you no doubt have stored in your handbag of grief and disillusionment; better simply to eject the collection and bounce into the next frame of existence. I mean, what have you got to lose? One hardly needs to be convinced of the inutility of it all, that’s a given. So one may as well put together a new knapsack of goodies (however optimistic) at the end of one’s walking stick and head off into the sunrise to greet the day! And if that doesn’t work, then get up to pay the rent!

It is easy to imagine that equable, balmy weather is a blessing. And yet (and I say this with overwhelming ruefulness) it is a subterfuge, calculated to unhinge us. Given a stretch of so-called “pleasant” weather, I guarantee one’s affairs become entirely discombobulated! The reason? None other than deception! The shrouding of our external lives with blue sky and a southerly zephyr is nothing short of deceit! Since when is life a bowl of cherries, I ask you? Mere rhetoric and free wheeling idiom!

Life is hard, let’s face it. It is even well documented that if you were to win the lottery today it is only a matter of time before you either lose it all or become disenchanted with your lot. Soon you shall rebound to your former state of discontent. For this reason alone, cloudy weather, drizzle, and storms are generally to be preferred; viz. , we can get back to the reality that is stagnation. That blip of our lives called youth is but a frantic effort to avoid confronting the ultimate truth: that in spite of it all we are destined to disappointment. How specious is the canopy of blue! How feint the summer breeze! One may as well tease a child with a distracting and senseless toy.

As a mature adult, however, one admits the facts. It behooves us as levelheaded beings to stand fast before cataclysm. No doubt you’re familiar with that pious ejaculation of remorse, “Vanity! All is vanity! ” The metaphor as you may already know has very little to do with narcissism. “Vanus” is Latin for “empty”. Understood in this sense, vanity is all about futility. Not surprisingly the symbols of vanity include jewels, gold coins, a purse and even death itself. These are reminders not merely of the ephemeral nature of youthful beauty, but also of the fleeting joy of life, its brevity and the inevitability of death. The upshot is that, try as we might, in the end life is devoid of content.

There are some who, confessing these inescapable (and may I say terribly well-reasoned) conclusions, seek to surmount the peril of such philosophy by strength of their own maneuvers. They witlessly adopt tactics such as alcohol or nefarious combustibles for example. Senseless! Perfectly dithering, not to mention a complete waste of funds. In spite of the broadside it appears to deliver to the enemy it is nonetheless right up there with the wild blue yonder, merely a diversion. Similarly conspiring to confound oneself further by bemused spiritual and mental distortions is equally doomed; no amount of goody-two-shoes philosophy will save the day! Mere recreation! Life communicates the language of condemnation and sentence; or (if one prefers the religious vernacular) it is ordained, our fate, our destiny.

If one is to accomplish anything in this life, one must discard the superfluities of our nature, cull from the essence of our being that which is mere fluff, both the dross and the dregs. Those worthless parts of our terrestrial experience are best avoided. We must get down to the hard work of being miserable. This is not a task for the faint of heart. No, no, this is serious business reserved for none but committed and clear-thinking individuals. Being wretched is not to invite pity; to do otherwise is synonymous with abject cowardice. Indeed if one is to avoid the woeful and deplorable contempt of a comfortable life, the adoption of a morose and humorless aspect is a duty not to be delayed.

More pressing is defining the very pith of life; namely, that life is nothing but a perpetual uphill battle with the only assurance being that of dashing hopes. It defies logic that anyone would actively dedicate themselves to bubbly living, a course of action which is destined to be a shipwreck. Hedge the regressive activity of dalliance and gird oneself for the trial that is living. Life is not a spare-time activity. Nor do the customary asides succeed to mollify the sting that awaits us. Embrace despondency and abandon yourself to loss of hope and courage! Only then will you be able to greet the morn – sunny or not – with anything approaching verisimilitude!

If that fails, have a cigarette!