The skill we have in the exercise of our capacity – that is, the deftness by which we do what we do – is I believe a combination of innate talent, forward thinking, visible credential and accident. The paradigm is easily contaminated by features such as subterfuge, avarice and slovenliness. On the balance though we are all seemingly dedicated by whatever power or motive to the goal of happiness. It is as native a passion as an appetite; just as deep-rooted and as clinically irrational.
An amusing quip about the art of living is, “If you do what you like then you’ll like what you do“. This implies a degree of rationality. It is after all axiomatic. Yet it betrays the same circular result. Arguably everything in life is self-evident but I am uncertain that I fully embrace the rational assessment of happiness. Happiness is a beast of the woods accustomed to elusion. The safer option is in my opinion that no one of us has any idea what constitutes happiness. Nor in fact do most of us care. The art of living isn’t about how you get there (or even where you’re going), it’s about what you do with it when you get there. I am not meaning to be obtuse. I am simply dividing the process of happiness between 1) the variable instructions about how to get there and where to go; and 2) the manner in which you behave upon arrival. As a driving universal theme it’s the latter that ultimately matters.
Frankly I think the entire art of living is the decision to make the best of what we have. I would say that to anyone no matter to whom. It is necessary at this juncture to recall that each one of us has suffered misadventure, inadequacy and loss. This signals that no one’s present situation is immune to pollution. Consequently we are in the majority already enduring one measure or another of restraint if I may characterize limitations of whatever nature as such. The canvass upon which we portray our personal artistic rendition is thus at the outset an over-write. It is not a disguise or manufacture; just a pragmatic employment of the serendipitous spices in the gibelotte we call life. Our expression of the current state of happiness may easily lie in what we have, what we want and what we imagine. The scope is limitless. But underlying all this commotion is the prerequisite desire to make the trip. I suspect otherwise it is in rare circumstances only that one capitulates to a predominant theme of displeasure.
We spent the afternoon today on the winding country roads circulating up and down Lanark Highlands and nearby County of Frontenac, passing through the quaint and remarkable villages of Maberly, McDonald’s Corners, Lavant Station and Ompah.