My dog sleeps around sixteen hours a day, so I’m not going to feel bad about languishing in bed until nine, when I didn’t go to sleep until midnight. Granted, she is the equivalent, in human years, of age 77, so I probably ought not to compare myself to her too much, but I can take from her behavior some inspiration—although not when it comes to sniffing the behinds of other dogs.
There’s no doubt that any of us could be a better person—even the Dalai Lama probably reads some trashy fiction from time to time; the point is to calibrate one’s goodness with an appropriate level of self-interest. Maybe I can take from the religious model a kind of tithing standard: if I spend ten percent of my time in meaningful pursuits, that will be sufficient. Thus, if I’m awake for sixteen hours on a given day, all I have to do is do something worthwhile for about 100 minutes. Supposing my yoga practice takes an hour and a half or so, then, I’ve only got ten minutes I need to account for. Doing the dishes a couple times eats that up, so I’m good nearly every day.
To tell the truth, I don’t really know why I worry about whether or not I’m doing anything worth doing anyway; shouldn’t it be enough to simply be a reasonably nice person who feeds his dog and doesn’t make babies cry? After all, even on my worst days, I’m far more admirable than your average Republican Presidential candidate and a far less of a drain on the planet’s natural resources than probably nearly any Nascar driver.
It seems to me that one of the most effective strategies for satisfaction and well-being is to lower one’s standards; instead of aspiring to greatness, competent mediocrity will do; rather than feeling bad at not having achieved my dreams, perhaps I can be satisfied that I’m not living a nightmare.
There’s no doubt that any of us could be a better person—even the Dalai Lama probably reads some trashy fiction from time to time; the point is to calibrate one’s goodness with an appropriate level of self-interest. Maybe I can take from the religious model a kind of tithing standard: if I spend ten percent of my time in meaningful pursuits, that will be sufficient. Thus, if I’m awake for sixteen hours on a given day, all I have to do is do something worthwhile for about 100 minutes. Supposing my yoga practice takes an hour and a half or so, then, I’ve only got ten minutes I need to account for. Doing the dishes a couple times eats that up, so I’m good nearly every day.
To tell the truth, I don’t really know why I worry about whether or not I’m doing anything worth doing anyway; shouldn’t it be enough to simply be a reasonably nice person who feeds his dog and doesn’t make babies cry? After all, even on my worst days, I’m far more admirable than your average Republican Presidential candidate and a far less of a drain on the planet’s natural resources than probably nearly any Nascar driver.
It seems to me that one of the most effective strategies for satisfaction and well-being is to lower one’s standards; instead of aspiring to greatness, competent mediocrity will do; rather than feeling bad at not having achieved my dreams, perhaps I can be satisfied that I’m not living a nightmare.
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