Thursday, June 03, 2004
The Scale
Recently a friend was asked the purely academic question, "How would you rate your life, on a scale of 1 to 10?" His answer, with which he seemed perfectly content, was "7." This is a question many of us fail to give conscious consideration to, and merely skim along, reacting to each individual bump and peak, as we go. If asked on a particular day how we are, most of us will simply respond with "fine," "well," or "okay." These are blanket responses--the socially acceptable means of encompassing everything that our lives at that point have had to offer. But how many of us can truly answer that question with "great" or "excellent." Chances are, if we did gush such a response, the reaction it would elicit would hardly be a shared joy. More likely it would be cause for alarm or a cut off from caffeine. This leads me to wonder, are we ever truly happy?
The friend to whom I was referring earlier, for a medical follow-up study, is asked this same question every year. "How would you rate your life?" Last year he gave the same response, so too, I would believe, did he the year before. And the year before that. His circumstances have changed -- he has lived in Britain, South America, the US; been in a relationship, been single; been working in a job he hates, one he hates; taken care of sick relatives, and spent days surrounded by those he loves. And yet, his response would hardly change. Why is it we believe that we should never admit to contentment, happiness, or a perfect 10? I am not simply pinning this on the isolated incident of my friend. It seems that many twenty-somethings I know--whether in the US or UK--cannot admit to being truly happy. But this begs the question, are they truly lacking or is it that we simply find ourselves unable to think that rose-tinted glasses could be the real thing?
It made me very sad when I was told "7" as a passing comment. The friend didn't find it so, 'said that's just how things are. But it made me want to get on a plane, fly to where he is, ply him lavishly with hugs and pints, and go for handheld walks in a sunny park, with the breeze blowing...but wait. Even writing this made me cringe. Why is it that sentimentality or cheeriness, for most of us, makes our teeth itch. Why can't we just be happy and, when we're not -- or even when we're at a 6 or a 7 (not sobbing, but not ecstatic either) -- can't we see nothing wrong with being nostalgic about those times we were at a 10, and striving to get back to that place. For some people, it's the memory certain time in their lives, for others, a whimsical song or voice, and others still, a favourite meal, book, or tightly-wrapped arms.
I will admit, I am one of the cynics. I would never admit to a jubillant 10, and I would feign nausea at anyone who did. But I do have these little tokens of 10, somewhere below the surface. So I have a proposition for those of us apathetic gen-Xers. It may be that your priorites are no longer a house, a spouse, 2.4 rugrats, a job, and a weekday Volvo. Perhaps it is not your career or your love life that raises your life above a 7, but work out what it is or what it has been. And when you feel at a loss, think back to an incident when you did feel a 10 and hold onto it. Sometimes that first kiss, home-cooked meal, or special voice from years past is all we need to get us through that dip in the road.
Recently a friend was asked the purely academic question, "How would you rate your life, on a scale of 1 to 10?" His answer, with which he seemed perfectly content, was "7." This is a question many of us fail to give conscious consideration to, and merely skim along, reacting to each individual bump and peak, as we go. If asked on a particular day how we are, most of us will simply respond with "fine," "well," or "okay." These are blanket responses--the socially acceptable means of encompassing everything that our lives at that point have had to offer. But how many of us can truly answer that question with "great" or "excellent." Chances are, if we did gush such a response, the reaction it would elicit would hardly be a shared joy. More likely it would be cause for alarm or a cut off from caffeine. This leads me to wonder, are we ever truly happy?
The friend to whom I was referring earlier, for a medical follow-up study, is asked this same question every year. "How would you rate your life?" Last year he gave the same response, so too, I would believe, did he the year before. And the year before that. His circumstances have changed -- he has lived in Britain, South America, the US; been in a relationship, been single; been working in a job he hates, one he hates; taken care of sick relatives, and spent days surrounded by those he loves. And yet, his response would hardly change. Why is it we believe that we should never admit to contentment, happiness, or a perfect 10? I am not simply pinning this on the isolated incident of my friend. It seems that many twenty-somethings I know--whether in the US or UK--cannot admit to being truly happy. But this begs the question, are they truly lacking or is it that we simply find ourselves unable to think that rose-tinted glasses could be the real thing?
It made me very sad when I was told "7" as a passing comment. The friend didn't find it so, 'said that's just how things are. But it made me want to get on a plane, fly to where he is, ply him lavishly with hugs and pints, and go for handheld walks in a sunny park, with the breeze blowing...but wait. Even writing this made me cringe. Why is it that sentimentality or cheeriness, for most of us, makes our teeth itch. Why can't we just be happy and, when we're not -- or even when we're at a 6 or a 7 (not sobbing, but not ecstatic either) -- can't we see nothing wrong with being nostalgic about those times we were at a 10, and striving to get back to that place. For some people, it's the memory certain time in their lives, for others, a whimsical song or voice, and others still, a favourite meal, book, or tightly-wrapped arms.
I will admit, I am one of the cynics. I would never admit to a jubillant 10, and I would feign nausea at anyone who did. But I do have these little tokens of 10, somewhere below the surface. So I have a proposition for those of us apathetic gen-Xers. It may be that your priorites are no longer a house, a spouse, 2.4 rugrats, a job, and a weekday Volvo. Perhaps it is not your career or your love life that raises your life above a 7, but work out what it is or what it has been. And when you feel at a loss, think back to an incident when you did feel a 10 and hold onto it. Sometimes that first kiss, home-cooked meal, or special voice from years past is all we need to get us through that dip in the road.
