Life has a way of soothing our weary souls, just when we need it, by giving us little things that force us not to take ourselves so seriously. Simple situations that encourage us not to be uptight, but to laugh instead, and remember that few things are worth losing our joy over. It’s those little snippets that change our perspective and add some much needed color.
I’ve been forgetting that lately. For every day I think I’ve got the upper hand on my dissertation revisions, I have another day when it seems like it will never be finished. For every day I’m confident I know what I’m doing, I face another one that leaves me feeling utterly inadequate. I lose sight that it will be finished soon. It won’t always be looming over my head. Some days it feels endless and insurmountable, when I find myself with piles of books and articles stacked around me, trying to discern what is important, what is tangential, what is vital, and what is just noise. Many days I forget that it’s just a dissertation. It isn’t life or death. And then I have a welcome reminder.
Yesterday hadn’t been the worst dissertation day. In fact, as dissertation writing days go, it had been pretty productive. But I was tired and feeling like all I ever do is sit in front of a computer and revise. I felt fat. And sluggish. And humorless. And boring. The house had been quiet all day with the boys at work, Steve out of town, Anna with laryngitis and the cats, well, … monosyllabic cats. In all, I was feeling rather dull. Thinking a nice relaxing cup of chamomile tea before bed would help, I put the tea kettle on to boil and began thinking about ways to make tomorrow feel less like a prison sentence and more like a party. How to start anew. Tomorrow I’d wear something nicer than a paint-spattered grey sweatshirt to write in. I’d put on a cute sweater. And do my hair. And apply lipstick. I probably write better in lipstick.
As I stood in the kitchen being all Annie about tomorrow and waiting for the water to boil, my cat, Princess, wandered in for a little snack. Princess lives up to her name. She’d wear a tiara if it wouldn't fall off and she prefers to take her meals on top of the refrigerator away from the rowdy, messy, distasteful boy cats. It is bad enough that we ask her to live with them but eat with them? No, thank you. I, the indulgent pet servant, oblige. Her food bowl sits atop the refrigerator and she jumps up there for a dainty little nibble every so often. It typically isn’t a big deal. It does involve her jumping up on a small section of counter en route to the refrigerator. And yes, that is gross if I think about it. So I don’t.
Anyway, the water began to boil and I took the kettle off the burner and poured some of the boiling liquid into my cup. I mindlessly dropped the tea bag into the steaming mug, dunking it rhythmically a few times. Things were feeling pretty Zen just before I turned around and saw that Princess had jumped up on her little section of counter but, for whatever reason, she hadn’t proceeded to the top of the refrigerator as normal. She was sitting primly on the counter as though it were her throne, staring trancelike at absolutely nothing. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, cats tend to zone out and stare blankly more often than not, except that her beautiful black tail was stretched out behind her like a wooly caterpillar lying prone after a long journey, right across the hot burner. Smoking.
Oblivious, Princess sat gazing while her furry appendage was engulfed in a plume of smoke. I shrieked and ran to the stove. Startled by my uncharacteristic aggression toward her, Princess flew off the counter and streaked up the stairs. Fortunately her fur was the only thing that got scorched. Her skin was fine but the damage had been done and the house started reeking of burning cat tail.
Somehow, as the air took a on a decidedly burning feline stench, the whole scene struck me as very funny. And I started to laugh. My family has grown accustomed to me burning things in the kitchen; although never before had it been one of the pets. Moments later Charles came upstairs from the basement to investigate and Anna came downstairs and croaked out, “What’s burning?” I had to respond with, “the cat,” which just made me laugh harder. As I explained what happened we all started laughing and at that moment life seemed very joyful. And certainly no longer dull.
A dissertation is just a dissertation. It isn’t my life. For the moment it is challenging and consumes a large portion of my life but my life is these people, laughing heartily with me amid the smell of burning fur, and all the meaningful little moments that make up our days. I needed that perspective last night. Funny how life knows just how to give us what we need.
So, today I’ll wear a little lipstick while I write. It will add a bit of color.
But then, so does cooking the cat.
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