How Lucky I Am

I received a package in the post today from David. I couldn't tell whether it was more of an anthrax bomb or a get-well gift: Dr. Seuss's Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are? It is a parable of a young child down at his heels being told, by a man sitting on a cactus, that there are far more people who suffer to a far greater degree. So the boy should be happy.

To David, I reply:

If I was simply satisfied knowing how lucky I was, I would lead a life of complacency. The arguments you deploy on me are somewhat contradictory. On the one hand, you say that I should right the wrongs of the world by running for office, or leading some rebellious movement; on the other hand, you lecture me about being extraordinarily lucky.

Which is it to be?

If, indeed, I am so fortunate, I should want for nothing, have nothing to complain about. There is nothing to do. Nothing needs fixing, except perhaps my world view.

If, on the contrary, I should lead a rebellion, you accept that there is something wrong that I see and experience. Perhaps I am not so lucky after all.

If I didn't respect you so much, I might be tempted to make a footwear analogy.
But I shall refrain.

Instead, I shall say this, to attempt to put this whole matter behind us.

I do consider myself obscenely lucky. I was born to parents who gave me strong values and a love of learning; I married the best friend in the entire time-space continuum; I have family and friends like you who give me a reason to laugh and live.

But precisely because of that, I refuse to absolve myself of effort, or forgive ill-will or injustice when it's in my (cubicle) backyard, instead of just skipping along in life and making daisy chains. I hope you understand.

Thank you for the book, and above all, thank you for coming on this journey with me. You are part prickly, part tax-and-spend, part revolutionary, part comedian, and all heart. I am lucky to have a commenter who is the embodiment of the Socratic method. Keep throwing those tomatoes.