“Life is difficult.”
That is the first sentence in Chapter 1 entitled “Discipline” in the book The Road Less Travelled, written by M. Scott Peck and published in 1978. I was 18 years old then, and I had been following his every move after seeing him interviewed on television. I was eager to purchase a first edition hardcover and soaked up everything Peck had to say about problem solving, love, discipline, values and a host of other life psychologies I had wanted to learn about.
“Life is difficult. This is a great truth, one of the greatest truths. It is a great truth because once we truly see this truth, we transcend it. Once we truly know that life is difficult – once we truly understand and accept it – then life is no longer difficult. Because once it is accepted, the fact that life is difficult no longer matters.”
The Road Less Travelled was, in fact, my first read on the road to enlightenment and gave me a great education in acceptance. I still have the book in my library, and I think it might be time to read it again because I find myself often wading in self-pity puddles when things don’t go the way I had planned them.
I admit it. I am a diehard planner. I thrive on thinking up schematics for my days off that include everything from building a new patio to chopping down trees, creating a stone walkway in front of my garden to learning how to tile a tabletop, painting my kitchen, hallway, and porch and ripping up the flooring that’s been there since 1967 just to see what’s underneath.
And if it wasn’t for life being difficult, I would likely accomplish all those things and more because that’s how I roll. Never stop moving, never stop being busy, never give in to a life less travelled.
About 10 days ago, I started Round 1 of my summer holidays—one week of sheer anticipation of all the projects I could accomplish here in my neck of the woods.
It all started with buying a new upright vacuum cleaner—one of the jacked-up horsepower space age units that has no filter to replace and a see-through compartment that lets me monitor what kind of dirt it can suck up.
I was like Earl the cat with a new toy, zooming all over the house with the grace of a gazelle with the vacuum cleaner gliding to and fro until sweat was pouring off of me as if I’d just done 40 minutes on the treadmill. I was so excited about the great job I’d done until I looked into the canister.
My mouth dropped open, and my jaw hit the floor. Lucky for me, I didn’t suck up that part of my face in the vacuum hose when, in a moment of panic, I envisioned a knock at the door. I would open the door, and the person would gasp in horror when they saw what was in the canister and deduce that I never cleaned up around here. Ever.
All that dust and dander junk was almost worthy of a Facebook media post. I wanted to take a photo of the dirt with my phone and send it to my kids, but then thought better of it when I figured they would want to borrow my new toy and I’d never see it again.
Suffice it to say, my new vacuum cleaned the green indoor-outdoor carpet (also from 1967) that is glued to the floor in my porch so freaking well that I don’t have to replace it anymore. I am positive it also sucked up animal hair from the porch floor that belonged to Earl’s ancestors and any dogs that trotted in and out of there, along with DNA from all humans who have passed through this farmhouse since it was planted here in the 1940s.
Life is difficult. Most of the time I accept that, but it’s a lot easier to take when you have a clean house.
