THE PROBLEM with finally attaining enlightenment and understanding that nothing really matters besides the direct experience of being in the moment is that after that nothing really matters, except of course the direct experience of being in the moment. This exalted state obviously blots out the petty problems that occupy most of us, which is to say all of them. Things like what color to paint our house, a question that is currently absorbing both my husband and me when we’re not busy watching all this Trump and Comey stuff, which by the way also doesn’t matter since we are all blades of grass.
Enlightened or not, right now our house needs painting. The harsh Maine winters have taken their toll, leaving a legacy of peeling paint. So the question arises: while we’re at it, do we change the color or not? Right now it is a fabulous color, a transcendent color, a splendid color, and one that thrills me each time I turn onto the street and see it before me in the distance. The only problem is that our next door neighbor also found it to be fabulous, transcendent and splendid and so she painted her house the exact same color, which pisses us off to high heaven on a daily basis, more so in winter when all the trees are bare and we can see it clearly, as opposed to summer when it disappears and we mercifully can forget.
Don’t get me wrong, we like this particular neighbor very much and realize that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but still, it’s annoying. And a quick drive through the neighborhood shows that lots of other people also liked her house, and so, sincerely flattering her, they did the same thing. And now, well, let’s just say there are plenty of splendid, transcendent beige houses around here.
We are thinking something in the purple family. Not exactly lilac—that seems so old-ladyish, and even though I am becoming one (and some people think I already am one, like my son, but let’s not go there), I don’t yet identify with them. No, it’s more of a mauve. Actually we’ve chosen one called Beguiling Mauve which is a bad name I know and makes it sound sort of like a whore house. And it might be just a tad too purple, but if we go grayer, will it just be another one of those gray houses we see everywhere there isn’t a beige house?
The search continues.
Andrea Rouda blogs at The Daily Droid.