I was thinking tonight in the kind of aphorisms in which I usually think. I am all-too-often a kind of self-talk endless self-platitude. One saying that came to me was how a trip is not its destination. The trip instead is the travel itself. This is not a new thought--it's not original to me. But it comforts me, a bit. From this idea I came to a different idea--the joy is in the journey ("de vreugde is in de reis"). I am not sure that I trust joy based on anything besides the thrill of living the next moment.
Then I thought how, despite how much I love Tolstoi, he had one thing wrong. All happy families are not the same. They're a wide spectrum of difference--what makes people happy is not perfection or even placidity. It's something more elusive--and yet available to most, if not all. I can't put my fingers around it, but I can see its reflection in the water when it passes.
This morning I remembered the music of Game Boys, the thrill of an idea written down 15 years ago, and the
joy of hot and sour soup. That will do for today--tomorrow other things will intervene instead.