It wasn't exactly the state of nature; I shouldn't get carried away. We had a roof over our heads - even if it's beginning to bow a little in the middle, and a kitchen with a stove and propane refrigerator. We even had running water and electricity the two hours a day or so we ran the generator. But for the most part, it was just us, separated from civilization.
But even there, even among only four people - and close relatives at that - informal rules dictated quite a bit of what we do; you don't do dishes if you cook dinner; don't leave food out - it attracts animals; it's a family place, we have to make sure to sweep out and clean up in a particular way before we depart. Our habitual games of hearts are punctuated not only by the rules of the game, but the informal norms that govern our particular - and lax - feelings about table talk.
But that isn't what I want to write about; I'm sure I will spill a lot of digital ink in future posts about the norms in small familial groups - there are too many opportunities and too much material. I want, instead, to spend a few words talking about what I did leave behind. Even for just five days, it was wonderful to be freed from the little social and personal rules that govern so much of what we do, and even more wonderful were the small, daily revelations that one rule or another didn't apply while I was on the island.
I didn't ever have to worry whether an email required an immediate response or how long I could wait before responding; no electricity, no internet, no computer, no email. Ditto a phone call: should I pick up? How long a conversation will it be? When will I have to call back? But - gloriously - my phone was turned off and across eight miles of water in my car. Oh! And the car! Should I drive or walk to the meeting? Can I turn left here? Am I speeding? Is that a cop? They seem trivial - and they are, for the most part - but the regulations that guide our public facade, the norms that guide our interactions with others, and the rules we impose on ourselves (have I watched too much tv today?) impact almost everything we do.
But not this last week. I didn't have to worry about who's watching when I swim - no one's around (and - as those of you who know me have guessed - swimwear is banished). I didn't worry about too much tv, the requirements cell phones and email insinuate into our lives. I didn't have to worry about what the check engine light on my car might harken (though I do now...). All I had to contemplate was the beauty of a sunset.
Rather than subject you to my further rantings, I'll supply those of a much more talented writer. Edward Abbey brings a touch more sarcasm and misanthropy, but the sense of freedom is roughly the same as he writes about rafting through the wilderness.
"My God! I'm thinking, what incredible shit we put up with most of our lives... the constant petty tyranny of automatic washers and automobiles and TV machines and telephones - ! ah Christ!, I'm thinking, at the same time that I'm waving goodbye to that hollering idiot on the shore, what intolerable garbage and what utterly useless crap we bury ourselves in day by day, while patiently enduring at the same time the creeping strangulation of the clean white collar and the rich but modest four-in-hand garrote!"
It's the "petty tyranny" that most catches my attention, and Abbey is wise to notice - in mid 60s at that - that the extent to which we come to depend on our appliances can rise to a certain despotism. This is not really my reaction - most things in moderation, most things in moderation - but I have to confess: only up there, only free from these day to day shackles, do I ever really let it go and do this:
Feels good.
No comments:
Post a Comment