Little m Long a

Better than….

I keep hearing those words.  They crop up, seemingly, on a daily basis.  Typically benign in their intents they’re used as a measuring standard, a barometer.  Childlike comparisons between teams or artwork.  Footraces or eating cereal.  Hot Wheels cars or Barbie skirts.  Simple statements in some weird hierarchical system arbitrarily derived by kids who really don’t know the difference.  (I almost said don’t know any better.)

What gets me is when I hear the phrase outside of this infantile arena.  And it’s out there just as often if not more.  The words are the rallying cry for the motivated or for those who wish to motivate.  We are inundated with exhortations to improve our status, our health, our appearance, our bank accounts, our homes, our cars, our education.  Our lives.

“You can do better than…”

“You can be better than…”

I’m not so sure I’m buying into it.  Now, maybe that’s easy for me to say because I have.  I’m not wanton or lacking.  By all means no.  Where as up for some may be the curb, up for me would be more like the roof.  Or at least a landing on the second floor.  From where I stand, I’ve got a view and it really ain’t all that bad.

I don’t feel compelled, driven, to do more–to do better. Oh, I’ve got wants and needs.  Most of the wants are out of my immediate grasp and honestly many of my needs are not easily obtained.  But they are obtainable.  But the drive.  That’s just not there.

My compulsion these days is actually complacency.  To be content with what I’ve got and where I’m at.

I suppose I’m starting to realize that the best things in life—aren’t things.