what’s the point?

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about Kurt Vonnegut, specifically something he said in a famous interview in 1995. He was asked some tedious boilerplate question about being a writer in the age of technology and automation and responded with a circuitous ramble that culminated in precisely the of kind off-the-cuff profundity for which he became famous:

“I work at home, and if I wanted to, I could have a computer right by my bed, and I'd never have to leave it. But I use a typewriter, and afterward I mark up the pages with a pencil. Then I call up this woman named Carol out in Woodstock and say, ‘Are you still doing typing?’ Sure she is, and her husband is trying to track bluebirds out there and not having much luck, and so we chitchat back and forth, and I say, ‘Okay, I'll send you the pages.’

Then I go down the steps and my wife calls, ‘Where are you going?’

‘Well,’ I say, ‘I'm going to buy an envelope.’

And she says, ‘You're not a poor man. Why don't you buy a thousand envelopes? They'll deliver them, and you can put them in the closet.’

And I say, ‘Hush.’

So I go to this newsstand across the street where they sell magazines and lottery tickets and stationery. I have to get in line because there are people buying candy and all that sort of thing, and I talk to them. The woman behind the counter has a jewel between her eyes, and when it's my turn, I ask her if there have been any big winners lately. I get my envelope and seal it up and go to the postal convenience centre down the block at the corner of Forty-seventh Street and Second Avenue, where I'm secretly in love with the woman behind the counter. I keep absolutely poker-faced; I never let her know how I feel about her. One time I had my pocket picked in there and got to meet a cop and tell him about it.

Anyway, I address the envelope to Carol in Woodstock. I stamp the envelope and mail it in a mailbox in front of the post office, and I go home. And I've had a hell of a good time. I tell you, we are here on Earth to fart around, and don't let anybody tell you any different.”

Now bracketing for a moment Vonnegut’s lascivious man-gaze as well the obvious factor of his time-wealth and privilege, I think the point he’s making here is an important and subtle one. The fact is, much of the joy in our lives is to be found in bumbling along, taking pleasure in the day to day stuff, like having a weird little conversation with the neighbour’s cat while you water the hanging baskets. And if you think about it, farting around is pretty equal opportunity as pleasures go. No matter how poor or put-upon you are you can probably find a way to do a bit of it each day. In my experience it’s often the people who absolutely can afford to fart around who are most likely not to — because they imagine themselves to be terribly busy and important. And this, my friends, is a self defeating thought trap, like being a rich person who worries constantly about money or a young beauty who fusses incessantly about looks. Why bother?

I think what Vonnegut is saying here is that human life is a series of rituals — some little, some big, none particularly practical or necessary in the broad scheme of things — and it’s important to be conscious of and attuned to the texture and detail of these little and big happenings as you move through your time on earth. In other words, there is no such thing as wasted time. There is only the present moment and what you choose to do with it — how you experience it, enjoy it, or conversely refuse to. And enjoying it, that’s got to be the point.

So this week’s open thread poses the question: Do you agree with Kurt? Or is there another, perhaps loftier, point to life?

And if you agree, please tell me your stories of pottering, padding, poodling and wafting through life. What are the little rituals that bring you joy and why? How do you return to them when distracted, anxious or lost?