philosophical joe
by Elizabeth de Barros
At some point, everyone develops a philosophy of life. Not so much a religious creed — and not even a parenthetical mission statement posted on a sticky note — I’m referring more to lifestyle, a way of doing things. Some really do like it hot. Sriracha is their new ketchup. Meanwhile, others prefer to cool their tongue, along with a cucumber slice and sprig of mint. Nobody is wrong here. It’s simply a matter of taste.
Tomato, tom-AH-to.
But you know all that. No matter how it’s pronounced, it’s the same juicy slab of beauty on a BLT. Or BLT with cheese, if you happen to like cheese. Havarti? No, I prefer cheddar, thank you. The horseradish kind. I’ve decided to live a little. And if you add a handful of thinly sliced turkey (rice paper thin), it’s called a BLT&T with C, hold the mayo.
Whaddaya mean, hold the mayo?
Yes.
If your world is easily shaken by how others do things, maybe it’s because you’re not fully convinced why it is you do what you do. Often, people either fear they’re not “doing it right” or get mad at everybody else for doing it wrong. Absurd that I actually used to think this way, before I learned to live a little.
If by a certain age, say 40 — nah, make it 45; people are taking longer to mature these days — you have not yet stepped over the threshold into that exquisite state of being where you’re comfortable in your own skin, then please receive this missive as a friendly, lighthearted (read: dead serious) permission slip to get on with living. Settle the matter. Develop your taste. Nothing’s worse than living out of someone else’s proverbial suitcase.
Taste, or lifestyle, is one of those things that, once you have acquired it, nobody can take from you. It’s yours, internally. It only adds to who you are, never subtracts from, so it won’t be a line item on your tax return. It’s a hidden thing, a nearly imperceptible cache of personal likings — ways of doing things that make sense perhaps only to you but help maintain that other indispensible thing: equilibrium.
I imagine right about now an example would help.
Tea has been a longstanding commodity in our house, though now it’s in flux. For years, Twinings Darjeeling was my go-to every morning. Another cup in the afternoon and one again at night. Out from the purple box came a domestic ritual performed with a certain amount of solemnity. Equilibrium. Remember that word.
But something happened. Earlier this year, I lost my, dare I say, taste for tea. Whether due to a hormonal shift or something less exciting, I couldn’t tell at first. But I needed to blame it on something. A kind of epicurean whodunnit. I say it was the Styrofoam cup — the one they expected me to drink my Darjeeling from when I was in the hospital this past December. It ruined everything. I know it’s odd, but I still buy the purple boxes, tossing a few in the cart to revive my loyalty somehow. Twenty-five years is a long time. But the white foam cup just killed it.
So now it’s Assam. Loose, preferably. Or Irish Breakfast. Same thing, but not really. Ridgways Assam is a brand I’m not too proud to beg for, but it’s hard to get around here. For now, I’m living with Taylor’s of Harrogate, a box of 50 tagless bags I found online. A cut below what I’d actually like, which is a loose organic Assam sold at Wegmans. Malty to the max and fuller-bodied than most. But they’re out — been out for over a month. “Not sure if it’s coming in on the truck this week.”
Um, okee dokee. Thankyouverymuch.
Am I the only one in the world who follows Stew Leonard’s policy?
But all is well, truly. Growing accustomed to that lovely mid-morning cup o’ joe. Peet’s is good, but Caffè Verona never disappoints. French press all the way. Steaming hot. To the brim. In my new favorite mug with the “L” on it.
Want to know what I love most?
Didn’t think so. And nobody else does either.
That’s taste, my friends.
Starting to get to that point of being comfortable in my own skin, and realizing that opinions are not necessarily truth.
Opinions are wonderful creatures, except when they get underneath your skin:)
I used to be rather thin-skinned. My cage got rattled whenever someone would say something pertaining to my life, as I took their words as gospel. But the last time it happened was the exact moment I began to grow a thicker skin.
Boundaries are something I didn’t get into on this post, but they apply. When we find the line where we begin and end, we can walk through a crowd of spear-throwers and never brush up against them.
And yes, opinions are not always grounded in truth.
Facts are facts, they do not lie,
Opinions are graver,
They can sock you in the eye!
But greater than both
is the Word of Truth,
it can prove the fact and heal your eye!
Long did live Methuselah,
but Truth will never die.
Thanks for reading and commenting, Melissa. Always appreciate your take on things.
I love this comment as much as I loved your post. ❤
And principles are principles and the methods may differ…
Love this 🙂
Romans 14. Don’t leave home without it.
Te amo!
Very nice, Liz. Enjoyed your musings about your morning beverage(s). We have some Peet’s Assam tea we bought in San Francisco’s Chinatown at a wonderful tea store (nothing but shelves and shelves of teas of all kinds in large glass jars) years ago on a visit to Bonnie’s aunt. It’s almost all gone or I’d gladly give it to you. If we get out there again be sure we’ll bring you some. I confess to having become so Americanized (and dull) that when I get the urge for a cup of tea I just plop a tea bag of generic Wegman’s black tea in a cup and nuke it for awhile. But once in awhile I’m taken by an urge, from who knows where, to break out the tea kettle, warm it up and dump in some loose tea and let it seep awhile. It always makes me feel a bit better man for having done it, but rarely take the time. I know, it’s sad.
Jim,
I will venture to guess it’s your southern sensibilities that woo you every now and then to take out the teapot, boil some water, throw in a scoop of leaves, and let them swirl.
“Back when there was time,” but I’m inclined to think they just knew how to make time/take time for what was important. The comfort and repose tea offers, especially in the afternoon, is without question my all time favorite pastime.
I think my friend, Farmer John, the farmstand guy up on Rt. 15, said it best. In response to a question I asked (which now escapes me), he emoted in his magnificent native Virginian drawl, “All’s we got is time.”
Next time you come for a visit, I will pour you a cup of Assam.
“If your world is easily shaken by how others do things, maybe it’s because you’re not fully convinced why it is you do what you do.” That’s a good mouthful. A very good mouthful!
Petra!
I shall have you know that when I see a comment from you in my inbox, I am at once delighted and reassured that the world is still a beautiful place, albeit broken and in dire need of a new one.
Always love hearing from you, my friend!
I too need constant reassurance that the world is still a beautiful place… and cherish that you were delighted. 🙂
♥
“Tomato, tom-AH-to.
But you know all that. No matter how it’s pronounced, it’s the same juicy slab of beauty on a BLT.”
You crack me up, Liz.
And I’ll take a strong cup o’ Peets any day please.
Operative word: strong. I can’t STAND weak coffee.
Love you, Diane!