What’s the worst thing you could do to hurt yourself? I think one of the answers might be to feel sorry for yourself.
I read this in an autobiography from a woman who left a comfortable East Coast lifestyle to become a frontierswoman. This meant no running water, no clean floors, no society or people within any reasonable distance, and many other missing conveniences we take for granted.
She stated in her book that the worst thing she could possibly do through all her many (and there were many) difficulties was to start to feel sorry for herself. She said she thought that was one of the worst things a person could do.
I thought about that, and I think I agree. Once you start to feel sorry for yourself it’s completely downhill from there. A mole hole becomes a mountain. Inconveniences become distressing moments. The cliché that is all too true: life is what you make of it.
This woman who lived such a hard life came from a great position of power to speak on feeling sorry for oneself. Of all the people I’ve read about, she’s near the top of the list of someone that had good reason to complain. And yet, her life would have likely been much more difficult had she succumbed to her own self-pity.
These are my other favorite quotes from this book:
“I have always thought that fear is our greatest sin. It shows such a lack of faith.”
“I was worn out, and once more took to feeling sorry for myself… I stuck to my rule of not whining.”
“I have often noticed that it is the little things that trouble a woman, while only the big ones trouble a man.”
“When you have lived without money as much as I had, it loses a great deal of its power to hurt you.”
“I led a hard life. Perhaps-but I don’t think an easy one is ever half so full.”
Sometimes I look at my dog and think, “he wouldn’t last 5 minutes out in the real world.” If he had to go out and hunt/scavenge for food and water, on his own, no chance. Being cute getting someone to give him food and water would be his only chance at survival. If that option is removed, he’s a goner.
Look at this picture. It looks like he just ate a plate of strawberries and his afternoon plans are to lounge and get belly rubs.
Exhibit A
Granted, he is an 8-pound poodle/terrier mix. He wasn’t bred to survive in the wild. He was bred to be cute and to get people to give him stuff. I’m just saying, removing that option = goner.
I can already hear the “big” dog owners. “My dog would survive in the wild. Yours is closer to a cat, mine still has some wolf instincts.” OK. Your golden retriever is not surviving a week in the wild without its cute factor, just the same as my poodle/terrier.
Exhibit B
My dog lives the most cushy life imaginable. He sleeps all the time. He wakes up and eats. He sleeps some more. He goes on walks. Then he sleeps. He plays. He goes on bike rides. At 9:30pm he stares me dead in the eyes and I know he’s saying, “You know good and well it’s time for bed.”
It wasn’t until just recently that a very obvious and humbling fact slapped me right across the face. I wouldn’t survive a week out in the wild.
I was looking at my (adorable) little dog curled up on the bed, petting his soft hair, admiring how good he is, being jealous of how easy his life is, when I had that thought. “You poor pathetic creature. What would you do without me?”
Who was I talking to?
*Slap to the face.
What would I do out in the wild?
Here I was in my air-conditioned condo, with a giant Hydrapeak water bottle filled to the brim with ice cold water that I filled from my refrigerator. That morning I’d poured Berry Colossal Crunch into a bowl, pulled a cold jug of milk from the refrigerator, and had cereal, like a proper grown man should do. That morning I’d taken a piping hot shower. I let the water run long enough so that it was plenty warm. Cold shower? No chance! Running water came from a tap where I put a toothbrush I’d squeezed mint toothpaste onto to brush my teeth. I then sat in a comfortable chair and worked at a computer.
Who was I to judge my dog? I was living the same life my dog was!
Put me out in the wild without food and water and tell me to figure it out. Remove the option of me going to someone’s door and saying, “please feed me,” and I had no chance.
I don’t think we take the time often enough to
Stop and realize how blessed we are.
Realize how pathetic we are.
What would I do out in the wild without a can opener? Let alone having to hunt and find food?
I’ve recently read a couple books about the old west. A story I just read was about an 11-year-old boy who ran off with some Shoshone Indians (Native Americans). He lived two years with them. Eating buffalo meat. Hunting rabbits. Fishing for trout. I was amazed at the life this boy lived just 170 years ago.
Can you imagine if your ancestors could look at you now? What a pathetic sight you would be. Your great-great-great-great grandpa would marvel at your fancy light up information device and cans of food but would ask you, do you know how to hunt? Do you know how to guide yourself by the stars? Do you know how to survive without your pre-packaged meals and Uber eats? (Reminder- that great grandfather would be so perplexed by Uber eats).
Can you imagine your great-great-great-great grandmother asking where you keep the chickens? How do you grind the wheat for your bread? (Do you grind wheat for bread??? I DON’T KNOW!) Can you even cook without that radiation device that nuclearizes your food into something *edible?
While modern advances are amazing, truly amazing; we have become so pathetic.
That’s all.
Just thought I would remind all of us of that.
Next time you look at your house cat, little dog, big dog, or even your fish and scoff and say “you dumb and spoiled animal,” I hope you pause for a second and soak in the irony.
I think the Foreword to this book did a great job of summing up what it was all about, it read:
“There was more to the settling of the West than the battles between Cattle Barons and Sheepmen, Outlaws and Posses, White Men and Indians, Ranchers and Homesteaders which have been told in story and song over and over again.
There were other people who helped put down the roots of the West: the banker, the editor, the schoolteacher, the judge, the clergyman, the merchant, the artist, the saloonkeeper, the miner, the town drunk and the town bully.
This is their story.”
I read a lot of nonfiction so mixing in some fiction is always a nice change of pace. This was a perfect book for that purpose. A story shooting (pun intended?) back into a time I don’t know from personal experience but can relate to in all the cowboys v. natives fights I setup with my toys growing up.
I feel like the world has become increasingly fascinated by extreme fantasy – dragons and magic; or space travel – spaceships, aliens, and inter-galactic battles; or superheroes – Marvel and DC. I think one of the greatest tragedies of this transition is kids not growing up with a fascination of something that really happened, here in the United States, in the last century. Like I alluded to already, gun slinging bandits only slowed down by gun toting sheriffs – that was my favorite imaginary time as a kid. I loved the idea of a bandit coming into town to rob the corner store and another gun wielder being the only defense.
This book took me right back into my old imagination. A town where guns are on most hips as a matter of protection. The value in this book was the story telling from the perspective of a young man growing up in an early western settlement in Utah. If you enjoy the western theme, I think this is a great book for you.
This book is the sequel to another book: Papa Married a Mormon, with a third in the series titled: Uncle Will and the Fitzgerald Curse. I haven’t read Papa Married a Mormon but stumbled upon it in my collection of soon to be read books, so will read it soon. I didn’t get the feeling I was missing much having not read the first book. The story made complete sense to me and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
The book is 241 pages but is a quick and easy read. I would recommend it to anyone, especially anyone who enjoys the Western theme.
No Coincidences 