The Deep End

"Efficiency leaves no room for the enchanted." --Derrick Jensen

I go back and forth on this one. I look at MacDonald's, and wholeheartedly agree that there is little enchantment to be had in a star shaped McNugget Happy Meal. When I look at the way that our society is systematically (that word always reminds me of Hitler) chopping away at cultures and even nature itself at an ever-accelerating rate, I am watching enchantment being lopped from my life.

The irony is--if you'll forgive me, Laura, the use of the word--that in order for me to experience this contentment with the physical world, I must deal rather efficiently with the realities of my synthetic existence. If the laundry is not finished and the infinite tasks that are involved in teaching are not performed efficiently, then there is not even time to go to the park, much less room for the enchanted. Seth Godin would define this as a "perfect problem," one to which there is no obvious solution. A "perfect problem" is one that has only unresolvable elements.

Godin contends that there is only one way to solve such a problem: eliminate one of the elements. The only obvious--to me--element to eliminate would be the lifestyle that demands efficiency in order to exist. But giving up a civilized life is quite a step, so I play it in small doses. Moments of enchantment linger at the perimeter of my day-to-day existence and I (too bent on being connected with the ultimate "castle of meaning"--the internet) choose to let them eventually flit away.

Perhaps, the only solution is to just jump into the deep end, immerse myself in this enchantment, and pray to whatever force watches over me that everything will be okay. I was at the pool this summer. I have (or had) a bizarre fear of jumping into the deep end. It took my brother finally just pushing me in to finally do it. Then, of course, I contentedly swam out and lost my fear of jumping in.

I don't want to have to be pushed into this magical world of enchantment. But so much worse to sit on the edge of it pining for a day when my relentless need for efficiency will run out--which it will not--and wasting so much in the process. For now, however, I must go put a load of laundry in the wash, plan for my first days of school, and get ready to take the kids to the pool. If I time it all just right, I might even have time to check my Facebook.