A Small Good Thing

Raymond Carver wrote a short story about a little boy who falls into a coma after a car accident. While at the hospital, his parents keep getting menacing calls from a mystery man asking about their son. It turns out it is the baker who had made Scotty's birthday cake - a cake that nobody collected. The parents go to confront the baker, who feels awful about what he has done. 

‘Let me say how sorry I am,’ the baker answers. ‘God alone knows how sorry.’

He pours the couple coffee and takes fresh bread rolls from the oven, explaining to the grieving parents that: ‘You have to eat and keep going. Eating is a small, good thing in a time like this.’ 

I think of that phrase often: ‘a small good thing.’ 

This year may be the year that many of us have had the space to appreciate small good things. 

Small good things such as going for a walk, baking bread and reading. 

Small good things such as being able to hug someone you love. 

The bigger the bad things around us, the more comfort was to be found in the tiny things.  

A couple of weekends ago, one of the papers had a headline: Hey, small spender. In the article, Richard Godwin wrote about how this year has changed our attitudes to money. He wrote about how crazy our pre-lockdown spending now seems: ‘For many this was an extremely welcome chance to stop spending, break bad habits, jam a big stick into the spokes of the capitalist carousel and catch our breath for a moment. We – or at last, some of us – wore sweatpants and baked banana bread. Our children drew pictures and climbed trees. We went out of government mandated walks passing pizza chains that we weren’t spending £32 at and wondered why we ever used to do that.’  

I liked the phrase ‘capitalist carousel’. I was on it and I’m not sure I realised how tiring it was— this working, shopping, drinking, travelling cycle.

Now there is nothing much to do – nowhere to go. Nothing to buy new shoes for. And to me that feels like a relief. Finally I can look around and see I have enough. More than enough. If I can pay my rent, have food in the fridge, my health and friends to call, I have it all. 

After reading that piece, I read an article about the joy of pottering - pottering being the act of cleaning out milk bottles, rearranging the sock drawer or picking bobbles off your jumpers. I then flicked through the FT which had two pages on the joy of baths. 

I wonder if perhaps the world’s priorities are changing. 

I hope so. 

Small good things I have appreciated this year: 

• The light coming into my flat in the mornings

• The tree outside my window that is still holding on to golden leaves

• Sunsets on my street

• The parks around me

• My neighbours

• Hour long conversations with friends on the phone 

• Roasting vegetables 

• My local coffee shop 

• Small chats with people in shops

• Marmalade on toast 

• Tidying up. Yup, for anyone who knows me, I’m going to repeat that. This year I have almost learned to enjoy tidying up.

Small good things I miss:

• Hugging my friends and their children. 

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IN OTHER NEWS 

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This article about loneliness was very beautifully put. 

Claire Bushey writes: ‘A wide circle of acquaintances, which I have, cannot deliver a person from loneliness. The pandemic showed me that for most people, I am a “nice to have”, not a necessary part of their emotional infrastructure… Though I am friendly with many — I talk to neighbours, to fellow parishioners at church, to all kinds of strangers — it’s hard to say at this point that there’s a single person who knows the minutiae of my life.’  

I also liked this blog post by Ryan Holiday on gratitude and forgiveness. 

I Hate Men – have you seen this? It’s a book written by 25-year-old Pauline Harmanage. It was a small feminist publication until France’s gender equality minister threatened legal action on the grounds that it incited hatred. Then it became a bestseller. I’m sure the book contains important points and the title upsets me. I don’t think the world becomes a better place by hating half the population. Meanwhile Laura Bates has written a book called Men Who Hate Women. So much pain between the sexes. I hope we find a way through. 

I’ve been watching Industry on BBC. It’s directed by Lena Dunham and it follows a group of graduate trainees working in finance. I’ve never worked in the city so I have no idea how realistic it is but I related the pressure of being young and living for your boss’s approval. It makes me stressed watching it and grateful to be 43 with dwindling ambitions. 

In front page news, I like this lamp.

And finally, this morning a friend shared a Facebook memory of something I wrote six years ago. I was in a Dublin coffee shop, really near the point of cracking up in my self-help mission, when this came to me. It’s a timely reminder to tidy up and lighten up: 

MY MISSION STATEMENT

Be honest. Be kind. See the funny side. Exercise. Laugh. Lighten up. Have the difficult conversations and do the difficult jobs. Don't run away. Speak your mind quietly, clearly and respectfully. People are not mind readers. Spit it out. Work hard and enjoy it. Take pride and satisfaction in your abilities, you have many. Go for the big things - why not? What's the worst that can happen? Failure won't kill you. Say no. Say yes. See the good in people, don't judge. Listen, understand, forgive, apologise. Have fun. Be patient. Nothing is forever. Cherish the day and cherish the people in your life - you are so lucky to have them. Be humble: you're no better than anyone else and no worse either. We're all trying our best. We're all the same, really. Love with all your heart and learn from everything. When things are hard, know that it will pass and none of it matters that much anyway. Don't be a drama queen and don't take yourself too seriously. You're just a little dot passing through so make the most of it. Sing, dance, look at the sky and be grateful. If in doubt go for a walk, tidy your room and make a plan - sometimes it helps to get out of your head and get practical. Most importantly though, have a cup of tea - or a big glass of wine - and remember this: you're doing great. Xx

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Ok. On that note, I’ll say goodbye. Thanks, as ever, for reading. 

Love and small good things to you. 

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