The Power of Perspective
how possibility increases discontentment
This is a creative writing post (#29) from my occasional series for paid subscribers, who can also leave comments on most posts. As always, email hollymathnerd at gmail dot com if you would like a paid subscription but can’t afford one.
A long time ago, I heard a story that served as a warning.
Its lesson is enormously powerful, something I’ve never forgotten.
Its lesson is something I desperately need to remember right now, with a longtime dream tantalizingly possible—either about to happen, or just out of reach.
It is imperative that I heed the story’s lesson, here and now.
I’ll Be Happy Then: A Story
A little boy named Adam was five years old, and started school.
This meant he had to go to bed early on school nights, and could no longer talk his parents into letting him stay up late for any reason.
Being tucked in when the sun was barely descending, he clutched his teddy bear, closed his eyes and thought:
When I can stay up ‘til 8:00, I’ll be happy then.
When Adam was eight years old, his bedtime was 8:00. Then a new family moved into the house next door. He was playing with his new friend, another eight-year-old boy, and excitedly telling him about the school the new boy would attend—their soon-to-be-shared teacher’s name, how yummy the cafeteria pizza was.
Just when he said, “The only bad thing is that third graders have the earliest afternoon recess so we don’t get to be outside for a long time,” the boy’s big brother walked in.
“In middle school,” the big boy boasted, “you go to a different room for every subject, with seven minutes in between classes. So you get to be outside at least once every hour, all day, every day.”
Adam’s jaw dropped.
For the rest of his time in elementary school, every wistful glance out a classroom window was accompanied by the thought:
When I get to middle school and can change classes and not be stuck inside all day, I’ll be happy then.
When Adam was twelve years old, he was enjoying middle school, including new opportunities to play sports and join clubs.
Until the first time his parents couldn’t take him to a much-anticipated event.
They both worked late at the last minute, and it was a bitter disappointment. “I’m sorry, bud,” said his dad. “But you’ll be driving in a few years. I’m taking good care of my truck so as soon as you’re sixteen, I’ll get a new one and pass mine on to you. You won’t need us for rides forever.”
Adam already loved cars and trucks, often making models of them with his dad, but that was the first day that he really understood the freedom that driving would bring him.
For the next four years, every time he climbed in and out of a car, buckled or unbuckled a seatbelt, waited for a ride, or was late thanks to a parent’s schedule, Adam would close his eyes and think:
When I’m old enough to drive and get my truck, I’ll be happy then.
The month after Adam got his driver’s license and his father’s truck was passed down, that same big brother next door came home from college. Adam was next door, hanging out with his best friend, the two of them complaining about a strict teacher who gave a participation grade every day.
“Know what, kids?” the big brother asked. “In college, they don’t even care if you go to class at all. You can go if you want, or don’t. You can hang out in your frat house playing video games all day if you want. Totally up to you.”
Adam immediately knew that college would be the greatest thing ever, and he spent the rest of high school resenting the expectations of his teachers.
When I get to college and can do what I want, I’ll be happy then.
College was amazing, total freedom, and Adam loved it, until he was a sophomore and some of his frat brothers started graduating and getting jobs. Instead of borrowing money to get to do what they wanted, they were getting paid—and sometimes they came by to visit, driving brand-new, amazing cars.
When I get done with college and get a high-paying job, I’ll be happy then.
Adam got a great job after graduation, one that paid well and he was good at…but he was lonely, and spent most of his money on dating.
When I find the right girl and fall in love with her, I’ll be happy then.
Adam and his bride were happy together, both working hard and making money. They could afford nearly any toy they wanted, but it all seemed a little empty somehow. They agreed, while on yet another weekend trip, that they wanted to spend their time and money on something to bring their lives more meaning, and purpose.
When I have kids to love and guide and invest in, I’ll be happy then.
Three years, two sons, and a million sleepless nights later, Adam was exhausted. More than anything, he was eager for his sons to become little people who he could talk to, and play with.
When I get the youngest one out of diapers, I’ll be happy then.
The kids grew up fast, healthy boys with lots of interests that required endless hours of driving them all over town. Often Adam had to disappoint one of them, since he couldn’t be in two places at once.
When I get my older boy driving and I can be more of a dad and less of a chauffeur, I’ll be happy then.
The boys hit rough patches, when they weren’t nearly as grown-up as they thought they were, and relationships frayed, including Adam’s with his wife.
Adam understood their desire for freedom, and came to realize that all their relationships would improve with distance, when the boys could have more autonomy—and he and his wife could re-focus on each other.
When I get them out of the house and into college, I’ll be happy then.
College was expensive, and when the boys were gone, Adam thought he’d see more of his wife. Instead, he and his wife spent all the time they used to spend with their boys working as much as they could.
When I get them out of college and launched in the world, I’ll be happy then.
His older son almost married a hot, crazy girl, and it took a year of careful navigation to help his son begin to see the girl clearly—without turning her into a much-more-attractive forbidden fruit.
When the boys are settled and married to good women and we can stop worrying about them, I’ll be happy then.
Adam retired not long after his younger son—after years of dating hot, crazy girls and keeping both Adam and his wife in a constant state of anxiety—finally found a stable, solid woman, and married her.
Adam talks to both of his sons once a week.
He looks forward to these calls, during which he badgers them, in that way that only dads can manage, the way where he’s both teasing and completely serious, to start having kids.
So he can change diapers again.
Because he’ll be happy then.
My Possible Dream
There’s a massive housing crisis here, with rental vacancy rates of less than 1%. I’ve been looking for a new apartment for a long time. Despite being every landlord’s dream: a single woman, no kids and no pets, adequate income, high credit score—I can’t seem to do more than get on waiting lists.
Locally, people are getting apartments by going to absurd lengths like hiring professional video editors and having professional introduction videos made to “sell” themselves to potential landlords.
Despite application fees being illegal here, many landlords are charging $100 or more and many potential tenants are paying these fees to as many potential landlords as they can find, all in the desperate hope of getting a rental.
Several local businesses have had great candidates turn down offered jobs because they can’t find housing within fifty miles.
I have a lovely little place, but its three main shortcomings are wearing on me.
It’s tiny, about 430 square feet, and I regularly feel stir-crazy.
No easy access to the outdoors during the winter. My apartment is part of the top floor of a huge house on top of a hill. To get outside during the winter, I have to be prepared to get down an icy driveway (that the landlord does a terrible job of dealing with—I’ve fallen more than once).
Even if the landlord changed his policy to “dogs allowed,” the fact of number two would make a dog unrealistic.
The combination of these shortcomings had a lot to do with a recent, serious depression, so once I was feeling better I started looking more aggressively.
A few days ago, I found a potential place. The landlord is tired of the AirBnB headaches and wants to find a regular tenant. It’s a guest house on a two-acre property where the landlord lives in the big house. It’s almost three times bigger than my current apartment, on flat ground with stunning views through floor-to-ceiling windows. The outdoor space is massive, and gorgeous.
The rent includes all utilities, and there’s both trash pick-up and laundry (all of which I currently pay separately for). Doing the math, the all-inclusive price is only a little more expensive than where I currently live.
Best and most gloriously of all, the landlord loves dogs.
I could have a dog!
I’ve expressed my interest and am waiting on him to call me back.
I’m acting as if it’s a sure thing and I’ll need to pay for both some furniture and moving help soon, and saving up as fast as I can.
As I work from home, the place where I live has a massive influence on my mental health. Getting this rental would be the best life-enhancer since I moved to New England to go to school.
But, of course, there’s a catch.