Instead of planning a blow-out for the twelfth anniversary of my 28th birthday, I should just bite the proverbial bullet and book the silent meditation retreat that falls on the big day.
But I’m having so much fun, and fun has been hard to come by the past couple of years.
When you drag your tired butt home on Friday night carrying a brand new bottle of ibuprophen and a pregnancy test to recuperate from your personal life, and your work week ended at 11pm following a ten course meal seated at the VIP table with the likes of Canadian Senators, a gal has to think to herself, “What d’ya know? Life ain’t over yet by a long shot.”
Not only have I indulged in the carnal knowing of a lovely man-pudding, but I have rooted for a pal to get her happy-on, even if it means some tough love in her marriage. I’ve over-slept, drank more than a moderate amount of delicious wine, and totally flubbed my fitness routine.
It all sounds a bit indulgent doesn’t it ladies? It all sounds like I’ve tipped the balance in favour of lustful gluttony of all sorts, right?
As I sip my 2010-smooth-as-satin-deliciously-rich-and-reminiscent-of-melted-chocolate-BV-Cabernet, I know that the pendulum always swings back from whence it came.
So I will enjoy the joy that is upon me in this moment. It will not last forever, nor its memory fade. Life is nothing if not a winding road hiding splendor and sadness around corners which we cannot yet see.
Am I really a terrible Buddhist?
No, not really. Just one who enjoys the joy as much as the suffering.