The dark side of habit

Habit from above is given to us – it is a substitute for happiness.

Let’s talk about what in our everyday life since the publication of Eugene Onegin is considered a substitute for happiness.

In fact, of course, don't take too close to everything that people have written, even the most brilliant of geniuses. I will tell you a secret: sometimes the text does not ask you at all, it is written by itself. And words sometimes play with themselves and suddenly form such a wonderful configuration that it is simply impossible not to fix. Even if the claim is controversial. But this little flaw, the controversy, will be hard to spot under a graceful rhyme. Then the one who writes, thievingly looking around, decides what he will carry and, unable to deny the beautiful thought, inserts it into the text.

It is not that I disagree with Alexander Sergeyevich that habit can replace happiness in principle. I just doubt that Alexander Sergeyevich himself believed this. Judging by his life, he never tried to get used to anything. And besides, as a man, he did not feel much need to get used, like his heroine, to a forced marriage, since he himself was not dragged under the crown by force.





I often tried to get used to some circumstances in life, but I did not succeed. However, this does not mean that habit certainly cannot replace happiness and make someone happy.

Moreover, the same classic claimed that, they say, “there is no happiness in the world, but there is peace and will.” (Note. Dore. Ed.: And you can also quote Arthur of our Schopenhauer on the same topic, and then it will become quite sad.

Mother Olga and Tatiana Larins through habit found peace. Therefore, Aleksandr Sergeyevich should have been more scrupulous and wrote that it is peace, not habit, that is a substitute for happiness. (Note. Dore. Ed.: And here how not to remember Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov? But then it wouldn't fit in. And so it fit, and even the completion of the verse, and it turned out a brilliant aphorism.

But stop mocking the great Russian literature, the poet does not have to be a philologist or a psychologist, after all.

Especially since my current context is a bit off. Like Pushkin, I used the word “habit” in the title, rather for a red word. In fact, I’m more interested in calmness and anxiety. The first is a habit, but the second is not and cannot be.

I have as little peace as oxygen in Moscow. I don’t have the habit of being calm. But I think it's a very useful habit -- in a certain sense -- and in that sense, I really want to have it somehow.

For example, it would be good to have a habit not to panic for any trifle. Don't get upset about anything. Think before you speak, and especially before you do. I would also like to get used to doing exercises. Without habit, this is a feat every time, and a feat is a great waste of resources that I need for another.

And so on.

But there are habits I don’t want to have for anything.

I'm not talking about alcohol, cigarettes and other bad excesses.

For example, the ability to be fascinated.

To be thrilled.

Falling in love.

Unfortunately, we are not going to talk about men again, but only slightly.

At the moment I am in love with two men, one woman and one country. If anyone suddenly turned up for the first time today at a meeting of our Friday club, let me clarify: I am in love with Japan.

What does that mean?

It’s the same when it comes to falling in love with a guy. I wear pink glasses thick in stopzzot diopters, in my ears I have pink cotton candy, through which you can hear only the stump of birds of paradise, and even my runny nose is special: pink-sung.





Japan seems to me a fabulous country, which consists exclusively of cherry petals, glycine gardens, great sages, piercingly beautiful stories of unhappy love and poems, concise as a blow of weightless (against the background of European analogues), but from this equally deadly Japanese sword.

Of course, this is not my first love. The first love was Italy (because of the opera), for a time - Ireland with Scotland (dances mixed with Hogwarts). In memory of these past loves, I have the ability to explain myself in Italian and English, because it is impossible to fall in love with a country and not learn its language. (Although I never got to Gaelic.)

Now here's Japan. It all started quite peacefully: with martial arts studies, where I went purely out of obedience to the spouse who sent me there. However, from the very first class I was so intrigued that there was no more talk of any obedience. Six months later, there was no talk of “only twice a week and no fanaticism.”

And there, the films have already pulled up, and what has not yet ended, you already know: on long winter evenings I learn Japanese and dream of going to the country of the origin of the day, including how to translate those characters that I have already learned.

The only bad thing is that I get very few long winter evenings. Especially in the summer.

Long winter evenings are bad not only because I don’t have enough of them, but also because I spend half of these evenings on all sorts of social networks there, where those who also like to talk about their love for the Far East on long winter evenings gather.

Someone posts a selfie in front of the Narita airport terminal with the caption "Finally we're home again!!!" Someone who got into the Promised Land for the first time, is appeased to tears by a female employee in unchanged white gloves, who asks to present hand luggage for inspection in such a tone that you want not only to open your purse, but to turn your pockets out and undress to your underwear.

Someone, having visited an ordinary Japanese supermarket for the first time, is horrified in advance about the imminent return to the harsh and unsmiling Russian reality.

And someone, calm and wise in life, breaks the stream of indistinct enthusiastic and envious screams with a comment on the topic “live there with mine, and you will understand that in fact Japan is...”

Next comes the standard set: in Japan, everyone smiles and lies, unquestioning obedience to the authorities reaches idiocy and leads to victims and destruction, it is impossible to talk to the Japanese because they always shirk the answer, it is impossible to live in this country for a normal person longer than a couple of weeks. And in general, everyone who admires Japan here needs to grow up sharply and stop being fascinated.

Some awkwardness arises when, in the process of beating each other virtual muzzles, it suddenly turns out that some of those present on the holivar have been living in Japan for a second month and nothing.

It would be interesting if people who have lived there for several years came to the discussion. But such people, unfortunately, do not participate in the cholivars, because they are finally overgrown and, bastards, sit silently and politely smile up the kimono sleeve. You bastards will never say that all arguers are fools. Though they will.

As for me, I sometimes go into the thick of battle, but not to fight for Japan’s right to be the only perfect country in the world, with almost no flaws, because there are many more gods than people, and the people who remain are all beautiful and amazing.

I have nothing to do on the side of harsh critics.

I have my own side. It has little to do with Japan.

I'm not too furious, but I still defend my right to be charmed. I don't want to lose that ability. I don’t want to get used to this world.

I am told, though I remember it more than well, that the enchantment and delight of a child's world view is chiefly present. And that's very early. When a young man does not yet understand smart words and runs on braided legs to the first flower of the mother and stepmother, blooming on a dirty and wet talin. He sees the flower and does not notice the dirt, although if I am allowed to speak of my personal experience, he notices everything. And dirt, too, but dirt is an integral part of the amazing picture of the emergence of life from the dead snow that lay for so long - for an eternity!



But adults standing behind see mostly dirt. Or rather, not so much dirt as the upcoming wash. Because adults are always thinking about the future. Just him.

These same adults, only from another generation, convince me forty years later that the flower is beautiful, but in comparison with dirt, it is insignificant. And soon I will have to deeply regret my impulse.

It is evident," they say, "that you are too young to know that any charm in the end throws your nose into the mud.

... Yeah, I look too good on the avatar. That's exactly what I look like on it. Because deep down, I'm a terrible troll, and I really like to poke adult boys and maidens who teach me with my nose into my profile data.

You're twenty-five, but you've learned that the world is terrible, that all men are bastards, and you're a fool who believed in something good?

You see, baby, at twenty-five, I thought so, too. Because by that time I had accumulated a lot of disappointment, but the lesson from the experience had not yet been learned.

And it was this: disappointment is inevitable, and it is pain. However, subject to well-known safety standards (roughly speaking, you should not sleep with everyone you like), this pain will not be the pain of falling into the mud.

Which means it'll pass soon. And the period of pain will be much shorter than the period of charm. The charm will not return, but the memory of the beautiful things that fascinated you will not go away. You couldn't be enchanted in an empty place!

We couldn't. I know these stories about good girls and bad boys. I know and I don't believe in them for a penny. It was not badness that fascinated, but the original fact that man, no matter how bad he was, cannot extinguish himself until Heaven takes away this spark from him.

Not to be fascinated by talent and charisma is impossible. To see, after a while, under this magnificence meanness and emptiness is painful. Feeling stupid when remembering your own rave screams is normal. Trying to forget everything as soon as possible, making a promise to yourself that “never again” is natural.

But one day there comes a day when the pain is experienced. And then he comes back, and he’s so damn good at it. And I can look at it again, even if it doesn't shake my knees, but I can. And admire. And I know that for my age there will be enough obsessions to not forget to be fascinated, so as not to learn to see dirt before a flower.

Therefore, the crappy habit (after drugs, alcohol and promiscuous sexual intercourse) seems to me the habit of being disappointed before charm.

Therefore, sometimes I come to cholivars in Yamatophile themes solely to write:

"Comrades sempai!" I know that you are smarter and more experienced, and wish to sneer at my youthful enthusiasm. This is your sacred and inalienable right. As well as the opinion that I will soon “get sick” and return to the ranks of adults, smart and sober people, deserves every respect. I will no doubt "get over it": with my experience, it would be strange to think that falling in love is forever. Any neuroscientist will tell you that. If you want to laugh at me, I was happy to cheer you up. However, I dare say that although falling in love killed by disappointment makes you feel cheated, unless you get stuck in the midst of disappointment and get through it, illness may be followed by love. published



Author Lyudmila Dunaeva



P.S. And remember, just by changing our consciousness, we change the world together! © Join us on Facebook , VKontakte, Odnoklassniki

Source: www.matrony.ru/zasedanie-158-tyomnaya-storona-privyichki/