Splendid indeed

On the tram this morning I finished reading A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini.

As I closed the cover and tucked it carefully into my bag, I felt embarrassed. Not by the tears that were threatening to fall but by my selfishness and recent lack of gratitude. I have it so easy — a good job, freedom to come and go as I please, a loving and gentle husband — and I too often forget to offer thanks for what I have. Instead, I offer up groans and grumbles about…

a cat that wakes me in the early morning for food

a journey to work that takes too long

weather that is either too dry or not wet enough

the drunks who use the seat out the front of my home as their office

Piddling, paltry complaints especially when seen against tales of brutality and war and stories of sacrifices made for love, out of love and friendship. As I read A Thousand Splendid Suns the insignificance of my “difficulties” was made terribly, stunningly clear. Nothing in my life compares to the abuse faced by his heroines Laila and Mariam at the hand of their husband. Nothing in my life compares to the stark brutality of the world they inhabit. And I have never experienced anything that would compel me to sacrifice myself for the love of another. Hosseini’s story also reminded me of the transcendence of the human spirit, of the ability of people to overcome and rise above hardship and horror.

For years now I have been watching what has been happening in Afghanistan on the evening news but it has always seemed so remote. I have not known people who have been personally affected by the fighting, on either side. I have not personally felt the effects. The news services can only offer facts — and failing that the hyperbole attendant upon a war against anything — and in doing so ignore the human aspect beyond body counts of the dead on either side. I am ashamed that I have not done more to look beyond those facts.

I’m disappointed that I have now read both of Hosseini’s stories of the Afghanistan that the news services ignore. I wanted to stay lost in his tales of hope and love. I can’t wait for his next one.

Until then I will try to remember to be thankful. I will try to remember to give more to this world I live in. I will try to remember that the beggars in the street are people too and deserving of dignity, just as I am. I will remember to thank those who bring beauty to my life, like the busker this afternoon, playing his guitar at the train station, who deserved more than the small handful of change I could find in my purse.

I will try to remember that my life is splendid, indeed, and that I am incredibly lucky to be living it.