The Art of Self Knowledge

I read it in a magazine somewhere: "No-one lives up to his ideal." Such an obvious thought, but how true! As I pondered this simple home truth, it hit me right between the eyes. However much you achieve, there is always more in your dream than in the hard facts. Live up to your ideal? No-one does... so why do I expect to? No-one lives up to her ideal either. Not even a woman! Women are pretty smart these days, pretty liberated, pretty powerful sometimes, but even so...

Ideals have rocketed these days. "Come on, you're a woman - don't let the side down!" It's a bit of a pressure at times. These days we're encouraged to dream, to aspire, to reach for the sky, to have it all. Nothing's changed really. All that has happened is that our ideals have gone sky high. "You can be anything - anything you wanna be." That's the theory. Then there's the catch... "if you want it enough." Well, I'm not sure I agree with the bold, somewhat arrogant assertion in the first place, but even if I did, do I want it that badly?

 I have a dream. Of course I do. In my dream I'm a writer, making enough money to get my stuff published: a neat little row of matching volumes side by side on my bookshelf, all with my name on, of course; and a modest little income and sales figures to match. My blog has a readership of thousands and 392 people regularly follow it. I only want enough to bolster my self-image and make it all worth the effort. That's all I need, isn't it?

 I bake too, of course - who doesn't these days? In my farmhouse kitchen (the social hub of the house) I turn out pies and pastries, rustic-looking loaves of granary bread, mouth-watering date flapjacks, gingerbreads and brownies, neatly packaged and carefully labelled and, of course, sold - like hot cakes. The house is daily filled with the tantalising aroma of freshly baked bread and the order book is full.

 There's a garden in my dream. It is stocked with fragrant sweet peas, delphiniums and roses. Honeysuckle and clematis climb the old apple tree and the herbs cluster around the garden door. No substitute for a profusion of fresh herbs. It is a country garden, a cottage garden. This has been part of the dream for years now. I am happy and content in my garden. I till the earth, hoe the weeds meticulously, harvest the vegetables, pick the golden apples from the tree and settle down contentedly beneath it to pen my thoughts and meditate in the sunshine.

My house is calm and uncluttered. The style is minimalist (I wish!), but still warm and inviting - a real home. I don't actually do housework; I have too many dreams and aspirations for that. But it is taken care of and I glow with pride at my string of achievements, both personal and delegated, effortlessly accomplished.

Do I reach my goal? Well, not always, not often, well, never, in fact. "No-one lives up to his ideal." Let that be a comfort. Don't take it personally when perfection escapes you just a tiny bit; no need to shed tears. We are all the same. Be happy. Life is short.