I’ve been rereading Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, one of my favorite books of all time (if I could take only one book onto a desert island, this might well be it), and came across this passage that sums up my perspective on life quite well.Â So I thought I’d share.
When I was six or seven years old, growing up in Pittsburgh, I used to take a precious penny of my own and hide it for someone else to find.Â It was a curious compulsion; sadly, I’ve never been seized by it since.Â For some reason, I always “hid” the penny along the same stretch of sidewalk up the street.Â I would cradle it at the rots of a sycamore, say, or in a hole left by a chipped-off piece of sidewalk.Â Then I would take a piece of chalk, and, starting at either end of the block, draw huge arrows leading up to the penny from both directions.Â After I learned to write I labeled the arrows: SURPRISE AHEAD or MONEY THIS WAY.Â I was greatly excited, during all this arrow-drawing, at the thought of the first lucky passer-by who would receive in this way, regardless of merit, a free gift from the universe. […]
…There are lots of things to see, unwrapped gifts and free surprises.Â The world is fairly studded and strewn with pennies cast broadside from a generous hand.Â But – and this is the point – who gets excited by a mere penny? If you follow one arrow, if you crouch motionless on a bank to watch a tremulous ripple thrill on the water and are rewarded by the sight of a muskrat kit paddling from its den, will you count that sight a chip of copper only, and go your rueful way?Â It is dire poverty indeed when a man is so malnourished and fatigued that he won’t stoop to pick up a penny.Â But if you cultivate a healthy poverty and simplicity, so that finding a penny will literally make your day, then, since the world is in fact planted in pennies, you have with your poverty bought a lifetime of days.Â It is that simple.
And that’s that.