Dubai-Adieu

Maybe we are out of ideas. Maybe there is nothing left to do. Maybe it’s all been done and we have been in the midst of it for a little too long.

As it stands, there is no more room for ideology and big words. Wars have become a prime time reality show, so have break-ups and family deadlocks. Community is outdated, success a given, food is plenty, clothes are cheap, and our future is under control -- the climate crisis a mere matter of technological innovation. Someone is going to cash in big on that one!

The question is just whether we put a fifth plasma TV up and whether we revamp the kitchen to look like a French massage salon right now or wait until next week. But, oops, I forgot, we have a financial crisis on our heads. Hmm.

So maybe we will have to do something after all, sell the horse for instance, fire the nanny, drop Friday lunch golf, reduce the endless hours of organized entertainment for the kids. Maybe Dubai will have to wait this year...could that be??? Naaah!

Truly, I wonder whether reality will ever hit or whether we have possibly lost the understanding that not everything is possible, that maybe we have to cut back, that more is not better and that the preposterous egomaniacs who build ten star hotels into the ocean should maybe be looked at for what they really are: neurotic nincompoops.

I wonder whether after all this time we will be able to face the day when many of the creature comforts we have accumulated around us, this world of constant distractions and externalized stress, is gone. Infotainment and heated bathtowels, catered everything, and last minute escapes...Layer upon layer of stuff and services to shield us against our deep rooted fear of failure and death. We, the fortunate few, who have brought this world to where it is now.

This is the kind of stuff that’s churning around in my head as I stir my admittedly unsurpassed parmesan risotto. The kids are kicking a ball back and forth in the kitchen, Leroy is sitting in front of the window contemplating the really big questions, and life is, generally speaking, perfect. It truly is, my life that is, my little square of it. Zoë next to me giggles. “You are too much, Mom.” Don’t read what I write, kiddo, or you’ll go nuts. She hugs me. “There is only room for one nut case in this house, Mom, and you have clearly taken that place. Carry on, you’re doing great!” This is good. And maybe just maybe, that’s all that can matter.