In the Land of Tamara
At a particularly fun happy hour at a particularly happy time in my life (about nine years ago, I think) my friends and I discussed the difference between being content and being happy. It was quite the debate.
At the time, I thought being content was a secondary state. I thought it implied you had given up, that you were settling. My friends, all older than I was at the time, tried to convince me otherwise, but I didn’t budge. Almost ten years later, I concede. I get it now. Being content is acceptable.
In between soapbox tirades about the levels of life’s pleasures, we drank too much and talked a lot and ended the conversation by going around the table (and around and around) downing our Mexican Martinis and announcing what life would be like if we were forced to live in the land of Tamara, or the land of Cameron, or the land of Lois, or the land of Tom, or the land of Laura… (You get the idea).
It was a great evening and I think about it fairly often, as my definition of happiness, of contentedness, changes. I add to my little charter occasionally too. Or I take away from it. It’s a dynamic land, this one.
In the land of Tamara, people do not sing to you on your birthday. A moment of silence is observed. There is no singing in restaurants, of any kind (at least not by wait staff or patrons).
People cannot use car horns to scream at each other anonymously. One can only tap one’s horn to politely warn someone else that they are nearby, as car horns were intended.
In the land of Tamara, when you say something that is passive-aggressive, you lose your voice for the next ten minutes.
All chain letters, regardless of how “sweet” their message might be, self implode upon being mailed. This applies to good old-fashioned mail as well as e-mail and could have disastrous, if not deadly, effects on the sender or the sender’s computer, depending on how he or she chooses to send the chain letter.
In the land of Tamara, George W. Bush runs only the grocery store in Jasper, Texas. He is on the city council or the water board, and is possibly a deacon at his church or a leader at the local AA chapter. He is very happy and the good people of Jasper are very pleased with him.
Women's pants have pockets and fashionable shoes are comfortable.
Everyone has read and appreciates The Great Gatsby and The Grapes of Wrath and everyone understands why those stories, as stories go, are near perfect - although not everyone is expected to explain why they are so good. That is difficult to do.
In the land of Tamara, religion is not organized and people keep their spiritual beliefs to themselves, unless asked. There is no proselytizing. There is no war. There is no okra. And watermelon is always in season.
That is (at least today) the Land of Tamara, in part, and in a nutshell.
Thus the name.
At the time, I thought being content was a secondary state. I thought it implied you had given up, that you were settling. My friends, all older than I was at the time, tried to convince me otherwise, but I didn’t budge. Almost ten years later, I concede. I get it now. Being content is acceptable.
In between soapbox tirades about the levels of life’s pleasures, we drank too much and talked a lot and ended the conversation by going around the table (and around and around) downing our Mexican Martinis and announcing what life would be like if we were forced to live in the land of Tamara, or the land of Cameron, or the land of Lois, or the land of Tom, or the land of Laura… (You get the idea).
It was a great evening and I think about it fairly often, as my definition of happiness, of contentedness, changes. I add to my little charter occasionally too. Or I take away from it. It’s a dynamic land, this one.
In the land of Tamara, people do not sing to you on your birthday. A moment of silence is observed. There is no singing in restaurants, of any kind (at least not by wait staff or patrons).
People cannot use car horns to scream at each other anonymously. One can only tap one’s horn to politely warn someone else that they are nearby, as car horns were intended.
In the land of Tamara, when you say something that is passive-aggressive, you lose your voice for the next ten minutes.
All chain letters, regardless of how “sweet” their message might be, self implode upon being mailed. This applies to good old-fashioned mail as well as e-mail and could have disastrous, if not deadly, effects on the sender or the sender’s computer, depending on how he or she chooses to send the chain letter.
In the land of Tamara, George W. Bush runs only the grocery store in Jasper, Texas. He is on the city council or the water board, and is possibly a deacon at his church or a leader at the local AA chapter. He is very happy and the good people of Jasper are very pleased with him.
Women's pants have pockets and fashionable shoes are comfortable.
Everyone has read and appreciates The Great Gatsby and The Grapes of Wrath and everyone understands why those stories, as stories go, are near perfect - although not everyone is expected to explain why they are so good. That is difficult to do.
In the land of Tamara, religion is not organized and people keep their spiritual beliefs to themselves, unless asked. There is no proselytizing. There is no war. There is no okra. And watermelon is always in season.
That is (at least today) the Land of Tamara, in part, and in a nutshell.
Thus the name.
Comments
Oh boy, just be glad your lucky enough to be content :)