The drive-thru window opened as I pulled forward to pay for my order. The attendant locked eyes with mine and she said, “You know it makes me sad when you drive my truck while I’m at work.” I drive a GMC Sierra pick-up. It’s color is a candy apple red, named Crimson Red Tint coat. Even coated with winter grime due to recent snow and salt, it is an eye-catching vehicle. Ever since its purchase a few months before my retirement, people frequently stop me to comment on its beauty. The attendant’s words made me laugh out loud. I responded, “Well, I thank you for letting me borrow it.” “No problem,” she answered. “Be sure to fill it up with gas, and maybe rinse it off before you return it.” In the time it took to pour a Coke and bag a sandwich and fries, I heard about a similar colored car she once owned and the emptiness she felt now that it was no longer hers. All just idle chatter to pass the time and make her job more interesting, I imagine; but also, a revelation of happier times, things lost, and unquenched longings of her soul. Somedays chance encounters bring more than you bargained for.
Approximately three centuries ago from the other side of the world a similar kind of sentiment was expressed by the queen mother of an Ethiopian tribe to a European explorer in search of the Nile River:
“Every day our life furnishes us with proof of life’s perverseness and contradiction of human nature: you are come from Jerusalem through vile Turkish governments and hot unwholesome climates to see a river and a bog, no part of which you can carry away were it ever so valuable, and of which you in your own country have a thousand larger, better, and cleaner . . . while I on the other hand, the mother of kings, have sat on this throne for 30 years, have for my only wish night and day that after giving up everything in the world I could be conveyed to the church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem and beg alms for my subsistence all my life after if only I could be buried in the street in sight of the gate of the Temple where our blessed Savior lay.” [1]
One left the comforts of civilization to satisfy an explorer’s urge for an accomplishment that hardly seemed worth the effort to the queen; while she herself would sacrifice royalty itself just to be able to beg and be buried in the place forsaken by the other. Perhaps more simply said, “Isn’t it interesting how the grass is always greener on the other side!” Or even, “one person’s trash is another’s treasure.”
Or to place that sentiment to music you can dance to, press play on Joni Mitchell’s 1970 release, “Big Yellow Taxi.” “Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone. They paved paradise. Put up a parking lot.”
Different contexts, countries, and centuries united by a common tendency to yearn for what is out of reach. That yearning is one birthplace of desire.
Desire is an interesting and complex experience. It is as natural as wishing for food when we sense hunger. It can assist us as we set goals, pursue dreams, and maximize our potential. Desire may motivate us to work longer, strive harder. In excess, it stands behind lust and covetousness. With one it is the secret of success; with another it is the reason for perpetual dissatisfaction. Often, it blinds us to the richness of what is around us as we chase the next novel idea like a cat after a mouse. It is easy to fall prey to the incessant quest for the next upgrade, not recognizing what may be sacrificed in the process.
From vehicles to life ambitions to dreams of advancement, our lives unfold in a tension between contentment and the search for more. The perceived greener grass can so preoccupy us that we fail to notice the cost of the search. The above-referenced explorer returned home after twelve years and found that the woman to whom he had been engaged gave up waiting and married another. He was enraged by the discovery, even though he had not bothered to communicate even once during his absence. As fascinating as the many adventures of his life were, the focus required by the search led to neglect of other important connections whose value had been forgotten, or at least ignored. Dreams never achieved and past treasures lost both can leave us mired in relentless dissatisfaction.
Somewhere between contentment and our commitment to advance and improve there is a fine line where neither side dominates the other. But where’s the line? When should I be satisfied and when should I strive for more? What would life without desire be like? Less development, I suppose. Less thrill of the quest, whether for the Nile or the next new truck. Or job. Or romance. Or, or, or. It’s like the old saying, “Women! (Or Men!) Can’t live with ‘em. Can’t live without ‘em.” Perhaps it is like driving or drinking or numerous other things that have an element of risk, but also a large dose of responsibility.
I confess I have no easy answers to how one measures the ingredients of a situation and knows when to say “when.” But I’ve noticed that desire affects how we see the world. Reasonable desire may admire and respect it. Unreasonable desire objectifies and seeks to exploit or own it. For example, one respects and admires the forest. Another sees only potential profit and razes it for timber. A better midpoint enjoys the beauty, makes calculated cuts to promote forest health, and reseeds for future growth.
As one who likes to travel, I can’t criticize the desire to see the source of the Nile. But I can also testify to the value of being relieved of life’s stresses for a simpler path that focuses on being present to the ones that matter most. Managing desire is a balancing act, to be sure. It motivates our ambition. It adds thrill to the chase. It helps shape our development. It gives support to hope. It even can act as a balm for our griefs and pain. And, it can be like TNT that blows up our world.
That is a lot to get from a 60-second encounter at a drive-thru. I guess that is why it is called a Value Meal!
[1] The Blue Nile, Alan Moorehead, p. 21.
