Curmudgeonry, Part II: This Time It's Personal

It's not easy being a curmudgeon, constantly at odds with all the world holds dear. I classify myself as a curmudgeon because it seems the best descriptor of my views and general outlook, but it is not a category to which I feel bound; there is not a set of characteristics of curmudgeonry to which I feel I must adhere, and I feel entirely free to disregard any that don't suit me. So if there does happen to be a value which the world esteems, and which I do also, I have no problem with joining in the general praise. Motherhood, trees, marriage, punctuality, to cite a few, are all things which I can unreservedly hold in high regard.

But the sad fact is that much of what the world admires is beyond my comprehension. Spectator sports, telephones ("It rings, you jump", said Manet), restaurants and night life, the latest rock bands, television, beaches, popular novels, skiing, these are all examples (and I could go on) of things and activities which I have no wish to sample. Oh, if I found myself on a beach or reading a detective novel it would not be all that bad, but I certainly don't go out of my way to experience them. It all seems way too much trouble.

The curmudgeon's attitude puts him at odds with the world around him. Is it any wonder that he's cantankerous? He sees through it all, and he's done so for so long that his patience is gone, replaced with a bad-temper directed at those who cannot see what he sees. But that cantankerousness effects him too, burrowing into the soul until he becomes sick at heart. It's no use telling him, for example, to re-evaluate his ideas, and to attempt to see the value in the Hallmark worldview; he's been there, done that. He is constantly at odds with himself, wondering whether he is truly in the right, or why God gave him a personality so manifestly unsuited to the ways of the world.

What is one to do? Well, the curmudgeon must seek out like-minded souls, who are not quite so rare as one might imagine. Quite a few bloggers seem to have curmudgeonly characteristics, and in the past year or so I have managed to make the acquaintance of a few whom I regard and esteem highly and who have done much to relieve my sense of isolation. (You know who you are.) I have also received much solace from reading a number of essayists, and here I would mention Joseph Epstein, Phillip Lopate, H.L. Mencken, Paul Fussell, and others; not all of them classic curmudgeons, perhaps, but whose world views have given me great insight, and who have provided a much-needed relief that perhaps I am not completely mad.

Since the curmudgeon is so ill-tempered, bristling as he does when he comes into contact with the world's noise, rough edges, bad manners, and general obtuseness, and as he is not likely to change, the balm for the curmudgeon's soul lies in supplying himself with those things he craves: books, quiet, time for reflection, decent music (nothing written after 1945, and precious few after 1900), a room of his own. These are the things which the world can give which he can rightly value, and which ease his passage through this vale of tears. Those books and that quiet allow him to commune with great minds, living or dead, and he can feel that others have risen above the world and have made lasting contributions to the life of the mind.

Two other things which I recommend for the curmudgeon in order to make his life less grating around the edges, and these are based on extensive experience: the cultivation of patience, and a daily cocktail hour.