Magic Soul Medicine

I was flossing my teeth, flinging tiny white blobs onto the mirror, and there it was. “Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence…”

It had been ages since I’d seen, heard or read “Desiderata,” but here my daughter and I were in New York City, amid the noisiest noise and hastiest haste, and those wise, gentle words were prominent bathroom decor in the cozy Upper West Side apartment that was our home base. The framed prayer/ proverb was printed in the same large antique-ish typeface that I recall from whenever it was that I had a copy—college, most likely. “…Be gentle with yourself,” it continued. “You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should…Be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul…With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world….”

That pretty much covers it, I thought. It’s like a K-Tel album—greatest hits from the Bible, the Koran, the Bhagavad Gita mixed with ambient New Age optimism, a little John Lennon, some Rumi and a dash of sappy country music, all in one. I love how it ends on such an understated amen: “Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.” What more can you ask for? I flossed, rinsed and spit, and read and re-read the words—savoring the economy of dental hygiene and spiritual clarity in one compact moment, in one very compact bathroom.

Each morning before hitting the museums and the shops, I’d stand in front of the bathroom mirror, freshly flossed with concealer and mascara in hand, and my eyes would be drawn to the words. Over the next few days, as we elbowed our way onto trains and immersed ourselves in the glorious turbulence of urban life, “go placidly” was my mantra. New York for me is the epitome of overdrive, so much to do, so much to see, so many accomplished, high-octane people high-heeling it past us in the swift current of Fifth Avenue. My 13-year-old was in her element—shopping nirvana—and I, too, was energized, but also a bit deflated, feeling myself shrinking beside the big city big-timers surrounding me, a small town gal with a small time resume, confused by the subway map. And again, the text of “Desiderata” (Latin for “desired things”) offered solace: “If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.”

This prayer-like poem, written sometime around 1920 by an Indiana lawyer/writer named Max Erhmann (not found in Old Saint Paul’s Church, Baltimore, as commonly attributed), I’d once known by heart and took it to heart. Yet somehow, amid the noisy confusion of the last 20-plus years, the credo has slipped my mind, the way I go to the grocery needing only milk and check out with broccoli, ice cream and Reduced Fat Wheat Thins, but not what I’d come for. Sham, drudgery and broken dreams, yep, right here in the cart—buy-one-get-one, but where’s the damn one-percent?

December’s best intentions (shop early, send cards before the 24th, simplify, don’t forget teacher gifts) and January’s resolutions (get more sleep, write book, simplify, brush dog’s teeth) are like that for me—they rarely make it in my cart all the way through checkout, and if they do, I almost surely forgot the reusable grocery bags. My default mode tends more toward the purposely undriven life than the purpose driven to-do list. Not that I don’t believe in purpose or in making lists; I’m just good at conveniently shifting purpose midstream, and I have a high tolerance for not checking things off my lists. Goal setting is not my forte, so this year, instead of setting a goal to be better at setting goals, I resolve to be unresolute, not to set myself up for failure, to go placidly, to be gentle with myself, as Erhmann suggests. And as he also writes in this simple Zen-like masterpiece that an army psychiatrist once told him he should bottle and sell as Dr. Ehrmann’s Magic Soul Medicine: “Take kindly to the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth (like resolutions, perhaps?)…Do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.”

I like thinking of “resolution” in chemistry lab terms—“re-solution: to return to a state of solution,” when one substance is dissolved into another, indistinguishable, like salt in water, like me and my imaginings, my dreams and goals. I’d like one day for them to be all stirred up and indistinguishable from my being, not floating on a to-do list somewhere or sunk to the bottom of my soul, drowned by fatigue and loneliness. How to get there is the question. In the meanwhile I’ll just keep flossing, strive to be happy and try my best to remember the milk.

Stephanie Hunt is a South Carolina-based writer, mother, spacey grocery shopper and resolution breaker, among other things. Since seeing Mamma Mia in New York, her new goal is to be a Dancing Queen. Cheer her on at stephaniehuntwrites.com.

~Stephanie Hunt