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Last month I had one of those very blue periods where what should be a broad horizon shrinks down to a tiny speck that feels like a dark, dark hole in the ground.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m happy to report that my brain managed to adjust itself and I don\u2019t feel entirely rotten at present. But these things do come and go, as many of you know. One of my sisters calls it having \u201cdas arme Tier<\/em>\u201d (except she’ll say it not in high German, but in an exaggerated Rhineland dialect, \u201cdat aahme Dier<\/em>\u201d): that poor dear.<\/p>\n You can have that damn poor dear, you see. And when you do, she\u2019s going to make sure you feel that it\u2019s like that. Exactly like that.<\/p>\n (Note for monolinguists: Tier<\/em> means animal, here meant as creature. Dier<\/em> is dialect: in the Rhineland, hard sounds tend to soften: t<\/em> becomes d<\/em>, ich<\/em> becomes ish<\/em>. In Berlin, on the other hand, pronunciation is harder: ich<\/em> becomes the famous \u2013 infamous? \u2013 ick<\/em>.)<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n I think it’s ironic that, just as “the poor dear” sticks with me (and to me, sometimes), I also have a special memory of another concept: the Lebensk\u00fcnstler<\/em> or life artist. He or she is a person who escapes constricting social norms and manages to live life on her own terms.<\/p>\n In a super-ramped up consumerist world, we may be forgiven if we conflate Lebenskunst<\/em> (the art of living) with lifestyle and therefore as something we ought to be able to buy.<\/p>\n Money sure is useful (and a validation of oneself, if one is paid for what one does), but Lebenskunst<\/em> is not just a lifestyle thing.<\/p>\n It\u2019s mostly an attitude, a perspective, and a question of creativity.<\/p>\n In one sense, it\u2019s about being able to count one\u2019s blessings \u2013 although, again using my memories as an example, counting blessings or having an attitude of gratitude is something my tribe made fun of, often. Really often. Gratitude, schmatitude. Gratitude was for weaklings, and for optimistic fools<\/a> who ended up being happy to tend their own gardens \u2013 instead of going out there and Doing Something Important<\/em>. So we made fun. I\u2019m not sure we really understood the corrosive effect on ourselves of our sarcasm. But I think we did it because we assumed that some things were basic social and human rights, and that it was ridiculous to be grateful for anything-and-everything. (People have argued about this for centuries.) I suspect, too, that sarcasm and gallows humor was also a shield \u2013 and perhaps a lance \u2013 against the poor dear. Today I’m more inclined to conclude that tending one’s own garden isn’t the worst of all possible worlds \u2013 provided you have your little plot, that is.<\/p>\n The Lebensk\u00fcnstler<\/em> is creative about gratitude, and uses it to build. She’s no hapless naif<\/em>, or poor dear. He has a sense of style \u2013 and therefore a lifestyle \u2013 but isn’t a slave to consumption. She builds (creates) with what she’s given, and sometimes that’s the short end of the stick. No matter. It’s a matter of philosophy, and consolation<\/a>. Most of all, Lebenskunst<\/em> is about creativity and using what you’ve got.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n\n