I love the Jeeves books, and I was recently relaxing the bean with another rollick through Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves.<\/i> <\/p>\n
Bertie Wooster is (once again) trying to escape the clutches of Madeline Basset, who, besides having money and being quite the looker, is … well, let’s hear Bertie explain it. <\/p>\n
I can well imagine that a casual observer, if I had confided to him my qualms at the idea of being married to this girl, would have raised his eyebrows and been at a loss to understand, for she was undeniably an eyeful, being slim, svelte and bountifully equipped with golden hair and all the fixings. But where the casual observer would have been making his bloomer was in overlooking that squashy soupiness of hers, that subtle air that she had of being on the point of talking baby talk. She was the sort of girl who puts her hands over a husband’s eyes, as he is crawling in to breakfast with a morning head, and says ‘Guess who?’ <\/p><\/blockquote>\n
You would never call Bertie a curmudgeon, but Madeline’s “squashy soupiness” brings out a kind of curmudgeonliness in him. Or, if I may generalize, curmudgeonliness is a reaction to perceived soupiness. <\/p>\n
Some people have very low tolerance for soupiness. We call those people curmudgeons. They aren’t willing to play along with even the slightest bit of silliness, emotionalism, “rah rah team,” or — whatever it is that curmudgeons react to. <\/p>\n
But extremes can go both ways. What if the soupiness gets to the level that people of average (or even high) tolerance get annoyed? They exhibit curmudgeonly behavior, but they are not curmudgeons. <\/p>\n
I wrestle with this scale from time to time, because I am probably on the low end of average tolerance of soupiness. <\/p>\n
What follows is not the greatest example, but it’s what triggered this post. <\/p>\n
Today I saw a LinkedIn comment on “mindfulness.” I don’t know a lot about mindfulness, but it often seems a little soupy. In saying that, I’m not claiming there aren’t benefits to it. But … what is it? Mr. Google says this. <\/p>\n
a mental state achieved by focusing one’s awareness on the present moment, while calmly acknowledging and accepting one’s feelings, thoughts, and bodily sensations, used as a therapeutic technique.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
Okay. I’m sure that has benefits. It reminds me a little of the “litany against fear” in Dune<\/i> — where you acknowledge the fear, but try to view it as something outside yourself. <\/p>\n
I get it. Sounds great. But my reaction to “mindfulness” is to realize that my problem seems more often to be that I want to get away from my mind. (Hence Wodehouse.) <\/p>\n
Now …. I’m sure someone who is into mindfulness would say “Oh, yes, we incorporate that into our 14-step discipline.” Or words to that effect. <\/p>\n
My point here is not<\/i> to criticize mindfulness, but to point out the continuum we live on. Every day we’re confronted with soupy people and soupy ideas, which often press us for a reaction. (Thankfully, a LinkedIn post does not.) If we don’t react in perpetually smiling airhead mode — “I love your soupy emotional nonsense. Isn’t it delightful? You be you.” — we are apt to be called curmudgeons. Which is okay. Somewhat. <\/p>\n
Turning back to Mr. Google, a curmudgeon is “a crusty, ill-tempered, and usually old man.” Which isn’t very pleasant. The old part is fine, but “ill-tempered” is never nice. <\/p>\n
So I propose that we need another word. Something like “soupmudgeon” — which is a person who reacts badly to soupiness. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I love the Jeeves books, and I was recently relaxing the bean with another rollick through Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves. Bertie Wooster is (once again) trying to escape the clutches of Madeline Basset, who, besides having money and being quite the looker, is … well, let’s hear Bertie explain it. I can well imagine that … Continue reading “Am I a curmudgeon, or are people being too soupy?”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1773","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/crowhill.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1773","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/crowhill.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/crowhill.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/crowhill.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/crowhill.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1773"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/crowhill.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1773\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1777,"href":"https:\/\/crowhill.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1773\/revisions\/1777"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/crowhill.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1773"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/crowhill.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1773"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/crowhill.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1773"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}