Bank holiday is like therapy. In the middle of busy and ordinary, there’s suddenly a moment for special, for the seaside, for friends, for beer in the garden, for a deep breath and a sigh of contentment. A bank holiday is good for the national psyche.
Now, I have a group of psychiatrists who I see at the Museum. And whilst there are many people who would say it’s a very good idea for me to see as many psychiatrists as possible, as often as I can, my psychiatrists come not for my benefit but their own.
Every few weeks we choose a theme to discuss, something relevant to their practice: ageing, gender, family, anger, community. I pick images relevant to the theme, and then we talk. Last week we talked about envy.
And, as is the way with these conversations, I immediately found myself pondering who and what I’m envious of. And once I started, it was a torrent.
I’m envious of the psychiatrists, of their capacity for empathy. I’m envious of the skill of the Pakistani bowlers Mohammad Abbas and Mohammad Amir. I’m envious of lighter faster men on lighter, faster bikes.
And there are more destructive envies: of the apparently happier lives of others, of what they have, their relationships, what they are. And with envy comes discontent. I’m pretty sure I’m not alone.
When the church first began, Jesus’ followers quickly established a way of living together that was extremely attractive. The story is in the Book of Acts. They let go of their possessions and shared what they had; they gave to people in need; they were generous and glad-hearted. They were the opposite of discontented.
And people wanted to be like them. But, instead of getting envious, they chose to join them and live generous, glad-hearted lives too. They chose contentment.
Now, I can’t choose to become a wily master of reverse swing. But what I can do is look at all the small wonders of my life as it is: the love of my family, the graciousness of my friends, the privilege of my work. And in all that, I can be grateful and free to be generous. I can be happy – maybe even tomorrow, when the contented, therapeutic sigh of the Bank Holiday is tragically over.
The image is a detail from a pen and ink drawing of the second quarter of the 17th century, The Enraged Housewife by Giovanni Francesco Barbieri, called Guercino. It’s one of the images from the collections of the Ashmolean that I’ve looked at often with the psychiatrists. We’re still trying to work out exactly what’s going on, but the woman on the left is clearly not happy.