A Well Travelled American
"Oscar Wilde said that sunsets were not valued because we could not pay for sunsets. But Oscar Wilde was wrong; we can pay for sunsets. We can pay for them by not being Oscar Wilde." (G.K. Chesterton)
The most pitiful man I ever met was a young American, who had boldly left his home country to experience the world outside.
In conversation he would frequently display more contempt for mainstream American culture than any European would ever admit to, particularly the isolationism and staunch nationalism, and he was adamantly opposed to the foreign policies of USA.
Some might even say that this young American was not only well-travelled, but also well-read. At least he liked to comment on the experiences or opinions of others with a standard phrase:
"Yea well, Kafka wrote about that" or "Camus wrote about that", he would say in a dismissive tone, which to me indicated that a book read and, perhaps, a country visited, to him represented a "dead lion" along the lines of Hemingway's adventurous ideals.
In a sense this young man embodied the finest attitudes developed among liberal Americans, and yet I could not help feeling something fundamental was missing in his perspective, something far more important than political correctness or classical education.
One evening, as I met him in the street down below my apartment, he asked me why I was so cheerful.
At first I said, "I don't know". Then, having thought it over, I continued: "Perhaps it is because of the sunset."
"What about the sunset?" he asked.
"Look at it", I said. "It's magnificent. I enjoy the colors and the way the light is reflected in the windows and in the paving."
He shrugged, holding me a fool. Then he turned around and left me with these words:
"I don't see the big deal. It's like that every evening."