C. S. Lewis’ ideal day has always sounded attractive to me, but when I read his description recently, I was struck by a number of things:
One, that though I’ve had a great deal of freedom at various points in my life with regard to the structure of my days, I have never used that freedom to structure my days consistently in his ideal way.
Two, that this may mean that my assumption (Lewis’ ideal day is also my ideal day) is wrong.
Three, that in order to have Lewis’ ideal day on a regular basis, one needs a cook and servants (lunch is “on the table,” tea “arrives,” and the day includes neither laundry nor any sort of cleaning; he mentions not even the making of a bed, though in fairness, he also doesn’t mention brushing his teeth).
Four, that though I would be happy to have someone do my laundry (as long as they don’t shrink things), and ecstatic to have someone clean the place I live (guilt aside; part of me feels it as a cop-out not to be personally attending to my floors and sinks and toilet), I would not want someone to cook for me all the time. Sometimes, yes, it would be lovely to have eggs and toast just appear for breakfast, or steel-cut oatmeal, or to have a spinach salad with candied walnuts and craisins and feta and sliced green onions all put together and just waiting for me to dress it for lunch, and to have someone else have mixed up the brown-sugar balsamic vinaigrette. But last night I came up with a new way to cook the greens which we have in overabundance from our CSA (in Thai red chili paste and coconut milk and garlic and peanut butter), and I used all the ends of hard cheese (with more garlic) to fry corn, and both of these turned out scrumptious, and were satisfying in a way they’d never have been if I had not washed the greens myself and chopped them and stirred all the ingredients in the skillet and smelled them as they cooked.
Five, that I would miss people, a lot, if I were to live Bookham days. I like talking to people, and eating with them instead of with books.
Six, that I am not sure what my ideal day would be. Lewis knew his own preferences and felt free to voice them in a way I don’t, yet. He knew how to say “IF I had no obligations and could live entirely selfishly, here’s what I’d do.” I don’t think I’m less selfish than he is; I’m just not as good yet at separating desire and obligation from one another.
Seven, that I would like to find out my own ideal day. And that the first step is accepting the length of days: that a morning is not a week, an afternoon is not a lifetime. And that this is all right. And another step: accepting that I am not C. S. Lewis, not Dorothy Day, not anyone but me. And that that is all right, too.