The first few times I tried green tea, I thought it tasted like grass and had an aroma similar to that of urine. I didn’t love black tea but could tolerate it with sufficient cream and sugar. Tea was only chosen because I didn’t like other forms of caffeine. I’ve always had a fortunate sort of pickiness. Carbonation feels uncomfortable, so I don’t like soda, energy drinks, or beer. And the taste of coffee has never appealed to me, so I’ve avoided that as well. Caffeine wasn’t a part of my life until I worked night shifts as a nurse. And even then, using caffeine was more out of boredom than making a drastic difference in my energy level.
On the behavioral health unit, especially on slow nights, I began trying the tea of a couple coworkers. Like I said, it wasn’t initially good, but there was something about the experience of drinking tea, especially green tea, that was attractive to me. Perhaps it was the associated Asian culture that drew me in. Or maybe it was the people who drank tea, how they seemed to have a serenity about them. Part of it was the challenge, I think - to learn to like something that seemed so unlikeable. This would immediately put me in a small category of people, adding character to my life, setting me apart.
Since that time I’ve developed a love for tea, especially green tea. I can’t seem to smell the urine anymore, but the grassy notes have become attractive rather than repugnant. It’s also fun, going to tea shops, sitting on cushions on the floor, and trying different varieties. Maybe I’m pretending to be someone I’m not, someone other than the white male in his 30’s living in Southern Oregon.
Tea is just one example of this, maybe a more pretentious hipster example. But you can throw the word “artisanal” in front of almost any consumable, and it enters this category: coffee, beer, whiskey, chocolate, tobacco.
This idea of an acquired taste can apply outside of food or drink. When I consider children, the ultimate hedonists, they almost never enjoy walking or running for its own sake. I, for instance, hated hiking as a child. Yet now I force my kids to hike, just as my parents forced me to do. And I don’t do this because I want to torture them. It’s quite the opposite; I now enjoy it. While I don’t understand how, I do know there is some mysterious process that happens where kids learn an appreciation for something they once didn’t like. Running is the same. There is a select group of adults who truly have developed a love for running, even a love for the pain associated with it or other types of exercise. I wrote about that briefly here.
Perhaps the most vivid example of this phenomenon in my life is books. Throughout my life, I’ve found pleasure in reading books, but the types of books I read have changed. What started with Goosebumps, The Magic Treehouse series, and Harry Potter has evolved into non-fiction, War and Peace, and Infinite Jest. Yet I remember hating A Tale of Two Cities and The Scarlet Letter in high school - books I would now very likely appreciate. What happened here? I cannot entirely explain it, but I will try to uncover some clues. During the end of high school and through undergrad, I entirely stopped reading for pleasure. School had become demanding, and social life took priority. A few years into working as a nurse, I had less of a social life and more time on my hands. I picked back up reading. But how I saw the world and pieces of my life had shifted. I had been through a phase of gluttony on video games. I had gotten married and divorced. I no longer saw dopaminergic pleasure as the main goal of life, or even the path to prolonged joy or happiness. Deep glimmers of richness and knowledge in life began to be revealed to me. And this was through books. I developed a habit of asking people I respected or voracious readers (these people were often one in the same) what their favorite books were and why. In the years since, I have chewed through much of this list. Whether obscure or full of content I wouldn’t be interested in, many of these books caught me by surprise. Here’s a short list of some of my favorites: Lolita, The Autobiography of Malcolm X, The Death of Ivan Ilych, Moby-Dick, Good Old Neon, Brave New World, Atlas Shrugged, Flowers for Algernon, and A Clockwork Orange.
But there is something difficult here, something elusive. For all those people who find these books horribly dry and devoid of meaning or relatability, how can I say that these books are objectively better than books like Goosebumps or Harry Potter or The Martian (all great books in their own right)? And for that matter, how do I say that green tea is better than Kool-Aid? Or that writing or gardening is better than video games?
Pretentious: attempting to impress by affecting greater importance, talent, culture, etc., than is actually possessed.
So where is the line between bettering one’s self (sounds better than self-improvement) and pretension? How does one seek for growth without becoming haughty?
“And, for your information, you Lorax, I’m figgering on biggering
and BIGGERING
and BIGGERING
and BIGGERING,
turning MORE Truffula Trees into Thneeds which everyone, EVERYONE, EVERYONE needs.”
-The Onceler to The Lorax
This is something I struggle with more now than ever before. Ironically, I struggle with it even though I have intentions of being a better human, not one inflated with pride. Maybe this goes back to the paradox about how trying to be humble ends in being proud of your humility, making you an oxymoron and probably just a moron.
Bitch, be humble -Kendrick Lamar
Even as I write this, I question my own intentions in seeking out these erudite items, green tea and classic books. Do I believe that drinking that or reading this will make me better than my former self or better than my neighbor? Here’s a moment to judge me: Or perhaps I am realizing that I now have health or knowledge or understanding or wisdom which my neighbor lacks, even shuns. If this is the case (and it very well might not be), do I lord this over them? Do I evangelize them with my newfound knowledge? As is often the case, the answer probably lies more in listening to others and role modeling rather than spouting what I know from a hilltop. Sam Gamgee is the one to emulate rather than Boromir.