Margie on Indulgence

It was pouring rain this morning, and I was a bit hung over from the migraine meds, so Margie and I texted each other a few times and finally met by phone instead of going out for coffee. She marveled, “This is so indulgent!”

I told her I love her attitude, and she was puzzled. 

“What’s to like? Indulgence is a kind of arrogance. We don’t have to go to work or race from work to pick up children and take them to after-school lessons. We don’t have to have an agenda and take notes on our meeting. We’re just going out for coffee. That’s privilege. And NOT going is even MORE privilege.”

“True, but Margie, your children are in their sixties. You’ve been retired for years. It’s appropriate to indulge yourself now. If not when you’re 95, when? Look at the options. You could kvetch about the limitations. You could be frustrated or angry. You could complain about the weather, grouse about being old, about being forced to miss your social time. Instead you see it as an indulgence.”

She laughed, and her voice sounded farther away, so I knew she was laughing in that extravagant head-thrown-back way she has. “I never think of my children as being in their sixties. In my mind they’re always in school. You’re right, it’s a long time since I had to power through a work day and drive them somewhere. But I still feel embarrassed when I indulge myself. I think of all the single parents in the world who can’t.” She grew more serious. “I suppose I could call it yielding. Succumbing to present conditions.” A thoughtful pause, and then, “But no. It’s also indulgence.”

She gets the last word.