Jerry Seinfeld, The Buddha & Hoodoo

also the grocery store.

Are you ever struck by how many ways to navigate this world? It’s a wonder we can move forward at all given the number of choices we have to make in a single day. My older children are making big decisions about college and what they want to do for the rest of their lives. The pressure is on. Becoming an adult is no joke, especially when one can get waylaid with trivial decisions in the toothpaste aisle for hours if they’re out of the predetermined brand. Luckily for me, it’s hardly a choice to buy, or not buy toothpaste—the choice is, what kind? One that’s good for the teeth, for vanity, for the Earth, doesn’t perform animal testing, helps sensitivity and enamel, and tastes good. No, Thank you to the cinnamon, cherry, orange, or charcoal toothpastes. Then it becomes an entire decision making rubric, life’s minutes are ticking by with a decision that should be an easy one, but somehow isn’t, and why, by the way, is toothpaste so damn expensive?

The toothpaste aisle is one of my many versions of hell.

a pharmacy shelf with 1000 different types of toothpaste tubes, color photo

Shopping. I’m not a great shopper. I have a combined shopping/social anxiety. I’m not alone either. I know some of you. I see you sitting in the cars in the parking lot, waiting for your brave significant others. My own family, we have standoffs in the parking lot of our local Hannaford grocery store. We all put our fingers to our collective noses and say, “Not it!” However, if I think ahead, I say, “I’ll drive you there, I’ll pay for it, and I’ll cook it, but I’m not going in.” This is how it goes down with my kids when they want things like food. We go back and forth, and usually I win because I am older and can go longer without food. When they go in, I make the sign of the Devil to ward off evil for them. That’s how I help.

color photo of a caucasian female hand making the sign of the devil outside of a grocery store

(I love AI for not being able to understand the human hand. I find it infinitely, entertaining)

But sometimes I need food and have no one to barter with, so I go in, knowing that of the 1,000 decisions I have to make in a day, I’m about to use up half of them, deciding on foods, how long to chat in aisle 2 by the chicken broth, do I say “Hi” to the person I know, but also don’t know?, and then there’s toothpaste…

Why is this stressful? And does it have to be?

Is there something that might make a common act of going to the grocery store more enjoyable? First, I have to ask the question: Is it the grocery store or is it me? Well, the grocery store is very tidy and well supplied. So, there it is. It’s me. Sure enough, once I start down this line of thinking, I get all existential which means I gotta have a chat with my old pal, Buddha, or a slightly more accessible acolyte of Buddha like Thich Naht Hanh or Barbara Brown Taylor. Mind you, I’m not a Buddhist, I’m more of an occasional swimmer in a Buddhist pond.

BBT has a book An Altar on the World that I read over and over when I was ill with undiagnosed Lyme Disease for a 7 year period and asking that age old question, why me? at least once per day, hour, minute. I was rather wretched. Anyway, Altar on the World has a chapter titled, “The Practice of Walking on Earth” that begins with a Thich Naht Hanh quote, “The miracle is not to walk on water but on the Earth.”

Yeah, you are not kidding Mr. Hanh. It is tough out here. I’m still giving him high-fives for that one, in a soul to soul kind of way.

Every chapter in BBT’s book has a refrain of this sentiment, non stop reminders of how much discomfort there is all the time, in everyone. Back in the day when I was at my most ill, this notion did help with the why me? line of questioning. I also have a friend named Chris who says it in a slightly different way, but it means the same thing…I think. “You think you’re special? Let me tell you, you’re not f&#king special.” I laugh when she says it, because she’s right—my discomfort then and now is not special.

So I just accept discomfort? I suppose fighting it or denying it doesn’t make it go away. That’s what I’m thinking about these days…how to find joy and peace while also being uncomfortable in my heart or body. Apparently, this is a “choice” we make according to Buddha, The Enlightened One.

Side bar: This nickname makes me think the Buddha is a pretty exclusive group of one (1) deity. Are there others with nicknames like The Enlightened 4,956,323,162? If so, it might make enlightenment seem more attainable and worth shooting for because being “The Enlightened Two,” doesn’t seem like a possibility for me (in this life).

Okaaayyyyy. I choose to be content. There, I said it but I gotta tell you, it seems a little hollow, like I need a buddy system or a giant if-then decision tree that always points me back toward contentment.

The dog died »»» go that way.

Had a fight with sibling »»» take this path.

Chronic illness »»» over here.

Violence »»» perpetrators go left; »»» victims please sit; »»» witnesses come forward.

But no, the if-then decision tree isn’t there and I am still me, alone in a rowboat, in the middle of this life ocean.

Last week I read the New Yorker interview with Jerry Seinfeld, The Scholar of Comedy, and I thought, this might be the answer. I loved what he had to say about comedy and the dangers of sanitizing language, but I truly loved what he said about how to feel good. And though he comes from a wildly different sphere as a comedian, he taps into a similar vein of thought. He doesn’t suggest shooting for enlightenment, but instead talks about enlightenment’s practical uncle, mastery. Here he is talking with Dave Remnick:

It’s possible that you’ve made a dollar or two from “Seinfeld,” and yet you still work hard. Why?

Because the only thing in life that’s really worth having is good skill. Good skill is the greatest possession. The things that money buys are fine. They’re good. I like them. But having a skill—I learned this from reading Esquire magazine in the sixties. They did an issue on mastery.…

I know a lot of rich people. So do you. They don’t feel good, as you think they should and would. They’re miserable. Because, if they don’t master a skill, life is unfulfilling. So I work because if you don’t, in standup comedy, if you don’t do it a lot, you stink.

I like this idea, how devotion to a particular skill or set of skills will release me from the mundanity and hyperbole of an emotional existence. But what if I’m kind of a Mainer, a Jack or Jill of all trades, and don’t have time for all of this mastery business?

There is another book I adore that offers wisdom on how to navigate being a human, Working Conjure: A Guide to Hoodoo Folk Magic by Hoodoo Sen Moise (this is available for a free listen right now if you have an Audible subscription). Unlike the Buddha who talks about choosing contentment, this book IS prescriptive. What you won’t find in this book is the reduction of a culture with protrayals of love potions, dolls with pins in them, or the reanimation of the dead. You’ll learn about a vast practice of a spiritual devotion rooted in earth, light, and water. There is cleansing— intentionally letting go of feelings, hauntings, energy we do not need to carry. There is always a candle to light the way, and how to plant intentions intentions in the earth to nourish our way forward.

Hoodoo Sen Moise says “Conjure is much more than the magic that goes into it. It is…a culture of overcoming obstacles, and a culture of ongoing daily work that keeps the roads we walk on smooth.”

So, here I am now, at the store, standing at the crossroads of toothpaste and existential dread, faced with the ultimate dilemma (jk): should I embrace the charcoal-infused marvels of modern dental science or stick with my trusted mint gel? It's in this fluorescent-lit arena that I ponder mastery, recalling Jerry Seinfeld's wisdom on the fulfillment of honing skills. And just like the art of stand-up comedy requires endless practice, so too does the grocery store challenge our patience and persistence. Here, I aspire to become the master of Aisle 7, deftly maneuvering past indecision and promotional distractions to emerge victorious with a tube that promises both whitening and sensitivity relief. I even run the gauntlet back for the forgotten onions I’d considered abandoning, by retracing my steps alllll the way back to produce, past all the people I’ve already said awkward hellos to, past the myriad of choices already made remembering that I if I don’t, I’ll have to come back tomorrow.

Maybe mastery isn't just about knowing the quickest route to checkout or entering your rewards number and how many paper bags I’ve used with the flick of a finger. No, it's about recognizing that no matter how deeply I explore the world of organic vs. non-organic, gluten-free vs. gluten-filled, my path forward is paved with imperfect decisions. Maybe, it's about making a list to light the way and maintaining a sense of humor when I reach for that overpriced tube of toothpaste and throw it into my cart, embracing the absurdity of modern grocery shopping. Because in the end, isn't the real victory just getting home with everything on my list and letting go of the unnecessary anxieties so I can handle real life?

Ciao, -n