Anne Taylor Robertson 11: Surprised By Joy

“We now settled into a routine which has ever since served in my mind as an archetype, so that what I still mean when I speak of a "normal" day (and lament that normal days are so rare) is a day of the Bookham pattern. For if I could please myself I would always live as I lived there. I would choose always to breakfast at exactly eight and to be at my desk by nine, there to read or write till one. If a cup of good tea or coffee could be brought me about eleven, so much the better. A step or so out of doors for a pint of beer would not do quite so well; for a man does not want to drink alone and if you meet a friend in the taproom the break is likely to be extended beyond its ten minutes. At one precisely lunch should be on the table; and by two at the latest I would be on the road. Not, except at rare intervals, with a friend. Walking and talking are two very great pleasures, but it is a mistake to combine them. Our own noise blots out the sounds and silences of the outdoor world; and talking leads almost invevitably to smoking, and then farewell to nature as far as one of our senses is concerned. ... The return from the walk, and the arrival of tea, should be exactly coincident, and not later than a quarter past four. Tea should be taken in solitude... For eating and reading are two pleasure that combine admirably. Of course not all books are suitable for mealtime reading. It would be a kind of blasphemy to read poetry at table. What one wants is a gossipy, formless book which can be opened anywhere... At five a man should be at work again, and at it till seven. Then, at the evening meal and after, comes the time for talk, or failing that, for lighter reading; and unless you are making a night of it with your cronies (and at Bookham I had none) there is no reason why you should ever be in bed later than eleven. But when is a man to write his letters? You foget that I am describing the happy life I led with Kirk or the ideal life I would live now if I could. And it is an essential of the happy life that a man would have almost no mail and never dread the postman's knock.
Such is my ideal, and such then, (almost) was the reality, of "settled, calm, Epicurean life." It is no doubt for my own good that I have been so generally prevented from leading it, for it is a life almost entirely selfish.”
I find it interesting and universal that C.S. Lewis here describes his natural desire to just relax and have his own ideal day. I have an ideal day in my mind that usually pops into my head on Mondays and Thursdays when I can’t wait for the weekend, and then again on Sundays when the weekend has gone by and I’ve missed my chance. But here Lewis reminds us gently through his own experience that this idea of ‘entitlement’ is unacceptable. I haven’t done anything so profound and indebted the world in any way that gives me the exclusive right to have exactly what I want when I want it. This made me laugh because I have this attitude so often, and to read that someone even so renowned as Lewis has felt the same way (as most of us have) is encouraging and amusing.