A Dance

A friend (in fact, Fedor’s only friend) called on Fedor for a drink. It was not that Fedor was not likable or charming or clever or fairly average looking, but he liked to keep to himself and he found absolutely nothing wrong with having just one good friend. Having so much thinking to do, he was reluctant to accept but feeling the need for balance in all aspects of life he left to see his old friend.

Fedor’s only friend, Ivan was an interesting character. Often defined by his slick, greasy mustache and his pudgy midsection, he was a genuine person with delightful depth once prodded. Ivan was a lawyer by trade but recently renounced his position at a prestigious office to spent most of his days chasing his real love in life: buying, selling, and trading stamps.

They met, they walked, they arrived, they lost themselves in the satisfaction of social contact and mutual understanding.

Drinks, talk, joviality, comradery.

They discussed the oddity of value in the form of paper (of which Fedor had much), the silliness of half the world’s custom to choke themselves daily with stylish strips of cloth that hang down to their stomachs and whip over their shoulders in the wind. As their stools became wobbly they discussed women (of which Fedor had had few) and love. Fedor decided right then and there that he loved everything and everyone. It was quite the spiritual epiphany, although it would be forgotten the next day.

Fedor and Ivan danced the intricate dance of social interaction flawlessly. This dance is unlearned by many and mastered by few; it is absolute human connection captured in a conversation of mutual benefit and respect. Their words did not clash, bump, or fumble awkwardly but instead moved fluidly together as a perfect storm, intertwining in harmony like two dogs at play.

In those moments on their wobbly stools they were at peace. They were as harmonious and enlightened as Buddhist monks  (when inebriated just enough Ivan becomes oddly Buddha-like, by Fedor’s account; content as can be, radiantly pleased with everything, and surprisingly witty, Ivan is free of desire and suffering). Of course, to reach this total social harmony took much practice and familiarity with each other’s speech, wit, and tendencies.

Later in his simple chair, Fedor would reflect, as he so often did, on the oddity of such social interaction. Very strange was this dance he had learned and performed. In the middle of this thought Fedor had another: “What if all these things are not in fact strange? Maybe they are all perfectly regular and uninteresting. These things I analyze and scrutinize need not be under so much inspection, they must only be done in the spirit of productivity and efficiency.”

With that thought Fedor vowed to indulge in doing instead of thinking.