Winter's End and Contentment

Thaw at the Crossroads

Most people believe that contentment means wanting nothing at all. A truly content person, they imagine, sits still and asks nothing more from life, from the road or from anyone else.

The traveler's question had waited all through the last weeks of winter, and the innkeeper finally answered it on an evening when the snow was turning to slush at the crossroads. The letter to his brother lay sealed on the windowsill, and the lantern burned by the door against a sky that stayed light a little longer each day.

"You asked me whether one reply would be enough," said the innkeeper, filling her cup with the last of the winter's apple brandy. "I have thought about it every night, and I am ashamed to say that I still want it, so perhaps I am not as content as an old man ought to be."

"Wanting one reply is not greed, and wanting nothing is not the same thing as being content," said the traveler. "The sayings I have gathered on every road say that contentment means knowing when you have enough, and enjoying it, and they leave plenty of room for hope."

That is where the common belief goes wrong. The proverbs of contentment, from many regions, rarely praise the person who wants nothing. They praise the person who knows the size of enough, who can sit down to a small meal and call it a feast, and who still looks forward to the spring. Contentment in these sayings is not emptiness at all; it is being glad of what you already hold. On this last evening of winter, under the lantern, the two of them laid the sayings side by side for the final time that year.

A Feast of Enough

The traveler began with an old English saying that she had first heard at a farmhouse table. In English, "Enough is as good as a feast", "having what you need is as good as having plenty". The saying does not tell you to go hungry. It tells you that once you are fed, more food does not make you happier, and that a plain supper with good company can be the best meal of the year.

In Italian, "Chi si contenta gode", "whoever is content enjoys". The person who is satisfied with what life brings gets to enjoy it, while the one who always wants more never has time to taste what is already on the plate. People often say it with a shrug when a plan has turned out smaller than expected but still good.

In French, "Contentement passe richesse", "contentment is worth more than riches". A rich person who is never satisfied is poorer than a poor one who is at peace with what he has.

Imagine you are visiting an old school friend who gave up a well-paid job in the city to keep bees in a quiet valley. "People think I am mad to have left all that money behind, but I sleep better than I have in twenty years," she says, pouring honey onto your bread.

"Contentment is worth more than riches, and from the look of this kitchen, you have chosen the better fortune of the two," you answer.

Imagine you have missed the last bus out of a mountain village, and the only meal left at the inn is bread, soup and a piece of cheese. "I am sorry that there is nothing grander tonight, because the market comes only on Thursdays," says the young woman who keeps the kitchen.

"Enough is as good as a feast, and after the day I have had, this soup is better than any banquet," you tell her, and she brings you a second piece of bread.

Birds in the Hand

The innkeeper laughed when the traveler turned to a page full of birds, because he had heard several of these sayings from guests and had never noticed how alike they were. In English, "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush", "something small that you already have is better than something bigger that you might never get". In German, "Der Spatz in der Hand ist besser als die Taube auf dem Dach", "the sparrow in the hand is better than the dove on the roof". In Spanish, "Más vale pájaro en mano que ciento volando", "a bird in the hand is worth more than a hundred flying". In Russian, "Luchshe sinitsa v rukakh, chem zhuravl' v nebe", "better a titmouse in your hands than a crane in the sky". Every language picks its own birds, and the number of birds that you are giving up changes from one to a hundred. Yet all four agree that the small, sure thing deserves your thanks.

"So my brother's single reply would be my sparrow in the hand," said the innkeeper, "and a whole summer of him at this table would be the crane in the sky."

"And there is nothing wrong with looking at the crane," said the traveler, "as long as you do not let the sparrow fly away while you are looking."

Picture yourself at a ticket office in spring, where a clerk offers you a seat on tonight's slow train instead of waiting three days for a faster one that might be full. "It is slower, but you will arrive by morning, and the other one is only a maybe," she says.

"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, so I will take the slow train tonight and see the countryside," you answer.

The Length of the Quilt

Two sayings from far apart taught the same lesson with the same piece of bedding. In Turkish, "Ayağını yorganına göre uzat", "stretch your feet according to your quilt". In Hindi, "Jitni chadar ho, utne hi pair phailao", "stretch your legs only as far as your sheet will go". If you stretch too far, your feet stick out into the cold. Both sayings are about living within your means, but the traveler said she heard warmth in them as well, since they imagine a person tucked up snugly in a bed that fits.

Imagine you are planning the last week of a long trip with a friend, and the money left in your purse will not cover the expensive tour you both wanted. "We could borrow from the card and worry about it when we get home," your friend suggests.

"Let us stretch our feet according to our quilt, and walk the coast path for free instead, because I would rather come home with no debts," you answer.

Eight Parts Full

The innkeeper said that there was one Japanese saying he had always followed at supper, though he had never known it was a proverb. In Japanese, "Hara hachibunme ni isha irazu", "eight parts full, and you need no doctor". Stop eating when your stomach is eight parts out of ten full, and your body will stay well. People use it far beyond the table, for any pleasure that is sweeter when you stop a little early.

In Chinese, "Zhī zú cháng lè", "know what is enough, and you will always be happy". The words are short, but they hold the whole evening: happiness lies in recognizing enough when you have it. People write it on scrolls and hang it in their homes, and they say it to friends who are working too hard.

Picture yourself at a long family dinner at the end of a festival, while your host keeps filling your bowl. "Eat, eat, there is so much more in the kitchen, and you are far too thin for a traveler," she insists.

"Eight parts full, and you need no doctor, so please save the rest, and I will gladly eat it for breakfast tomorrow," you reply.

A Word for Just Enough

The traveler told him about a word that she had learned in the north, where winters are even longer than at the crossroads. In Swedish, "Lagom är bäst", "just the right amount is best". The word lagom has no exact match in most other languages. It means not too much and not too little, the amount that fits. It comes from an old word for law or custom, so lagom once meant something like what is fitting by custom. People use it for coffee, for the heat of a room, for how much to work and how much to rest. Visitors often take it at first for a cool, careful word, but the traveler had heard it spoken warmly by hosts who wanted every guest to feel neither crowded nor neglected. The innkeeper said the word described his lantern exactly, since a wick turned too high smokes and a wick turned too low gives no light.

Laughter at the Gate

Contentment also has a sound, and the traveler said she knew a house by its laughter long before she reached the door. In Japanese, "Warau kado ni wa fuku kitaru", "good fortune comes to the gate where people laugh". Happiness is drawn to people who are already cheerful, not to those who wait to be cheerful until fortune arrives. It is often said at the New Year, when people wish each other a year of laughter.

Imagine you are lodging with a family whose house is always noisy with jokes, even though the roof leaks and the stove smokes. "We do not have much here, but at least we are never bored," says the father, laughing as he puts a bucket under the drip.

"Good fortune comes to the gate where people laugh, and I think it must be on its way to yours already," you answer.

Good Face to Bad Weather

In Spanish, "Al mal tiempo, buena cara", "to bad weather, a good face". When things go wrong, meet them with a cheerful face. The saying does not deny the storm. It simply chooses what kind of face to wear while waiting for it to pass, and the traveler said it had kept her going through more cancelled ferries than she could count. The innkeeper said that his grandmother had kept the lantern in the same spirit. On stormy nights she stood in the doorway and shielded the flame with her hand, and she never once let the wind decide whether the light would burn.

Picture yourself on a windy quay where the morning ferry has been cancelled for the third day in a row, and the woman at the harbor café brings you a hot chocolate that you did not order. "The sea will calm down tomorrow, they say, and in the meantime you may as well enjoy the view from my window," she says.

"To bad weather, a good face, so I will sit by your window and finally write all the postcards I have been carrying," you answer.

Snow Before the Harvest

The last of the snow was dripping from the roof as the innkeeper brought out his own favorite saying for the end of winter. A merchant from the east had taught it to him long ago. In Chinese, "Ruìxuě zhào fēngnián", "timely snow promises a good harvest". A good snowfall protects the winter wheat and soaks the soil as it melts, so farmers welcome it. The hard season itself carries the promise of the next one.

"That is how I have come to think about this winter," said the innkeeper, glancing at the letter on the sill. "It was long and cold, and I spent much of it going over the old quarrel, but perhaps the cold has kept something alive underneath for the spring."

Imagine you are traveling through farm country in late winter when a heavy snowfall closes the roads, and you apologize to the farmer who must put you up for an extra night. "Do not be sorry, because this snow is the best news we have had all year for the wheat," he says.

"Timely snow promises a good harvest, so I hope I have brought you some luck as well as an extra mouth to feed," you answer.

Three Enough Things

Before the evening ended, the traveler asked the innkeeper to try one small thing, and she offered it to you as well, for the last night of any journey. Take your notebook and write down three things from today that were enough. Not the best things, and not the things you hoped for, but the things that were exactly enough: a seat by a window, a warm room, one good conversation. Then, beside them, write one thing you are still hoping for. The traveler said that the list is best when both halves are there, because contentment and hope belong on the same page.

The Road Turning Again

The innkeeper read his list aloud. His three enough things were a full woodpile, a guest who came back every season, and the letter on the sill. His one hope was a reply from the coast. The traveler's own list was shorter than she expected. Her three enough things were a dry pair of boots, a cup of apple brandy and an old friend who had finally written his letter. Her one hope was to carry that letter safely to the coast.

In Italian, the traveler said, there is a saying for exactly this time of year. "Anno nuovo, vita nuova", "new year, new life". People say it at the turn of the year, and travelers say it at the end of winter, when the roads dry out and every plan seems possible again. It does not ask you to throw the old life away, only to begin what comes after it with fresh hope.

"Then I will hope for my reply, and be glad of my sparrow until it comes," said the innkeeper, and he put the letter into her hands for the journey.

The year's last evening of sayings had found that contentment is not wanting nothing. Enough is as good as a feast in English, whoever is content enjoys in Italian, and contentment beats riches in French. Four languages praise the bird in the hand, and in Turkish and Hindi you stretch your feet to fit the quilt. In Japanese you stop eating at eight parts full and fortune comes to the laughing gate, while in Chinese knowing enough brings happiness and timely snow promises a harvest. In Swedish just enough is best, and in Spanish bad weather meets a good face. And in Italian a new year brings a new life. In a few weeks the mud would dry at the crossroads and the road would open again, and until then the lantern by the door burned on, steady and enough, waiting to light the traveler on her way in spring.

One Last Question

When the roads dried out at the end of winter, the traveler took the innkeeper's letter, buttoned it into the pocket beside her small notebook and set off toward the coast in the early morning, while the lantern by the door still had a little oil left in it from the night before. The innkeeper stood in the doorway until she turned at the bend, and then he went inside to write down the last sayings of the year before he could forget them.

Over the four seasons the two of them had laid about two hundred sayings side by side, from many languages and many roads, and almost every time they had found the same heart beneath different weather, bread and history. A proverb is a small lantern that someone lit long ago and left by the road, so that people they would never meet could see a little further on a dark evening.

So here is the one question this book leaves with you, for your next journey or for an evening at home: which saying from your own language, the one your family has said for as long as you can remember, would you hang by the door of an inn at a crossroads, so that a stranger arriving late from the road could read it in the light and feel, for a moment, a little less far from home?