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The secret of happiness, you see, is not found in seeking more, but in developing the capacity to enjoy less.
SOCRATES

“What would you rather be?”
our teacher asked us.
“Socrates, wise but unhappy,
or happy but ignorant pig?”

The gum-chewing rockers
and pony club belles all opted
for pig (although ‘poodle’
was mooted by Katie).

Philosopher poet, I straddled
the moment, caught between
hope and despair. But of course
I chose Socrates – modish

as ever – and smugly I carried
the weight of my burden
into the glorious mess of
my future. Now, with a view

from the hilltop of more hills
but fewer and steeper, it’s time
to take stock. Is Socrates
wiser or simply unhappy?

Wisdom or rubies? The choice
academic so late in the game.
Back then I was clothed
in such confident motley –

the badges, the denim, the blue
shaded lenses (the silk and
the hide and the wool of
conformity). Now I am closer

to naked than ever - poor,
bare and forked and alone
on this hilltop. But in between
one breath and another,

the gap between heartbeats,
I seem to be happy, here
where the pig hunts for truffles
and Socrates dreams.

Is man no more than this? Consider him well. Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! here's three on 's are sophisticated; thou art the thing itself; unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art.
King Lear, Act 3, Scene IV