Gimme, Gimme, Gimme, I Want Everything I See

How I Stopped Looking at the World Through Greedy Eyes

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Don and Jennifer holding hands ❤️

If a sparrow comes before my window, I take part in its existence and pick about the gravel. John Keats

A few weeks ago, I was walking with my wife, Jennifer, on our favorite beach here on Cape Cod when I decided to try something. We were holding hands, as we almost always do. I closed my eyes as we were walking, trusting her to guide me along the sandy shore, and I directed my attention to our interlaced fingers. Jennifer has very fine, thin hands, and her grip is just right; not too firm and not too slack. It was a gorgeous day, one of the first of spring, and our hands were cool and dry. My tactile sensitivity was elevated, I think, by the shutting out of other stimuli. It was as if the only thing that existed, for that moment, was this one point in space where our hands met. I still remember, three weeks later, exactly how her hand felt in mine, how soft and comfortable, how gentle and pleasant.

“If a man is to be truly present among his surroundings, he must be thinking not of himself, but of what he sees. He must forget himself in order to be there. And from that forgetfulness arises the power of memory. It is a way of living one’s life so that nothing is ever lost.”

We can verify the truth of these words from The Invention of Solitude, Paul Auster’s early memoir, by looking at our own strongest memories. Are they not from the times when we were the most present to what was happening, the most attentive to the here-and-now, rather than lost in our thoughts, worrying about yesterday and tomorrow?

Westport, Massachusetts

When I first started my meditation practice four years ago, I noticed right away that I was becoming more clearly aware of things as they are in the present moment, including both my physical surroundings and what was going on in my own mind. One day, I was enjoying a Sunday drive in the rural town of Westport, on the south coast of Massachusetts, when I suddenly realized that I look at the world through greedy eyes. Everything I see I want. I want to own that farmhouse with that barn and that beautiful green field. I want to be an artist and carve sweeping figures like the one I see in that sculpture garden. I see a path leading into the woods and I want to follow it to mysterious destinations. I see an empty storefront and I want to open a bookstore. A wooden boat in the open door of an old barn stirs a familiar craving; I’d love to make a living as a boat builder.

I want that job, that house, that car, that situation, that state of mind.

I guess what I’m saying is that a majority of the time I look at the world through a filter of desire, with an eye for how it can serve my needs. I see my environment as a commodity for my consumption, as a stage on which to realize my potential. As a place that exists for me.

This realization marked the beginning of a more liberated state, one that I enjoy for the most part now. It’s so much easier to live without wanting all the time. Desire perpetuates our dualistic nature, an illusion to which we are mostly oblivious. With our conditioned achievement-minded way of looking, we fragment existence into two parts—self and other—not realizing that we are not only part of an inseparable whole, we are one with it. (Thich Nhat Hanh describes our relationship with the world as one of “interbeing.”)*

Little Compton, Rhode Island

When I see something beautiful, or something that touches me in some way—say, an old stone wall meandering through a grassy New England field—for that first brief moment, the stone wall and I are one. There is no “me” looking at the peaceful old structure. The wall is everything. And then self steps in to impose its judgments and desires on the scene, fracturing the one into two: I wish I lived in a pastoral setting like this. I could build a wall like that. I wonder if this farm is for sale? Now I have created distance between myself and what I see.

My “greedy eyes” aren’t anything unusual. We’re conditioned to see the world this way. We’re taught to ask, “What’s in it for me?” It’s really the only way we know how to exist, and we apply it to our work, our relationships, our travels. It spills over into just about every aspect of our lives. What do I want? How can what I see translate into the manifestation of my dreams, of my ideal self?

The realization that I was doing this was the first step. It helped explain my history of dissatisfaction, and it woke me up to a new way of existing in the world. Desire is easier to leave behind when you see through its veil of great consequence to its actual source. We often feel empty or incomplete; we believe that something is missing, and that if we can only find, acquire, or achieve this missing thing, we will be happy. When I realized I’d been chasing this endless circle drawn around a mistaken belief my whole life, desire began to fall away.

Now, whenever I notice that I am activating my greedy eyes, I remind myself to just appreciate things for their existence in the world. And I do. It actually feels wonderful. To be wholly immersed in the music, or the landscape, or the sunset, and letting it become a part of me, that is living in the now.

Westport, Massachusetts

The Father’s Day Car Show is coming up in Hyannis. I’ll get there early, as the crowds can be dense if the weather is good. I’ll enjoy the vintage classics, I’ll seek out a likeness of my first car (a red ‘68 Dodge Dart), but I’ll leave off wishing I could afford that antique GMC pick-up that’s for sale, or regretting the Chevy Nova I once owned but took for granted and sold to a friend for a pittance. I’ll just enjoy the looking, appreciate the shiny cars, smile at the kids on their daddy’s shoulders, get a coffee, and be at the car show. It’ll be a good day. My wife will come, as she enjoys the annual event as much as I do. We’ll hold hands... but this time, I’ll probably keep my eyes open.

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BOOKS

Auster, Paul. The Invention of Solitude, Penguin Books, 2022

Thich Nhat Hanh. You Are Here. Shambala, 2010

Thich Nhat Hanh. The Heart of the Buddha’s Teaching. Harmony, 1999

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All photos by Don Boivin