My copy of Seneca’s Letters From a Stoic has been protecting my worktable from mugs of hot coffee or tea for years.
Of all the books that populate my office, it seemed the most qualified for the job. This old Penguin paperback I’ve owned since my university days wears all the classic hallmarks of generous thumbing: reading creases on the cover zigzagging like rivers on a map, browned pages, stickies limply protruding from the fore-edge like droopy awnings. The book looks worn but not worn out, like it aged this way just so it could hold a comforting hot beverage.
In it, Seneca alludes to the story of Diogenes, who threw away his cup after seeing a boy drinking water out of his hands. Still to this day, probably the most vivid repudiation of superfluity ever.
What is the right amount of anything? How far to sufficiency before it’s in our rearview mirror?
The Finns say the secret to happiness is knowing when you have enough. Any wonder they find the notion they’re the happiest people in the world mystifying? Contentment is more their speed. Just the right amount of happy.
So who needs a cup when you can form one with your hands? Who needs a coaster when a book will do?
Not a bad philosophy to put under your hat, among other things.