The other day, in my post “Are Hungarians Especially Sad?” I told about how a former student (from Varga, now at university) had asked me what I thought of a Quora comment that Hungarians are the saddest people in Europe. He also wrote (I am quoting this with his permission) that “the true plague for us is this permanent inability to feel contented, without envy and avarice.” In other words, in his view, life in Hungary is not so terrible, relative to life in general, nor is everyone bitter and depressed, but there are many young people who think they could have a better life elsewhere. This is the plague: the thought that other people, other countries have it better, and if I could just whisk myself over into their position, I would be fine.

A certain kind of discontent is necessary for life and for the things we want to do well. I am continually revising my writing, whether for sound, language, meaning, accuracy, or something else. Musicians play and play, even at the highest levels, to come closer to what they imagine and hear. Athletes train and train, and compete and compete. But in all those cases, you are working on something in yourself; you are the locus of improvement.

The dangerous kind of discontent occurs when we want something “over there”: something someone else has, something in another country, something belonging to a particular social group. Surely there are people we admire and would like to emulate—but when we aggressively try to get what they have, or resent them for having it, we make a mess of our lives.

Is this a particularly Hungarian tendency? I doubt it. But it may play out in a particular way in Hungary, especially among young people who tire of the government’s isolationist rhetoric and long to see the world. It’s easy, in that position, to imagine that life in the U.S., Denmark, the Netherlands would be not only more comfortable, but more exciting too, with more of an opening to the world, more opportunity, more of a future. And for some individuals, this might be somewhat true. But beyond that, it’s human error all over again.

First of all, it involves “comparing your insides to other people’s outsides” (as a wise person said to me long ago). New York looks like an incredible, bustling city bursting with talent and all walks of life. And that it is. But if you live there, as I did for fifteen years, you don’t necessarily want to take it in. The work days and commutes are long, and at the end of it all you might want to go home and listen to music in your room. That is, if you have a place that’s quiet enough for that. When I was living in Brooklyn, there were block parties in my neighborhood that boomed so loud that my chair and desk shook. And so many people in NYC live in cramped, crowded spaces and still have to pay exorbitant rent. Don’t get me wrong: the city lives up to its reputation. But living there is different from seeing it from afar.

Second, when you covet something to extremes (when you go beyond mild envy toward action), you start to become ugly inside. You think of others not in terms of who they are, but in terms of what they have. You find ways to put them down in your mind, to level them with you or even bring them below you. I see more of this in the U.S. than in Hungary, but maybe that just comes with familiarity. I imagine it happens all over the world.

But back to the original quote from my former student: if this kind of envy or dissatisfaction is “the true plague,” then it goes beyond the individual. It spreads from person to person; it becomes a worldview. That’s the worst aspect of it; by indulging in that kind of discontent, you affect others too. You show them, through your attitude and actions, that simple joys in life are to be scorned, that the only valid happiness is “over there,” wherever “there” may be. People start believing that they are unworthy if they don’t have a house, or make a certain amount of money, or have a beautiful boyfriend or girlfriend, or look lovely and skinny themselves.

I believe that this is universal but multifarious; different cultures exhibit it in different ways. Many Hungarians I have met attach importance to material attainments. Some do not, but overall it seems to be assumed that you’re doing well if you have a house and car. (This exists in the U.S. too, but there are many countertendencies.) On the other hand, people here are not enraptured, generally, with hype and fame; quality comes first. In the U.S., hype is a way of life. Kids learn to promote themselves before they learn to make something worth promoting.

How do you go about combating this plague? First, see it for what it is, in yourself and others, and then turn the attention to things that matter: doing things well, treating others decently, contributing something to the world. But this requires a lot of strength and vigilance. It’s not for nothing that at least five of the Ten Commandments (the number depends on how you interpret them) forbid envy or its consequences; envy is all around us and can tear a person, a relationship, a society apart.

Sometimes happiness does exist “over there.” Sometimes it does make sense to move to another city, country, apartment, or whatever the case may be. It isn’t all delusion, which makes the matter more complicated. But the delusion is always close at hand, and oh so tempting because of the shortcuts it dangles before us: not only shortcuts to wealth or success, but an exit from ourselves and those around us.

Art credit: James Ward, Ignorance, Envy and Jealousy (oil on canvas, 1837).

Often, when we say, “I wish you warmth and light,” we mean it partly figuratively, but right now the literal comes first. The storms and outages across the U.S.—from Oregon to Texas to Tennessee to New York—have left millions without heat, electricity, or safe drinking water. I hope that this emergency ends soon and that there will be much better protection against future ones.

Here in Hungary, the weather is mild again (9 degrees Celsius in Szolnok at the moment); the coldest it is supposed to get in the coming week is zero (tonight). The snow has melted, and the Tisza is swollen.

This looks like it will be a quiet weekend at home, a rare one without any pressing deadlines around the corner, a chance to catch up with things, read, rest, play cello, get ready for next week, and go out on the bike. I am enjoying the beautiful poncho that my sister crocheted for me. And grateful for the warmth, light, and water.

These days have been so busy—with teaching, the translation manuscript, Szim Salom, Folyosó, and the Orwell project—that I barely get outside, except to do basic shopping and, last night, to rescue Sziszi. But today I had to go to school to sign a document, so I made a walk of it, peering into an abandoned building on the way.

After signing the document, I went to Arabica Kávézó, now my favorite café in Szolnok. I love looking around the place, and I bought some jewelry and coffee.

After going grocery shopping, I headed down Szapáry utca and admired the overhanging tree.

Right by the Merci restaurant, I took another picture of rooftops and walls, rooster and moon.

Then came one of the best parts: the Mayfly Bridge (pictured at the top) and the sunset over the Tisza (below). On a walk like this, the loss of time becomes the point of it all. If time were not being lost, walks would be drab, and productivity drabber still.

This evening, Dominó came to me meowing and meowing, something he just doesn’t do. He was quite persistent about it. I thought he might be sick or something, but then I noticed that Sziszi was strangely silent. I got up from my desk, and Dominó immediately led me to the bedroom, where I saw the window slightly ajar. Last night I had opened it to air out the room, with the cats shut out of the room; I had closed it again, but not securely enough. Sziszi had jumped out, maybe minutes ago; I had fed her just a little earlier.

I closed the window tight, ran outside, and saw several tomcats wandering around, waiting for their food. One of my upstairs neighbors feeds them. I thought maybe they had scared Sziszi away. But then I saw Sziszi running to the door, then away again, then to the window ledge, trying to leap up onto it. It was too high for her; she kept missing. Poor thing, she wanted so badly to come back home, but didn’t realize I had come out to help her. Then she disappeared under a parked car.

The neighbor who feeds the tomcats came outside; I explained to her what was going on, and we located the car where Sziszi was hiding. She had gone up into the engine. I was scared that she would get hurt in there. Another neighbor heard the commotion and came out onto her balcony in her bathrobe. We explained the situation. Then the first neighbor, the one who feeds the toms, said she’d leave me alone with Sziszi in case the kitty was afraid of so many people around.

Sziszi continued to meow. I went under the car, getting all dirty but not caring, and saw her little face peeking down from the engine area. I reached for her paw and pulled her a little, then grapped her scruff and helped her all the way out. I took her in my arms, waved goodbye to the neighbor on the balcony, and carried Sziszi home. A few minutes later, the tomcat-feeding neighbor knocked on my door to see if Sziszi was with me. I had good news, and Sziszi showed up at the door to confirm it.

You never want that kind of thing to happen. What if I hadn’t been home? What if Sziszi had been out there for hours, and what if, instead of a quiet evening, she had encountered traffic or bad weather? The street is quiet in general, but she might have gotten scared, run out to one of the larger streets, and lost her way back. We were extremely lucky. But it was Dominó who told me what was going on. He knew that he had to get my help. How he knew this, and what he knew, I don’t know.