The stubbornness in your eyes is exactly my poetry and distance

I don’t know since when, living a humble life has become synonymous with an ordinary and hard-working life. Whenever I see you in the circle of friends posting about the sea in Palau, he posts about roses in Greece, you wave a red scarf in the Mira Pass in Tibet, and he dives leisurely in the deep sea of ??Hainan. . . As busy as I am, while reading articles about living in poverty, poetry and distant places, and looking back at my figure running around for daily necessities, I can’t help but feel guilty, as if the ruthless whip is hitting my heart with every blow. Gradually, my friend The circle rarely refreshes the screen. Just be a lurker, watching other people's mediocrity or poetry and the distance.

1

My classmate Ping can be called the founder of the conceited people. In the Moments she posts, 80 people are closely related to daily necessities. For example, at 6:30 in the morning, you are busy eating breakfast. With a "ding", Ping's daily broadcast starts on time: today's breakfast for Little Prince Sunshine. Then you will see an exquisite dining table with a black glass surface and large white flowers. There are various bowls and plates with various foods: either steamed buns and flower rolls steamed by yourself, or homemade sushi and egg pancakes. Or bought bread and other staple foods; a few boiled eggs; different fruits peeled and cut into small pieces with special skewers; steamed sweet potatoes, steamed yam, steamed corn; rice porridge, millet porridge, milk, homemade soy milk ; A plate of cold or stir-fried seasonal vegetables. . . Of course, the bonsai green plants she carefully planted must be used as a foil. The table of lively and delicious meals that are carefully prepared will immediately make you full of admiration for the person who contributed it. And that's just breakfast.

One day while shopping with Ping, I asked her if it bothered her to do this every day.

How could that happen? What a sense of accomplishment. How great it feels when a bowl of loose flour turns into beautiful steamed buns, flower rolls, and egg pancakes in your hands!

You are truly a master of complacency! I scoffed at this.

Who says this is just a pretentious thing? This is my poetry and my distance. Cooking your own favorite meals for my princess, prince and emperor is the most beautiful poem and distant place in this palace! Ping stretched out one of her arms dramatically. Oh my god, remember I went to Taiwan last year? I felt homesick on the third day. From then on, I never went on a trip alone for more than three days.

In Ping's eyes, dedicating three exquisite meals a day to her family and hanging out with her family all day long are her poetry and distance.

Perhaps, we think more about romance, fine clothes, delicious food, or hiking and traveling as poetry and distance. Ordinary household chores are always unavoidable. But you are not me, and the carelessness in your eyes is actually my poetry and distance sometimes.

2

It was the Mid-Autumn Festival. After finishing everything in the store and sending everyone shopping away, it was already past one o'clock at noon. A few store clerks and I packed up our things, pulled down the rolling shutter, and prepared to have a dinner together to reward ourselves for our hard work.

Our store door is facing a trash can. A gray-haired lady is rummaging through the trash can with her head down. There are several plastic bottles in front of her feet and a plastic bag on her arm. A cleanly washed calico bag.

We had already passed by her, but for some reason, I went back again, took out 20 yuan from my pocket, and said loudly to the old man who was rummaging around: Mom, don’t pick it up. Today is the Mid-Autumn Festival. Go home early and you can use the money to buy a bowl of noodles.

The aunt raised her head and looked at me and the 20 yuan in my hand. He shook his head angrily: Thank you girl, I am not a beggar, I have money. I have a pension of more than 1,000 yuan a month, and I earn a lot of money from picking up rags. No shortage of money to spend.

Her anxious explanation and suppressed angry expression made me immediately regret: I mistook her for a beggar, and obviously, this is the identity that I don’t want others to misunderstand.

1,000 yuan is such a meager income nowadays, but the aunt said it like a rich man showing off his astronomical wealth.

For the aunt, begging is just living alone, and living hard by one's own means is her poetry and future.

We always stand in a condescending position to show our superiority to those we think are humble, and we are convinced that their shabby lives are what we imagine to be humble.

Pretentiousness or poetry and distance are never the surface of life, nor the ease or difficulty in your eyes, nor the humbleness or nobility in your eyes, nor are they judged by your self-righteous shabbyness and dignity. . It is deeply rooted in everyone's heart, and ultimately reflects everyone's different beliefs about life.

3

My elementary school classmate Qing Qing, a couple opened a small restaurant with only three tables in a remote suburb of the provincial capital. The couple is both the boss, waiter, and chef. They are busy from morning to night every day, and rarely leave the restaurant except to buy food. Not to mention hiking and traveling, taking the train or going back home twice a year. But restaurants make money every day.

Another elementary school classmate, Qiang, runs a large hotel in the city. There are six private rooms and more than 20 waiters. I have a house and a car in the city. The expense that immediately hangs over his head every day when he opens the door makes Qiang always dare not relax at all.

Every time we get together, Qing Xianqiang makes a lot of money and has great style. Qiang Xianmuqing has cash in his account every day. He doesn't have to pay on credit, he doesn't have to worry about complicated personnel matters in the store, and he doesn't have to worry about whether he will lose or make a profit today. . . . . .

Qing’s small restaurant became Qiang’s poetry and distance, while Qiang’s hotel became Qing’s poetry and distance. And we can't see clearly who is more contented, who owns poetry and distance.

Maybe you hate the noise of the city and yearn for the rural fields and rugged and poetic roads; in the countryside, some people yearn for the warm high-rise buildings and straight and wide asphalt roads. Mesmerism or poetry and distance are originally an ideal in the heart, but they are often pretended to be in the wrong place, pretending that your mediocrity is someone else's poetry and distance.

No one is qualified to make judgments for others whether it’s about being alone or about poetry and the distance. Everyone has their own standards for this. The stubbornness in your eyes may be the most beautiful poetry and distance in my heart.