Every Halloween, the language academy where I work gives a small bag of candy to the students. I’ve never really cared for the practice—Spain’s already got Big Macs and Red Bull; do we really need to add Halloween candy to the mix?—but I’m not the boss, so when the time comes I distribute the candy and content myself with observing human behavior.
The new students, those who’ve just started studying at the academy, tend to receive the candy like manna from heaven. "Thank you, Teacher! Thank you, thank you!" Because they didn’t expect it, the gift gives them real joy, so much so that I briefly question my opposition to the practice. Who doesn’t get delight from seeing such delight? For a moment, I can understand why parents might find it difficult to tell a child “no,” why you might want to give a child everything they ask for.
But the attitude of some of the returning students, who’ve come to expect the Halloween candy, always serves as a kind of reality check. Since the returning students take the gift for granted, it does not always impress them. Some receive the candy not with joy, but indifference. There is even a type of student who, whenever Halloween rolls around, will say, "And the candy?" It isn’t an inquiry so much as a demand.
I find it easy and satisfying to judge that kind of student, but I wonder, am I that different? Are any of us? Think about the last electronic device you bought. For how long did its features impress you? For how many days did you marvel at its sharpness, its capacity, its speed? Three? Maybe four? We normalize the amazing so quickly. Today’s extravagance is tomorrow’s necessity. My grandparents’ generation got through August in South Carolina without air conditioning—my generation can’t even get through May.
Nobody’s born spoiled. As newborns, we all settle for a little warm milk to drink and a pair of arms to sleep in. Little by little, year after year, our needs go up. The more we get, the more we expect. The more we have, the more we want. We can’t seem to help it. Lasting satisfaction may not even be a natural state for human beings. When we lived on the savannah, anybody who kicked back and relaxed, perfectly content with what they had, would have made easy prey.
But that’s why it’s important to remember that we are not owed any of it. When we think we are owed everything, it’s hard to truly appreciate anything. You might say being grateful is its own reward, and being ungrateful, its own misfortune.
I try to be vigilant for the "And the candy?" attitude in myself. I try to remember that every day on earth, every meal, every moment I spend with good company, is worth giving thanks for—not because it is my duty or obligation, but because the very act of giving thanks elevates the expected to the exceptional, and makes the ordinary extraordinary again.