Miss Persephone's Manual to a Seemingly Ordinary Life

Miss Persephone was found at the dining table, her blue eyes swollen, her tears arriving and retreating like the tides of the ocean. Earlier that day, her family had visited her in the retirement home where she had lived for eight years. It was her eightieth birthday.

But that wasn't why she was crying.

She was taking an inventory of her years and the events that had survived her memory. The occasion of this unusual reckoning was her granddaughter Mollie, who had traveled from another continent to be there. The visit had gathered the family together, as rare things often do. Mollie and her sisters, Rachel and Eve, stayed long after the cake and the champagne ware gone.

Miss Persephone loved to listen to her granddaughters telling stories, laughing, interrupting one another, and arguing about nothing at all. The girls had very different personalities, but they were very similar. Each, in her own way, reminded Persephone of herself.

She called them her lighthouses in the modern world. And yet, it appeared to her, they themselves were lost. And it was of no wonder.

This modern world they inhabited always demanded something from them: constant visibility, opinions sharpened for public display, perfectly curated lives, identities performed authentically... They were urged to stand out, to be different, to be more—while being molded into same identical and disposable shapes as everyone else.

Miss Persephone remembered being their age. The world had been quieter then, but confusion had found her just as easily. There was no internet, but there was still attention. There was gossip. There were unwritten rules to live by.

And there was Persephone.

She had not been beautiful, but she had been noticeable. Her grandparents immigrated to America to preach Christianity to people they called savages. Her mother had been born there. The family returned after her mother became pregnant from a savage boy when she was only fifteen. They brought a story with them: a marriage, a husband killed by savages, and danger they had barely escaped.

From her arrival, little Persephone was on the village's pedestal. Her appearance and her history didn't allowed her to pass unnoticed. And so she learned early what unwanted attention demanded. She learned how to escape it.

Now, seated at the dining table with pen and paper, she gathered those lessons. She collect them for her granddaughters.

They were not the types of lessons that guide you to grow and live well. They were, rather, a manual on how to survive without punishment—how to live on the margins of attention, ordinarily.

"My Dearest Granddaughters," she started.

"Your visit was the greatest gift I could have received. I couldn’t be happier—except, perhaps, if I knew for certain that you are all happy.Seeing the three of you together reminded me of my youth, and it made me want to offer you something in return, in hopes it will make your lives easier. It's not an advice for happiness, but knowledge gathered through careful living.

1. On Being Noticeable And Why One Should Avoid It

It is generally safer to move through the world without drawing attention. Noticeability invites unwanted gossip interpretation, and that invites unwanted correction. If you must be seen, be seen for something useful, never for something strange. Strangeness is rarely forgiven, let alone forgotten.

2. On Keeping Your Voice at a Suitable Volume

A moderate voice is often mistaken for wisdom. It is best not to raise it unless asked, and best sure not to speak unless necessary. Often it is more wise to be quiet, than to express opinions. Silence allows one to observe. Observation is a form of protection, a way of survival. Those who listen carefully are less often blamed.

3. On Dreaming Acceptable Dreams

Ambition should be practical and proportionate. Never want more than you can handle. Dreams that exceed one’s circumstances may cause discomfort in others and that might lead to ostracization. It is advisable to choose desires that can be fulfilled quietly, without requiring explanation or defense.

4. On Love That Should Be Quiet, Not Drawing Attention

Love, when it exists, ought to be modest. It should not announce itself or ask to be witnessed. It should not be paraded in front of everyone to see. The most durable affections are those that resemble habit, and are therefore rarely questioned.

5. On Marriage And Safety

Marriage provides a useful structure for life and a safety net. While it does not guarantee love or happiness, it offers the appearance of belonging, as well as providing many things which are often sufficient for an easier life. One needs to choose a partner not based on their appearance and what they promise, but based on character and what they already bring to the table.

6. On Forgetting What You Wanted

Wanting less is a skill that can be learned with practice. A well-adjusted life is often one in which earlier desires are allowed to fade. Not everything needs to be lived. Grand adventured don't guarantee a grand life. "

That is what Miss Persephone was reminiscing about, all teared up, with pen and paper in her hands.

She wrote her manual with love and care, because after all, what is wrong with a quiet, ordinary life? Especially if that ordinary life made her happy.

And yet, she still wrapped her letter into a tiny ball, as small as she could.

Her rules might have saved her life, but they were of another century. Passing her life wisdom onto her granddaughters would do more damage than good.

Her rules would suffocate them. Her words would sound like judgment. Like warning. Like instruction to disappear.

What saved her life in another century would ruin theirs now. Miss Persephone grabbed the little paper ball, and tossed it towards the fireplace, right in the middle of the flames. She watched as it vanished.

"Some things," she said to herself, "should not be inherited."