JEAN-PAUL PELISSIER

Cycling in the rain is one way to make you appreciate life anew.

A few weeks ago I did something I would never normally do: I cycled back from work in a torrential downpour... on purpose. I could have jumped on a bus, but instead, I decided to offer myself up to nature's wrath via a bone-rattling rental bike. And yes, it was horrible, the needle-sharp rain pricking my cheeks, a relentless horizontal gale turning exposed extremities to ice; with every passing bus a tidal wave of brown gutter water dousing me in misery. By the time I arrived home, frozen to the core, I felt like bursting into tears. In a way I wish I had, because it would have made what followed even more delicious.

The misery I had just endured was all part of a plan to inject some much-needed perspective into my relatively trouble-free existence. Sure, I have the usual 21st century anxieties mortgage repayments, what I'm going to have for dinner, the futility of existence but compared with the hardship and struggle that plagued previous generations, I'm like a pampered poodle. Or, as they say in northern England:"I don't know I'm born."

And therein lies the problem and the reason for my masochistic cycle ride: when you "don't know you're born", you don't know you're alive. In theory we should be exceedingly grateful that many of us no longer have to worry about where our next meal is coming from or whether we might freeze to death through lack of heat, but it is only by experiencing and overcoming such hardships that we are able to fully appreciate the good stuff.

When our needs are constantly being met, we lose sight of who we are and become over-entitled, grumpy and dissatisfied. We forget that overcoming obstacles not only gives life purpose and meaning, but also offers us precious snippets of fulfilment with each battle won. Despite our fragility, we humans are remarkably resilient creatures but every now and then we need to be reminded of that, or we become complacent. It may be a clichebut we really do have to experience darkness in order to appreciate light.

The Greek philosopher Epicurus taught us that real pleasure comes not from acquisition but from the removal of pain and I can certainly attest to that. Who knew that the removal of sopping socks could elicit such intense pleasure or that a simple hot shower could feel like a sousing from God? And I can't begin to describe the bliss of wrapping myself in a warm dressing gown, glass of whisky in hand, as my frozen extremities tingled back to life.

None of these little shudders of joy would have been possible without having first put myself through the grinder. So now, every day, I try to throw myself in the way of some unpleasantness or other so that I might emerge on the other side smiling. I like to think that a gratification deferred is a gratification earned.

Take nature for instance. Although I adore the natural world, I was becoming blaseto her beauty; I'd stopped noticing the majesty of trees, the wonder of birdsong, the lilting landscape. Familiarity hadn't bred contempt exactly, but it had certainly bred indifference.

Last weekend, before heading to the country for my weekly hike, I spent the afternoon in a grotty part of my home city,surrounded by bleak industrial estates and grey concrete tower blocks; when I did finally make it back to nature the following morning everything appeared more vivid the greens were greener, the trees more fantastical and the birdsong sweeter. Clinical psychologist and psychoanalyst Stephen Blumenthal understands the importance of my "forced perspective". He sees a lot of depression and anxiety, especially in men, and believes that material and sensory abundance can have a numbing effect on the human psyche.

"When we no longer have to struggle for things, we lose motivation and our capacity for joy. Human beings need hurdles to overcome in order to feel renewed," he tells me. It is also worth remembering George Bernard Shaw's advice to "choose the line of greatest advantage instead of yielding in the direction of least resistance".

I'm not suggesting masochism as a road to nirvana, but there are lots of little adjustments we can make to roughen things up a bit, just enough so that we don't become numb to life's little elations.

My own light bulb moment came a few months ago when I realised how little I was enjoying food, due to a long period of overindulgence and under-appreciation, which prompted me to change my habits.

These days many of us eat simply out of boredom, or because we're used to it: food is so plentiful that mealtimes are often just a way to break up the monotony of the day. When was the last time you felt gut-gnawingly hungry? Most of us plough through three meals a day with plenty of snacking time in between, meaning we simply don't have time to feel hunger, which is a shame because food tastes so much more delicious when you deprive yourself a little.

I used to be in such a hurry to get through mealtimes I'd often forget to chew, which meant I missed out on the most pleasurable part of eating. But not any more. Once or twice a week I purposely skip breakfast or lunch or both, not because I've signed up to some faddy diet, but because it makes dinner so much tastier.

I actually look forward to mealtimes now rather than just going through the motions. You could even take it further by fasting once a week and drastically reducing portion size. I guarantee your enjoyment of even the humblest of food will increase dramatically.

Epicurus urged moderation for the maximisation of pleasure, understanding that once you strip away all the excess guff, our needs are remarkably modest pleasure is finite, after all. And if you don't believe me, try an all-you-can-eat restaurant and see how it makes you feel.

The Telegraph, London

Read more here:
The secret of happiness is doing something you hate - Stuff.co.nz