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Sunday, July 29, 2012

My "one thing"

"Maybe the two different worlds we lived in weren't so different. We saw the same sunset."
— The Outsiders

Sarah Wilson conducted a series of Q & A's on her blog last year, dedicated to showcasing her interviewees' "one thing". The "one thing" that drives them, warms their heart and makes them spring out of bed each morning. 

Similarly, Ryan Gosling gave a beautiful description of his character, Noah, in The Notebook:

The character is somebody who really just, like, a one guy. He has one friend, and one girl, and one parent now... and there is something beautiful about that.

I have always wondered... What would be my "one thing"? I like so many things, have so many ideas and hopes for my life, that it would be hard to whittle it all down to one. 

After a lot of thought, I distilled my "thing" to people and their stories, which extends to love, connectivity, universality and truth. It's why I love to read; it's why I am drawn to writing. I am in love with - and driven by - the idea that people are all made of the same stuff. Whether they live completely different lives, across the world from each other, hundreds of years apart... they are the same, deep down. That's why reading can be so powerful - it intimately connects our shared thoughts and emotions, our universal longings, over time and space. It makes us feel less alone. And I desire, in my own small way, to make those connections, weaving words and stories to tap into that universality that binds us all together.

As always, Haruki Murakami says it with poetic imagery:

She waited for the train to pass. Then she said, "I sometimes think that people’s hearts are like deep wells. Nobody knows what’s at the bottom. All you can do is imagine by what comes floating to the surface every once in a while."

It turns out that I am more of a "one" girl than I thought. I have one man, one dog, (thankfully, more than one friend and parent) and now, one thing. And although nothing has changed, I feel less daunted. 

Monday, July 16, 2012

Nothing's real but love


Last month, I had scare. It was just that, so there's no need to go into details, but it was significant, because it was one of those scares during which, for that moment in time, life as you know it hangs in the balance, under a microscope, in a  stark, unflattering,  unfamiliar light, begging questions such as: Where am I at in my life? What have I done with it? What do I have to show for myself? Am I happy? What do I love? What matters to me? What makes my heart sing? What do I want my life to be? Am I on the way there? Or on another path altogether?

It's moments like these, and questions like these, that whittle life down to what is really important. 

Neil deGrasse Tyson sums it up beautifully: 

I am driven by two main philosophies, know more today about the world than I knew yesterday. And lessen the suffering of others. You'd be surprised how far this gets you. 

I'd have to tack on a third, less noble, more selfish motivation: to find and partake in love, in its many forms and faces.

Since that moment, I have acquired my much longed-for puppy. I re-instigated my book writing venture. I bought fitness clothes. (OK, my investment in a life of wellness may have stalled there but... baby steps!) I chipped away at my "to read" mountain of books, feasting on art and words and knowledge. And, most significantly, I became engaged to be married to the man I love.

There are other things I want, of course. Like to learn to cook and play the cello and get a bicycle and countless other things... but they are not essential to my happiness. Time and resources are finite, so I have to prioritise. I have to choose - distinguish - what is really important, to me.

It has dawned on me that I have, slowly but surely, been closing the gap between the wanting - the state of longing - and the becoming, the getting. I am emerging from limbo, a floating dream-state of lists and aspirations and rhetoric, and reaching a place where the earth feels firm beneath my feet. The world is not spinning beneath me; I am traipsing upon it.

Monday, July 9, 2012

She did love me


I don't really know exactly what I want to say here. But I want to share.. I have been reading stories, looking at pictures, listening to songs made by heartbroken men. I don't really know why they touch me so deeply. Of course men love. Of course they are tortured by heartache when that love is lost. Of course they long for the happy times, desperately. But somehow, it is refreshing to know... for sure.

It is brave for a woman to speak from her heart, but it takes even more courage for a man to do so. As bell hooks says: "The first act of violence that patriarchy demands of males is not violence toward women. Instead patriarchy demands of all males that they engage in acts of psychic self-mutilation, that they kill off the emotional parts of themselves. If an individual is not successful in emotionally crippling himself, he can count on patriarchal men to enact rituals of power that will assault his self-esteem." So let's celebrate and cherish these acts of bravery, art, rebellion, beauty and love.

"she stuck a bookmark 
in my heart 
and walked away"
— Saul Williams

Sunday, July 1, 2012

Striking the chord

I am lucky enough to have found love early and unexpectedly.

Yet I share John Mayer's fear: 

Sometimes I’m scared I’ll find my soul mate, and they’ll want nothing to do with me.

Soul mates are not just lovers, but also friends; kindred spirits who can talk about everything for days on end, who share a special connection, an unconditional love and respect for each other. I am always looking to find kindred spirits with whom to share my life (ever since reading Anne of Green Gables, of course). But what if my kindred spirits... don't like me? What if, because of my flaws - my shyness, self-consciousness, uninteresting-ness - a potentially wonderful friendship falls flat on the floor?

Sometimes that fear can be personified in trying-too-hard. Just see how funny and smart and impressive I am! Unfortunately the trying presents as a wall; a certain coldness, a front that stalls a real, earthy foundation upon which to build a true, heartfelt, rewarding friendship.

I recently read a quote by photographer Cecil Beaton, recalling his first meeting with Audrey Hepburn 1954:

...without any of the preliminaries I felt that she cut through to a basic understanding that makes people friends. Nothing had to be explained: we liked one another. A chord had been stuck and I knew that, next time we met, we would continue straight from here with no recapitulation of formalities. This was a unique occasion.

Cecil reminded me that a blossoming friendship is not dependent upon making oneself seem attractive to others. It is about being warm and accepting, and welcoming those who cross our paths with open arms.  Shedding layers, rather than donning them. Because it's the not trying - the effortlessness - that makes a friendship sing.

"Your heart and my heart
are very, very old friends."
— Hafiz 

This is a photograph of Alain Delon & Romy Schneider, circa 1961.
 
 
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