Letters from an unlikely friendship
Where I offer Samuél my thoughts on anxieties for the future...
This is Part 3 of a 4-part letter exchange between two writers - Samuél and me - who, despite inhabiting two different worlds, generations and continents, found a kindred spirit. Do read the previous two letters before you read this one.
Here are links to all the letters, including ones that Samuél and I’ve already exchanged:
Letter 1 | Letter 2 | Letter 3 (this one) | Letter 4 (coming soon)
Dear Samuél,
I enjoyed your thoughtful response, and also your essay about how an extreme moralism is often the root of much evil. There is so much there, but more on the latter in another post…
For now I wanted to get back to your thoughts on grief. We all fear it, such is the price of being human. Somehow, and it goes better on some days than others, we have to make peace with it. Because if we chose to love then we put ourselves at risk of grief. In fact grief is simply the other side of having loved. So there’s no escape. Except perhaps in death or in a loveless existence which would hardly be worthwhile. So that's a consolation I can offer — to myself as well. I need it almost daily.
Having offered that, I’m pretty sure you’ll do just fine when you're faced with grief. It just takes longer than we realize or want to accommodate in our hyper-productivity-focused lives. And it forces me to be more patient than I naturally am. It has had other benefits, for example of making me just a bit more conscious of the suffering of others; I acknowledge that somewhat grudgingly, I might add, because I’m not brave enough to choose such pain for the cause of self-improvement!
In any case, the good news is we’re mostly made of tougher stuff than we realize and the unique human alchemy, from where springs hope even in the direst of circumstances, is where we somehow find the strength—and curiously or a thirst for joy —to go on from the depths of loss. Having said that and because I've lived a couple decades longer ;-), there are a few practices that have helped me. Allow me the temerity to offer these to you, my much younger friend — but also feel free to heartily ignore it all.
One is to be radically PRESENT. As much as possible, and especially any and every time that you think you should be elsewhere. Take lots of photos and videos of loved ones, especially of children and beloved animals. And nature. Trees, especially trees. They somehow parallel our lives and states and seasons and moods. They do for me. You may have to find a different muse.
Secondly, offer a daily GRATITUDE for the big stuff and for something tiny from the day. Sometimes openly. There is a lot of talk of this, some of it a bit over the top, so I won’t belabor it. You’re a wise one so you know what this means in the best sense.
Don't fight REGRET too hard. Let it come, let it be. A sage friend upon observing me rue lost opportunities once advised me: There’s always regret. And so what? If you're already acting to make things better then say no more. Because to live as human is to have regret. See it as the-future-you coming back to give you directions. Accept with grace and go!
You talk with a maturity about your parents that's greater than your years suggest. You also exhibit a great LOVE for them. Tell them! Whenever you talk to them. I did this with my mother on every single phone call to India and it gives me great happiness now when I think about it. This of course goes for all those you love. It's a clichè — and it works.
I hope some of these ring true to you.
Meanwhile, I hear your questions about how much solitude vs. sharing to allow in protection of our creative endeavors. Damned, if I know! I struggle with it because I’m by nature a variety seeker, I love people and entertaining, and am easily distracted by too many interests. My friends will tell you. So for now I try to simply measure any progress vs. perfection, hoping I’ll find a rhythm for the longer haul.
I suspect that's not very helpful but that's me. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts.
Best,
Reena
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