“For pretty much my whole adult life,” he said, “I’ve been on my way somewhere or on my way back. I’ve never been in any situation without the prospect of it ending or of having to leave at a set time and even though that way of living was sometimes unpleasant, in a sense I’d become addicted to it.”
excerpt from ‘Kudos’ by Rachel Cusk
I’d like you to dwell upon this a little.
Stay.
Stir and let that thought dissolve, like the sugar in your tea.
Got something else to think about?
Somewhere else to be?
Is it easier to flit?
Are we building our life upon a factory’s production belt? When one box is packed and sealed, is it time to fill up the next? When we’ve finished a book or a movie or a series, is it time to start the next?
We know how to glide through. There’s always something else running in parallel, all we have to do is keep switching tracks. Have you ever wondered about the pace at which we live our life? Perhaps it takes courage to stay and see things through. To see the beginning, middle and the end and then stay a little longer to see what happens next.
When I came across this observation in this book, I found myself unable to proceed further. I keep going back to this confession by this character and keep thinking about what it means to live like that. This particular character is talking about being in a situation that was ticking away slowly, with no particular ending in sight. His dog is terminally ill and is in pain but no one knows how long it might take for him to die. What then, must he do? Wait? For how long? That’s when he shares this personal observation, his discomfort with the uncertainty, with the stranger he’s telling this story to.
Seen fleetingly, from a train
Seen fleetingly, from a train:
a foggy evening, strands of smoke
hanging immobile over fields,
the humid blackness of earth, the sun
almost set—against its fading shield,
far away, two dots: women in dark wraps
coming back from church perhaps, perhaps
one tells something to another, some common story,
of sinful lives perhaps—her words
distinct and simple but out of them
one could create everything
again. Keep it in memory, forever:
the sun, ploughed earth, women,
love, evening, those few words
good for the beginning, keep it all—
perhaps tomorrow we will be
somewhere else, altogether.
— Bronislaw Maj
Translated from the Polish by Czeslaw Milosz and Robert HassLife’s made up of comings and goings. One’s always arriving or leaving. We like the entrances and the exits. What happens inside a hall is better experienced when we know where the exits are — when we know where we’re headed to next. We tend to feel safer when we know there’s an exit.
I’ve been told, by someone close to me, that I tend to up and leave especially when things are going good. I thought deep and hard about this observation. Why do I get so antsy when something’s nearing its end? I’ve been able to come up with a few answers and one of it is that I don’t feel comfortable in the stillness that follows. It is also because I cannot and do not want to see how things end. There’s a lot for me to unpack here (but write to me if you have something to share!).
I also understand why people fidget or grow impatient when asked to wait. The prospect of waiting, without being told why or for how long, can be excruciating. But I think it is in the lingering that life reveals itself to us. The story unfolds during purposeless waiting, like in Waiting for Godot.
Hurry We stop at the dry cleaners and the grocery store and the gas station and the green market and Hurry up honey, I say, hurry, as she runs along two or three steps behind me her blue jacket unzipped and her socks rolled down. Where do I want her to hurry to? To her grave? To mine? Where one day she might stand all grown? Today, when all the errands are finally done, I say to her, Honey I'm sorry I keep saying Hurry— you walk ahead of me. You be the mother. And, Hurry up, she says, over her shoulder, looking back at me, laughing. Hurry up now darling, she says, hurry, hurry, taking the house keys from my hands. - Marie Howe
What are your thoughts on this? Write to me?
I also wanted to share this short video clip of a brilliant photobook that we have at Bookroom, (whose title I’ve borrowed for this letter). Jim Goldberg’s Coming and Going is an autobiography — a terrific, intimate work gifted to us.
One might feel a bit overwhelmed with the number of images in this book but there’s no denying the brilliance of it. I’ve been amazed by this book and I just can’t get enough of it! Sharing an excerpt from the publishers —
“Since 1999, Goldberg has been photographing his daily life through all its vicissitudes and returning to his studio to re-imagine and investigate these images through a practice of collage, annotation, montage, and reconstruction for which he has become renowned. This book charts a course through the grief following the death of one’s parents, the life-altering birth of a child, the heartbreak of divorce, and the rediscovery of love. Told using a correspondingly tumultuous blend of singular and combined imagery, personal notes, collages, and ephemera, the book captures the bittersweet realities of an individual life while reflecting on the universal, inescapable comings and goings that shape us and the ways we grow to understand ourselves.”
Phew! This one’s definitely a book and a movie in the form of a photobook. I am mind blown in the truest sense. Drop in, we could go through this book together! It might take more than just one sitting and we must take the time to relish such works.
Also, a reminder from my side to treat yourself. Go get that pedicure. Sit by yourself at the park and just watch the comings and the goings :) Buy yourself those pair of sunglasses you’ve always wanted. Eat that chocolate cake! (also, hydrate, hydrate, hydrate).
Until next time,
A