Ordinary life was laced with miracles, I knew that, had read enough poetry to understand that we are elevated with the knowing, and yet it was difficult to notice and be grateful when one was continually fatigued and irritated. I suppose that unquenchable sense of wonder is what separates us dolts from the saints and the poets. This was the lesson, perhaps, that I was sent to learn: the old life was worth having at any expense.
– Jane Hamilton, A Map of the World
Where is the line between being gentle with myself and not trying hard enough? I have never been able to reliably locate that border. At all. When I wrote about a difficult yoga practice one, and the realization that what I want in this life might be summed up in one word – ease – someone commented that maybe a gritted-teeth practice might not lead me where I want to go.
And of course, of course, that’s true. But on the other hand, doesn’t the road to transcendence wind through a jungle of sometimes-scary hard work? That’s what I always thought. I’m prone to give up before something gets truly hard – this is especially germane in the physical realm. People have always told me I’m disciplined, and I’m complimented when I hear that, but inside my head a little voice says: oh if only you knew. All I can hear is a loud la-la-la and litany of all the times I haven’t done as much or gone as far as I think I should have.
Is this just another version of imposter syndrome?
The truth is I don’t know. When I was a child I used to be fascinated by the idea of relative pain. For example, when I have a crushing headache, would that be something another person would brush off, or something that would send them to the ER? I did not know, and I still don’t. Of course what I do know now is it doesn’t matter, because all we have is our own experience to calibrate (and, for the record, I now relate everything to the pain of my 38 hour unmedicated labor with a posterior baby, which functions as a pretty unshakeable 10 on the 0-10 pain scale).
The question of being kind vs. giving up is like this, I think. It’s so personal, so subjective, the only relevant data we have is our own. It feels like letting myself off the hook to not want to hold bridge for the extra 5 seconds, and I’m often disappointed in myself when I come down. Or when I go to sleep rather than writing another page. How do I figure out if this is the precise gentleness I need in a moment or if I should have pushed myself further? I genuinely don’t know the answer.
How do I ascertain when I need to go and when I need to stop? When to push and when to ease up? What it is to be softer with myself?
These days, it seems like I cross a threshold every day with my children. Last this, first that, yes, yes, and yes.
This summer, for the first time, Grace began recommending books to me. First, she suggested that I read Wonder by R.J. Palacio. I was resistant (I don’t know why) and she kept insisting that I’d love it. Finally I read it. I loved it. We talked about it at length and still refer to Auggie all the time.
This month, both Grace and Whit recommended that I read The One and Only Ivan by Katherine Applegate. I read it. I loved it. All three of us talked about it, and I applauded them for suggesting to me such a great book (books, in the case of Grace).
And last week we had a long conversation about books. About what we love and what we don’t and why certain books really appeal to certain people. I told them that the ability to recommend a good book to someone else is a quality I very much appreciate in a friend, and something I was proud to see that they were both developing. I also told them that it’s one of the things I love most, when others ask me for book suggestions.
It’s not a secret that I love to read. I can’t even count how many posts I’ve written about books, reading, quotes, authors. When I enumerated the ten things I most wanted Grace to know when she turned ten, one of them was “reading is essential.” And for me, it is. So part of my pride when Grace and Whit suggest books to me is that I know they too are finding this passionate attachment to the world of literature.
But it’s more than that, too. It’s about the desire to share good books and the wish to make sure powerful words and stories are read by as many people as possible. Any evidence that my children are beginning to understand the importance and value of stories makes me happy. As Dorothy Allison says in Two or Three Things I Know For Sure:
Two or three things I know for sure, and one of them is that to go on living I have to tell stories, that stories are the one sure way I know to touch the heart and change the world.
I share this conviction. And when people ask me for a book recommendation, I feel like I’m sharing this belief in a small way. So it makes me happier than I can express to see my children beginning to do the same.
Do you believe in the story? Do you like to suggest books to other people? What are you reading right now?
And who shall say – whatever disenchantment follows – that we ever forget magic, or that we can ever betray, on this leaden earth, the apple tree, the singing, and the gold?
– Thomas Wolfe