ramble free
Feel the need to write today. About nothing specific, just to write.
I wonder what the act of writing does – psychologically. While you are writing, there is a heightened sense of belief in your thoughts, a strengthening of conviction in your feelings. There is also an evolution of existent thoughts and feelings that might not ordinarily occur.
Most important for me: there’s a withering away, whether fleeting or lasting, of self-doubt. And the thought of creating a starkish black and white, from your typically thousand shades of grey, is nice. After that, you glide back in to a kind of cognitive twilight from where you came.
The twilight is neither a dark nor claustrophobic one. In fact, it is a space without boundaries – quite different from the world of words. There are no letters and no word is set in stone. Thoughts are malleable, grammar has little to say, vocabulary is only as big as the next word, and you are free to place commas (or not) between a myriad visuals. It’s that one place where there is utter freedom of thought.
While that freedom does not vanish when you articulate something, there are certainly great constraints put on it when you do. Suddenly, you are limited by something inane – like the last preposition you used or your resistance to the semi-colon. Sometimes there comes along a metaphor; it lets you roam a bit more easily.
All this, of course, happens as you write. After you are done, there is that sweet sense of accomplishment for having been a composer. No matter how the composition turns out…
the good life
Anyone who has visited this blog more than a couple of times may have sensed my tremendous reverence for Sir Ken Robinson’s speech at the TED 2006 conference in California. A few months ago, JK Rowling delivered another wonderfully inspiring speech at a graduation ceremony at Harvard. This address by the Harry Potteress, if you will, comes extremely close to evoking the resonance created in me by Robinson.
Their themes are similar in part. The overlap lies in their descriptions of how people are typically held back from finding their talents. Robinson talks of how kids are often pushed in to doing things that they are not designed to do. This detracts from their uniqueness and leads to the feeling of having failed from within – no matter how successful they may appear to be from the outside.
JK Rowling speaks of her own experience as a mother in a financially dire situation who finally found the courage required to live her life with authenticity: She said: “So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had already been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.”
Robinson gave the example of Gillian Lynne, now a British ballerina, who was taken to a doctor when she was still in school for being miserable at her studies. The doctor was wise enough to tell her mother that her child didn’t have ADHD but that she did have the fidgetiness of a dancer. He encouraged her mother to enroll her in a dance school. In Robinson’s words: “Gillian was eventually auditioned for the Royal Ballet school. She became a soloist and had a wonderful career there. She founded her own dance company. She met Andrew Lloyd Webber. She has been responsible for some of the most successful theater productions in history. She has given pleasure to millions. And she’s a multi-millionaire. Somebody else might have put her on medication and told her to calm down.”
Bravo to both speakers!
Rowling took the idea a step ahead. She spoke of how getting in touch with ourselves then helps us to get in touch with others. She talked about how it enables us to use our power of imagination to empathize with those less fortunate than us. That, most beautifully, is her definition of a good life – which is what she eventually wished upon the graduating class of 2008.
I have always thought that “the good life” is not one in which you have acquired material things and been a conventional success, but one in which you have been true to yourself; it is the only way in which you can be true to others. Believe me, I know how tough it is. But I also deeply feel how vital it is, not just for our own wellbeing but also for that of those around us; for our children, our spouses, our families, our employers, our employees, our countries, our world – whether strangers or friends.
Finally, Rowling had an important point to make for the youth of ’superpower’ America – which figures in this moving excerpt from her speech.
“Amnesty International mobilises thousands of people who have never been tortured or imprisoned for their beliefs to act on behalf of those who have. The power of human empathy, leading to collective action, saves lives, and frees prisoners. Ordinary people, whose personal well-being and security are assured, join together in huge numbers to save people they do not know, and will never meet. My small participation in that process was one of the most humbling and inspiring experiences of my life.
Unlike any other creature on this planet, humans can learn and understand, without having experienced. They can think themselves into other people’s minds, imagine themselves into other people’s places.
Of course, this is a power, like my brand of fictional magic, that is morally neutral. One might use such an ability to manipulate, or control, just as much as to understand or sympathise.
And many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are. They can refuse to hear screams or to peer inside cages; they can close their minds and hearts to any suffering that does not touch them personally; they can refuse to know.
I might be tempted to envy people who can live that way, except that I do not think they have any fewer nightmares than I do. Choosing to live in narrow spaces can lead to a form of mental agoraphobia, and that brings its own terrors. I think the wilfully unimaginative see more monsters. They are often more afraid.
What is more, those who choose not to empathise may enable real monsters. For without ever committing an act of outright evil ourselves, we collude with it, through our own apathy.
One of the many things I learned at the end of that Classics corridor down which I ventured at the age of 18, in search of something I could not then define, was this, written by the Greek author Plutarch: What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.
That is an astonishing statement and yet proven a thousand times every day of our lives. It expresses, in part, our inescapable connection with the outside world, the fact that we touch other people’s lives simply by existing.
But how much more are you, Harvard graduates of 2008, likely to touch other people’s lives? Your intelligence, your capacity for hard work, the education you have earned and received, give you unique status, and unique responsibilities. Even your nationality sets you apart. The great majority of you belong to the world’s only remaining superpower. The way you vote, the way you live, the way you protest, the pressure you bring to bear on your government, has an impact way beyond your borders. That is your privilege, and your burden.
If you choose to use your status and influence to raise your voice on behalf of those who have no voice; if you choose to identify not only with the powerful, but with the powerless; if you retain the ability to imagine yourself into the lives of those who do not have your advantages, then it will not only be your proud families who celebrate your existence, but thousands and millions of people whose reality you have helped transform for the better. We do not need magic to change the world, we carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better.”
Hear hear! Powerful thoughts and words indeed.
speak for america
I haven’t warmed up to Obama yet, even though I am for the most part fine with his politics. Even so, I resonated with Clinton even less, and was relieved when Obama was the one nominated.
I watched his speech at the Democratic National Convention a few days ago and was not as moved as some of my friends in the US. (Of course, I do not currently reside there, and maybe that partially affects how I received it.) See I thought that while he was good, his speech lacked a real power to motivate the listener. He was too composed and his demeanor was aloof. His words had integrity but lacked drama, an aspect necessary to win this election. Where did his gifted speaking skills go?
In contrast, Palin’s speech at the Republican National Convention was way more dynamic. It drew the audience in with its conviction, humor, and strategy. Kudos to her speechwriters. Don’t get me wrong – it made me continually livid. (For example, when she alluded to the “fact” that even though America is still under catastrophic threat from Al Qaeda terrorists, Obama wants to read them their rights!) The same anger that I felt when I lived in the States not too long ago – at the warmongering that is condoned.
But an impassioned speech or two is imperative to swinging this election! I heard both speeches with a sinking feeling. From a persuasion perspective, I have a strong sense that it is the McCain-Palin ticket that will win this election of ambivalence.
All I can say is: PLEASE VOTE.
tell the story
I’ve been reading about writing, if only to procrastinate.
I find it hard to actually sit down and begin to write a story. Except for a short one I wrote in Austin, which was fun but not particularly good if I may add, and the odd composition in school, I have not delved in to fiction very much. You see the scientificist ( 
) in me won’t allow it.
Excuses, excuses.
So I came across a tips-for-amateur-storytellers type website out there. It said: Open a book at random. Write down the first sentence you see. Now tell the story from there.
Here goes then.
The loneliness was still there, but it was getting louder and easier to dance to.
Wow.
ditch it
I’ve grown certain that the root cause of lack of fulfillment – and the sense of futility that goes with it – is fear. (Needless to say, I’ve been in a contemplative phase for the last couple of weeks.) To live life with authenticity is tough, especially in the smoke-and-mirrors world this often is. And underneath the fear of being true to yourself lie the fears of failure and rejection. They make us give in to the status quo, to not speak our minds, and to not bring to any situation what we might uniquely bring, in their absence.
It is very early on in our lives that we become afraid of being wrong or looking stupid or feeling inferior. These are very real and very human fears, and once they set in, discovering who we really are becomes an uphill battle. We lie to ourselves and others, we hide and we hurt, we deny and we demean. We all do; it’s not a question of if but how much.
Now consider the flip side. Is courage the absence of fear? Seems to me it’s more like courage is simply the acknowledgment of fear. Once you admit to a fear, it tends to lose its bite, which is liberating. You gradually become free to be aware, free to not unthinkingly conform, free to be and believe in yourself. (One of my great fears is of being perceived as too idealistic and only very recently have I begun to confront it.)
I recently came across a related and rather neat quote by Nietzsche: Fear is the mother of morality. That got me thinking about how rarely we find ourselves doing what feels right – not what we are told is right, or what is generally considered right, but what intuitively feels right deep down to us. If we could make more of a habit of it, then we might have no use of the so-called morality that often leads to brashness towards ourselves and others. I deeply believe that being gentle is part of being brave, and requires even more of those proverbial guts. Think not just about us as individuals, but also about how we behave collectively – for example countries that are at war…
I know I am rambling, guess it’s because I’m not used to doing this. I tend to avoid getting too personal on this blahg – perhaps in the fear that I will be judged as childish and over-emotional or even worse as boring. (All this fear, my being a psychologist notwithstanding!) But this is how I feel and this subject is at my core. So hear hear then, here’s to facing fears. Slowly but surely, even if just a fraction of one at a time. Good night. =)
a thought
“Writing is a form of personal freedom. It frees us from the mass identity we see in the making all around us. In the end, writers will write not to be outlaw heroes of some underculture but mainly to … survive as individuals.”
This is a quote from Don Delillio, a writer born in 1926 in NYC. It brings to mind how important the sense of individuality that develops when you write is. And I think it explains why I deeply feel that everyone should regularly write (albeit merely the perspective of the social psychologist in me). See it’s tough to make make too many assumptions when you write, which in turn sparks freedom of thought.
But there’s one more thing I realize as I blog about this: while writing may be highly individualistic, the act of publishing, no matter how small the scale, is distinctly collectivistic. It is an effort for your thoughts to be known - and this involves not just yourself but virtual strangers. Writing for others sparks freedom of speech. (Call this bit the social activist in me if you will.)
Okay, so I’m not sure what my point exactly is, but I needed to put this down, if only for starters. A somewhat-related article I read in the New York Times today deals with the fascinating interaction between our language and our thoughts. Here it is. (If you don’t already have an account, you may have to sign up for NY Times, but it’s simple, free, and very worth it.)
velleity
Came across a cool ‘new’ word today. It’s pronounced vull-ay-it-ee.
2 : a slight wish or tendency : inclination
sublime
i did my best, it wasn’t much
i could not feel, so I tried to touch
i’ve told the truth, i didn’t come to fool ya
and even though it all went wrong
i’ll stand before the lord of song
with nothing on my tongue but hallelujah
- leonard cohen
here’s all of the song in a breathtaking rendition by kd lang…
godspeed
“In the depth of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.” … Tennyson
semicolon untrashed
A thoroughly enjoyable piece by Sam Roberts from the NYTimes. Here, for your reading pleasure, is ‘Celebrating the Semicolon in a Most Unlikely Location.’
It was nearly hidden on a New York City Transit public service placard exhorting subway riders not to leave their newspaper behind when they get off the train.
“Please put it in a trash can,” riders are reminded. After which Neil Neches, an erudite writer in the transit agency’s marketing and service information department, inserted a semicolon. The rest of the sentence reads, “that’s good news for everyone.”
Semicolon sightings in the city are unusual, period, much less in exhortations drafted by committees of civil servants. In literature and journalism, not to mention in advertising, the semicolon has been largely jettisoned as a pretentious anachronism.
Americans, in particular, prefer shorter sentences without, as style books advise, that distinct division between statements that are closely related but require a separation more prolonged than a conjunction and more emphatic than a comma.
“When Hemingway killed himself he put a period at the end of his life,” Kurt Vonnegut once said. “Old age is more like a semicolon.”
In terms of punctuation, semicolons signal something New Yorkers rarely do. Frank McCourt, the writer and former English teacher at Stuyvesant Hish School, describes the semicolon as the yellow traffic light of a “New York sentence.” In response, most New Yorkers accelerate; they don’t pause to contemplate.
Semicolons are supposed to be introduced into the curriculum of the New York City public schools in the third grade. That is where Mr. Neches, the 55-year-old New York City Transit marketing manager, learned them, before graduating from Tilden High School and Brooklyn College, where he majored in English and later received a master’s degree in creative writing.
But, whatever one’s personal feelings about semicolons, some people don’t use them because they never learned how.
In fact, when Mr. Neches was informed by a supervisor that a reporter was inquiring about who was responsible for the semicolon, he was concerned.
“I thought at first somebody was complaining,” he said.
One of the school system’s most notorious graduates, David Berkowitz, the Son of Sam serial killer who taunted police and the press with rambling handwritten notes, was, as the columnist Jimmy Breslin wrote, the only murderer he ever encountered who could wield a semicolon just as well as a revolver. (Mr. Berkowitz, by the way, is now serving an even longer sentence.)
But the rules of grammar are routinely violated on both sides of the law.
People have lost fortunes and even been put to death because of imprecise punctuation involving semicolons in legal papers. In 2004, a court in San Francisco rejected a conservative group’s challenge to a statute allowing gay marriage because the operative phrases were separated incorrectly by a semicolon instead of by the proper conjunction.
Louis Menand, an English professor at Harvard and a staff writer at The New Yorker, pronounced the subway poster’s use of the semicolon to be “impeccable.”
Lynne Truss, author of “Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation,” called it a “lovely example” of proper punctuation.
Geoffrey Nunberg, a professor of linguistics at the University of California, Berkeley, praised the “burgeoning of punctuational literacy in unlikely places.”
Allan M. Siegal, a longtime arbiter of New York Times style before retiring, opined, “The semicolon is correct, though I’d have used a colon, which I think would be a bit more sophisticated in that sentence.”
The linguist Noam Chomsky sniffed, “I suppose Bush would claim it’s the effect of No Child Left Behind.”
New York City Transit’s unintended agenda notwithstanding, e-mail messages and text-messaging may jeopardize the last vestiges of semicolons. They still live on, though, in emoticons, those graphic emblems of our grins, grimaces and other facial expressions.
The semicolon, befittingly, symbolizes a wink.
