I’m back after a hiatus. I wrote many posts, but didn’t feel they were worth posting, which should explain the More You Know/PSA tone of this post.
T.S. Eliot’s poem Ash Wednesday begins
Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
These lines possess that same attitude that is the core of the Sisyphus’s story. Sisyphus pushes the same rock up and down a hill for eternity. We can imagine that each time the boulder reaches the top of the hill he hopes that it will rest there for a time. Instead it rolls down the other side, and for a brief moment Sisyphus is relieved, happy to have reprieve for his work. If we combine that story with the lines from Eliot, and imagine Sisyphus turning again at the bottom of the hill to push the boulder to its crest once again, we can see that Sisyphus both hopes again that this will be the last time, and that he is exhausted with the pushing. The exhaustion and doubt are the most intense at the bottom of the hill. Fresh from a moments rest he begins again, and cycles through the same emotions.
I bring up this story and lines of poetry because we face this same struggle each day. We wake each morning and have the option to turn. We wake each morning with the freedom to adopt the willingness to experience our life, or to run from it. With a decision to be willing comes great risk. These moments are not epic, these decisions do not contain the intensity of battlefield courage, but are reflected in our decision to take a pottery class, to spend a day at the record store, to draw or write for an hour even if we consider our products shit. They are the risks of enjoyment, to venture into new hobbies, ideas and communities of people despite the chain smoking elderly woman in our hearts who tells us everything is dirt and sounds like a fascist version of Diane Rehm.
Last Friday I went record shopping for the first time. A friend was nice enough to give me a record player as a graduation gift. Upon receiving it I was immediately filled with excitement. I envisioned my record buying day to rival that of any other event in my life, I would discover the music that spoke to my core, and reach new plains of musical ecstasy. These expectations were not so grandiose before the trip, but the hyperbole functions well to indicate my emotional state. When I arrived at Record Time I stepped in with the friend who had bought me the record player, and immediately was consumed with doubt and fragmentation. Who is this artist? What is good? What price bananas? My friend set out picking through the stacks for the artists familiar and unknowns, and I began the slow and arduous journey of trying to figure out where to begin and where to spend my time.
As the day pressed on, and more stores were visited, I become slightly more confident in what I was doing. I had gotten the boulder off the bottom of the hill, and my friend had let me struggle. If he helped me with the boulder something would have been lost – a different topic for another post. The important thing is that two days later I finally got the chance to listen to some of those records. I picked up about fifteen 45s of old Soul music, and some Detroit electronic music. As I sat and sipped coffee I realized what I wanted to look for next time I went out. I reaped my harvest, my labor of listening to some 70 45s paid off. All the dead ends were now fun in retrospect.
Dorthy Parker said, “I hate writing, I love having written.” In the struggle of pushing the boulder, in deciding to turn, in feeling anxious, fragmented and doubtful there is no instant gratification, but if we persevere there is reward, but it doesn’t mean we have to be Pollyanna about it. There is a moment of pure humility in this realization, that each of us sets out to attempt to find “a little present”, a slice of enjoyment. For some this could be a cup of black coffee and a slice a pie, a Drexciya record, or that chair for the living room that fits just right, after six months of searching on caigsist. Cheesy moment over, high fives to the kids, be cool stay in school.