Maggie Nelson’s memoir about, among other things, the color blue was one of the books I most looked forward to rereading all through 2017.
I’ve mentioned before how the surest sign I’ve enjoyed a book is if I go out and read more of the author’s work – let’s call this ‘the second helping’ rule. In the case of Bluets, you could say I cleared off the entire table – all I have left is Women, The New York School, and Other True Abstractions, a book I
I’ve also noted how any book that inspired me to write something must have meant something – this post from the early days of TOA is evidence of how Bluets fit this particular criteria.
From this recent re-reading, I was struck by a number of simple observations. One I enjoyed was the realization that some of our most treasured objects come to us completely out of the blue. These unexpected gifts we stumble across in our daily routines refute the insistence that we always know what we want. The temptation of being in control is significant but in the origin stories of how we first came into contact with the objects we eventually cherish is a lesson – instead of seeking out what to acquire next, look for activities that put us in the path of spontaneity and serendipity.
A darker yet more interesting note acknowledged the temptation to be jealous of the suffering or sadness others have overcome. I’m not sure this is a thought I would have taken down had it not spoken to some of my experiences but, well, there you go, reader, breaking news is that sometimes I’ve been a jealous little monster, too. I’m not referring to anything cruel here, reader, just simpler thoughts like I would have played through that injury or I would have tried to rebuild instead of moving on or I would have gone up and said something. Tucked away under all of this, of course, is the quiet reality - we're probably all going to go through it, at one point or another - and maybe this jealousy reflects the sense of wanting to 'just get it over with' that I've come to know so well over the years (1).
What all these thoughts share is the singular focus on my own perspective and, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve thankfully cultivated the ability to see things from more points of view. As Nelson points out in a different context, a liar who wouldn’t have lied doesn’t exist. In the same way, a fellow human who would have done something the way I would have done it doesn’t really exist, either, except in the restless corners of my imagination, and understanding this is undoubtedly evidence of my own expanding empathy.
I take responsibilities for these thoughts and temptations from my past but I don’t think I’ll feel this way again. Part of this is a reflection of my personal growth. Having suffered my own share of losses, disappointments, and setbacks in recent years, I know that moments of great sadness or suffering allow us only to do what we can. I also suspect I’ve reversed some of society’s negative conditioning in terms of how to approach these matters (a topic I cover in more detail below) and as I’ve come to discover myself in terms of how I relate to others in suffering, I find the temptation referenced earlier has given way to more pragmatic thinking centered on determining what I’m able to do (2).
A final thought I enjoyed from Bluets is best left in the author’s own words – loneliness is solitude with a problem.
One up: I was delighted to see in Bluets some connections to the ideas I especially liked from some of my other recent reading. In reference to the process of writing an emotionally draining passage, Nelson observes how the grief or shock or joy an author feels at the time of writing soon gets lost as the words disappear in the flow of the work. It reminded me of the observation Tobias Wolfe made in his introduction for Andre Dubus’s Broken Vessels – a gifted writer expresses shock, rage, and grief through meticulously detailed observation.
I also enjoyed the admittedly looser connections back to my own writing. Longtime readers will surely recall this rather confounding post about indigo – one of its main themes (editor’s note: ‘themes’) was how indigo is a color we simply never hear about. Well, reader, I suppose ‘we’ in the previous remark is not inclusive of those who’ve read Bluets as Nelson makes several references to the forgotten color throughout. One note I took down on the matter referenced how indigo blue was once called the devil’s dye. My intelligence broadened by this trivial fact, perhaps I should reconsider my opinion that indigo deserves greater prominence in the coming years (3).
One down: As mentioned above, I’m skeptical about society’s strategies for dealing with grief. I’m sure I’ve shared my (sarcastic) endorsement of companies that offer to extend up to a full week of bereavement leave, for example. But the widespread acceptance of such policies does reflect how most people approach their hardships with a renewed commitment to staying busy, perhaps with an eye on full distraction, and resigned to relying on time to do a lot of the work required for healing, recovering, and moving on.
And yet, I do think we should find more time for grief. Nelson brought this sentiment to mind (and I’m inclined to suggest she shares my view) when she referenced President Bush’s suggestion that time for grieving 9/11 had passed. These comments were made on September 21, 2001. I’ll note for you math wizards out there, that’s ten full days of grief – one day for every two hundred people, just over seven minutes for each person – who perished in the terrorist attack. Good grief, indeed.
One of Nelson’s thoughts I definitely agreed with was how rejecting the hierarchy of grief is a form of enlightenment. Loss is loss, I suspect, and I notice varying understanding of this fact in my hospice volunteering. For those experienced in grief and loss, there is no hierarchy, just a shared knowledge that people are standing in uncharted territory and an empathic commitment to helping them find their way back.
The power of life, the will to live, the joy of existence - these are forces that are near impossible to contain. For Nelson, suicide is therefore only possible by ambush or by a long-term suppression of these forces. The challenge presented by her ‘ambush’ point of view is beyond my limited perspective; the task to reverse another’s suppressed zest for life is one anyone can take on by bringing their fullest self to the task of being present with another.
Just saying: I suspect one reason people struggle to talk with those who are grieving is a form of sympathy – at some level, people know saying the wrong thing will be hurtful, perhaps violent. Those who suspect they might hurt someone with their words are, perhaps, well advised to steer clear of those still writhing in pain from their most recent loss.
The default for many is to use common clichés and empty phrases with those who are still struggling with pain or loss. I think these expressions have tremendous value to help break the silence during a difficult time. But using these platitudes to try and explain events to someone who is in pain feels like a step too far for me. I agree with Nelson in this one, in fact – framing the worst that can happen to another as a 'learning opportunity' or whatever else is a form of violence. As she asks in Bluets - what spiritual lesson is so important to learn from becoming a quadriplegic?
I’m remind here of an Emerson quote Nelson uses in Bluets – I grieve that grief can teach me nothing – it strikes me that perhaps suffering, too, suffers from its inability to always impart wisdom on the hurt.
Footnotes / just get it over with, an example / a potshot at the zen-sei / there is a thing called ‘zen hospice’, fyi / pleased to meet you, hope you guessed my name...
1. This also applied to grueling workouts for team sports…
A loosely related example I thought about comes from how I used to feel when I was in the latter half of a test-taking group. I might see people finish up ahead of me and think – ah, lucky them – even though we all were taking the same test and, therefore, going to endure the same struggle. It didn’t matter if I was well-prepared or if I hadn’t studied at all – I always felt the same way, exemplifying the ethos of just getting it over with each time.
In these moments, it didn’t matter that we all on the same choppy sea, coming from the same port, headed for the same dock. It just mattered that my boat was a little further behind, that I could see my companions stepping onto shore while I was still bobbing among the waves. I suppose in a certain way I was being ‘fully present’ in these moments but suspect this isn’t what the local zen-sei means by the idea…
2. Another Dubus reference?
Andre Dubus – mentioned in the main post just after this footnote – once commented on how people often do not stop to help others in need simply because they do not know what to do. It’s a good instinct, I think, but makes me wonder why we do so little to teach people what to do. Surely, our educational system has some room to teach techniques for helping students learn the best ways to support the depressed and communicate with the suffering?
I guess this goes back to a post from months ago where I
3. I heard he offers favorable terms, at least…
The other option here is to become more satanic, I guess. The devil’s dye!
