On face-to-face interaction, smoothing our rough edges, and fighting feelings
Dear Sarah,
It’s a treat to write you a letter this week while we’re in close proximity with each other. It’s a different kind of layering — seeing, talking, writing. Usually I’d share a bit about what I’m thinking, what I’ve been thinking in the past week, and this week is out of the ordinary, a week of intense face-to-face and social time. During weeks like this I feel that I’m thinking and storing my ideas away for later, packing boxes tight and stacking them in storage for review and consideration in the future. The important thing is to remember that the boxes are there, not to store them so deep in the dusty attic that you forget you ever had them in the first place. I’ve recently tucked a significant portion of my actual life-objects away into a storage space for the next number of months, and it’s currently refreshing — a time to remove these things from my field of vision, give the eyes and mind a break for a bit, then reintroduce the objects (some of them?) in a new context and see how they are, how they look now, how they look in a new space.
In our letters so far we’ve done a bit of back and forth, reading and responding, picking up the threads and drawing them forward. Last week our letters felt like they were converging in a way; though we wrote them separately, I felt that they were resonant with each other, intersecting and crossing over like the strands of a braid. This week I’m away from the newest place I call home, out of Minnesota in another country and thinking about what it means to be Midwestern, and what it means to be nice, and what it means not to maintain that niceness in situations that may not deserve it. I’m thinking about our first letters in which the idea of resignation was front of mind, and the idea of relief in my cosmic insignificance. Of course we’re still here together on this earth, and our daily unit is human interaction, human to human. Nice is nice but when is being nice a form of resignation, a constant smoothing over, covering up someone else’s rough edges, bending to accept someone’s actions again and again, and why? It’s easy sometimes to gloss over the small things — the unit is human and the unit is also time, the 24-hour day, and it takes energy every second whether you’re endlessly smoothing things over or whether you’re stopping, saying No, this time I’m not going to smooth your rough edges, that’s for you to work on, and how does that actually feel?
We’ve spent human time together this week and it’s been a different way of peeling away layers, spoken words flowing out faster and differently than the hands can write or even type. Perhaps it is a function of the human body and brain that it is a challenge to record in writing, at speed, something that could be said in a fleeting moment.
It’s been a week for gathering thoughts and memories and tucking them away for awhile, and this letter on this late evening feels a bit like a hand rubbed against a foggy window, peering at the ideas beyond the glass. I hope you’ll find something to hold onto in this week’s words — a bit of a thoughtful space, less density, a passing cluster of clouds in the distance.
Until soon,
Your friend,
Eva
Dear Eva,
This week I’m continuing to follow the thread I started chasing in last week’s letter – trying to unpack what it means to accept a reality you cannot change, in all of the many ways that dynamic manifests in all of us on a daily basis. Put another way, I’ve got rage on the brain. I’m reading Rebecca Traister’s brilliant new book, Good and Mad: The Revolutionary Power of Women’s Anger. I have to read it in small doses because of the emotions is brings to the surface, but I have to admit, it feels really fucking good to indulge in the anger that is apparently simmering behind the surface of my smile. Yes, I can’t change the fact of systemic injustice, but does that mean I shouldn’t be mad?
I’ve sure spent a lot of my energy since the 2016 election season trying to suppress anger, manage emotions, find some zen state. Actually, I’ve spent a good chunk of energy my entire life trying not to feel in ways that cause discomfort. And I’ve been pretty good at it! I have had many people tell me over the years how easygoing and even-keeled I am, how I handle things in stride, and don’t get upset very easily. It is a demeanor that has served me well in many ways. It makes me easier to stomach, especially when I challenge someone on something. I guess that’s pragmatism. But I’m really starting to wonder if I’ve pushed that too far, if too many of us do. What would it mean to just be honest? What if we let ourselves feel more of our anger and pain? What if we revealed more of it to the humans we interact with at work, at home, and in our classrooms?
I know the answer to those questions. The answer is that people would be uncomfortable, defensive, scared, fearful. Or, in many cases, they would be angry right back. Sounds like some damn uncomfortable conversations / situations, for everyone. But if we are humans who care and are curious about each other, is that discomfort really a bad thing for either party? It just means all of us are feeling feelings, and none of us can control how the situation will unfold. That’s scary as hell, but maybe it is also how authentic understanding among humans occurs?
Yours in rage and friendship,
Sarah