“A clear sentence is no accident… Remember this in moments of despair. If you find that writing is hard, it’s because it is hard.”
William Zinsser, On Writing Well
Moments of despair threatened to drown me this week. Not only in my writing, but in living as well. It was in one of such moments that the above quote found me, and though Mr. Zinsser meant this as regards writing, it wasn’t hard for my mind to take comfort in his statement. Osondu, if you find that living is hard, it’s because it is hard. My mind’s eye struggled to settle on a clear vision of what story I wanted to tell this week. It also didn’t help that it felt like I was trudging through a fog that just wouldn’t yield no matter how much light I tried to shine on it. This is me soldering on despite the fog because Mr. Zinsser also writes that the man who runs away from his craft because he lacks inspiration is fooling himself. I might find my way to the promised land or get crushed by a speeding vehicle, but I will not be caught fooling myself.
“I slept and dreamt
that life was joy.
I awoke and saw
that life was duty.
I worked — and behold,
duty was joy.”
Rabindranath Tagore
The highlight of my week was an extraction — a double extraction, two different quadrants, on the same patient. I remember the weight of the forceps in my hand as I felt the ligaments holding the tooth give, the relief that washed over me when throughout the whole experience my patient’s hand did not once go up to acknowledge pain, the satisfaction when I looked at the extracted tooth and it was intact. It was an irony, that the thing I had come to dread should bring me the most joy in a week riddled with sadness. I am still certain that clinical dentistry is not a thing that I can do for the rest of my life. But it is relieving to know that I don’t completely suck at it, as I seem to do in the rest of my life. …and behold, duty was joy.
I have a favourite friend on the app Slowly — an app that allows you to send letters to people around the world. I always light up when I get letters from this friend, because the sheer amount of effort put in each letter is heart-warming. A conversation we are currently having is on just how different happiness is from content. My friend believes that the two things are slightly different but existing in a ‘difficult’ relationship: holding the opinion that being happy means that one is content, but being content might still drive you to search for more happiness while acknowledging that you are just ‘okay’. I believe that happiness is actually contentment, something you know deep down and hold with certainty. But if happiness is contentment, would that mean then that being content locks you on a level of happiness from which there is no more happiness to be attained? Or that happiness is a thing that can exist even in states of discontentment? Is there a vast chasm between the two, or are they indeed only slightly different? My friend and I both agree though, that perhaps I am a tad too pessimistic — but only a tad because being totally pessimistic is a no-no. What do you think? (Message me and let me know).
“Happiness should not, must not, and can never be a goal, but only an outcome; the outcome of the fulfillment of that which in Tagore’s poem is called duty… All human striving for happiness, in this sense, is doomed to failure as luck can only fall into one’s lap but can never be hunted down”
Viktor Frankl
I became dankrupt a couple of days ago. Liquorruptcy followed not too shortly after. In the aftermath of my sudden lack, stumbling upon this quote seemed to me the universe’s way of mocking me for attempting to attain happiness at the end of a bottle or the drag of the holy herb. As a working model, in any field, my initial plan is unsustainable. And it is not like I haven’t known that since forever, it’s just that doing anything else hurts. And I am tired of hurting. I am left wondering what would become of me when I have to leave here next month.
During one of my low lows this week, someone asked me if I want to be better. I was on my way to the emergency at that moment, and so I stared at that question for the longest time, and then when I eventually answered, I did what I do when I am not certain of an answer, I deflected. I danced around it completely. And then the same question found me in the clinic, albeit in a different phrasing, a few days later. Again, I was silent. It was when I was reading Mr. Zinsser again and he wrote: the point is that you have to strip your writing down before you can build it back up, that it hit me. Have I become so accustomed to my sadness and lows, that I am finding contentment in them? Am I that afraid of change, of the pain that comes from stripping everything down, that I am finding it difficult to say with conviction: I want to be better? I kind of want to be better, but then… all that pain. Don’t be kind of bold. Be bold, he writes. I want to be better.
So, here’s to another week of living, and trying to find out what that means. Mr. Zinsser writes as one of his rules for nonfiction writers: when you’re ready to stop, stop. It seems like I have arrived at that point.
Twitter: @theosondu
Thank you all so much for the reads, and responses last week. I enjoyed reading every one of them! I hope you enjoy this one as well! Share, comment, and share again. Thank you for reading! See you next Sunday! Remain safe!
