Unsent Letters #3

Maybe I'm just wishing you what I wish for myself

Photo by Ken Anzai on Unsplash, rendered black & white by me

Dear S.,

Earlier today, when you told me that you were hopeful for things to get better -- almost religiously hopeful, I’d say -- I just listened and nodded my head. I didn’t argue, maybe because I didn’t want to ruin your moment of conviction. Or maybe because I no longer argue like I used to. You’ve known me for a while; remember when I used to be more argumentative? Never a lot, but certainly more than I am now. Then I understood that being right isn’t a goal in and of itself, and that arguing made me lose clarity and often my train of thought. Sometimes I would go off topic or resort to the tu quoque fallacy (which, by the way, I now despise) or raise my voice just to be perceived as being right. And so at some point I decided that it’s okay to listen, go home, think about it, and come back with any thoughts later. Maybe I’m a slow thinker. There’s a beautiful short article by Derek Sivers about this. And look, I’m a peaceful human. Even when I liked to argue, I’d rarely get angry. There’s nothing to be gained from anger. 

Anyway, what I wanted to say earlier today is that being so attached to hope might not be good for you. It may help you carry on, but expectations are a strange animal. Keep them down. Eliminate them, possibly. I know that’s hard, but try. Pasolini said that as we age, we become cheerful because we have less future, and therefore less hope. And this brings great relief. Living in hope is a drag, it’s exhausting. You’re constantly projected toward a future occurrence. You deplete your energies constructing scenarios in your head, which is taxing. And distracting. A full-time job. So, please, hope for less, lower your expectations. Be content with what you are and have now. Do it as a personal favor to me. You’ll feel better.

Or you could restrict your expectations to what’s imminent, short-term. Maybe doing so will get you focused on what’s more certain, which requires less time and energy and Pindaric flying. It’s putting one foot in front of the other, yet still expecting to be somewhere five steps from now. Something reasonably likely to occur. I don’t know, I’m not good at giving advice, as you know. And I usually don’t want to, as I believe in figuring things out and making mistakes. Plus I feel I’m intruding into another life, and who am I to judge and direct your actions. So please don’t take all this as advice, which is not. I feel I’m inserting a disclaimer here, like those on packs of cigarettes. 

So Why are you writing this to me, you may ask. If this is not advice, what is it? My view is that advice is something that’s given by someone who’s been there, who had some kind of positive outcome out of a situation they (painfully) had to figure out. So to avoid the same (pain and) inconvenience and stress and what have you to other people, they advise these other people to do such and such so they don’t waste time and live better lives. And these other people, the recipients of the advice, are usually those they care for. Or anyone else, if money’s involved.

Me, I do care for you loads. But I haven’t figured out anything for myself. The one thing I’ve understood is that living in hope can be dangerous, but I find it hard to eliminate hope from my life. It’s hard not to have expectations that things will magically happen in the distant future, maybe impossible. I’ve been trying to suppress long-term expectations (aka fantasies) and focus on short-term, more likely, easier ones. I’ve been trying this myself for so long, with terrible results. How can we delete all the fantasies about the ideal life we’ll live once things hopefully get better? How can we not hope that, one day, we’ll have the house of our dreams and do what we like all day, every day? And all the people we love are well and happy and there’s no preoccupation about whatever? It may be inherently human to fantasize about a too far out future, and if that’s true, I’m reassured. But I do realize how damaging it can be. Maybe I’m just wishing you what I wish for myself.  

I walked to the cafe where we agreed to meet, it was raining heavily and the wind made me hold the umbrella with two hands. The gusts were unusually strong and the shaft kept hitting my forehead hard. It was uncomfortable; my shoes (and feet) were soaking wet, and my left eyebrow hurt. But I pressed on, thinking that I was almost there and that the rain and wind, sooner or later, would stop. I was putting one foot in front of the other, and I knew that in a few more steps I’d be at the cafe. Was I certain of this? No. Anything unexpected might have happened, including a car running over me or a grand piano falling from above or a meteorite striking. But it was likely that I’d get there in a short time, safe. 

When I got to the cafe, I was early, and it was empty. The kid who waits tables there greeted me with a huge smile and asked “All good?”. I gave him a thumbs up. I sat waiting for you and took out a worn-out paperback copy of “The Year of Magical Thinking” that I had kept safe and dry inside my coat. You gave me that book, remember? It was Christmas eve, many years ago. As I sat there with the rain still tapping on the window panes and the wind messing up the hair of those passing by, I couldn’t help but smile. The world outside was chaotic, and the future uncertain, but in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of the place and the pages of a cherished book, I felt a profound sense of contentment. There's beauty in appreciating the present and finding solace in the small joys of life. Maybe I'm just wishing you to find happiness in the here and now. 

Maybe I’m just wishing you what I wish for myself.

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"Unsent Letters" is a series released every other week. These are imaginary letters to fictitious or real individuals who may or may not have influenced my life, not always mirroring actual events.

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