Digging deep on difficult days
Connecting up much loved reading for those who might need it
A dear friend of mine is going through a really tough time right now. Actually, truth be told, the same can be said about a lot of people I know right now, as I’m sure it can for us all, but this is really existentially difficult. I worry about them a lot. I often send little snippets of things I’m reading or watching to try to lift them up for a minute or two. It’s an important way of letting them know that they’re in my thoughts, but getting the tone right isn’t always easy, and nor is the timing.
Like a lot of children of the 1970s, it seems, I grew up with a poster of the poem ‘Desiderata’, written by the American writer Max Ehrmann in the 1920s, on the bathroom door. My siblings and I can quote it verbatim, including to each other when times are tough. I now have a copy hanging on my own bathroom door, and my kids have grown up with me quoting it at them. I’ve heard them quote it to friends, and I suspect that someday I’ll see it on the back of their bathroom doors too.
The poem sums up what it means to me to be a good person, but also how to find resilience in dark times. From the above link:
Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
by Max Ehrmann ©1927 (Now in the public domain)
I was thinking about sending it to my friend, and yet as I reread it for the gazillionth time, there are two bits that I’m not so sure about anymore.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
The sentiment here is kind of like when Christians say ‘God Willing’ or Muslims say ‘Inshallah’, and it’s about letting go of things beyond our control. Sometimes this is exactly the right thing to say to someone, or to yourself. Sometimes, however, the universe really isn’t unfolding as it ‘should’, because sometimes bad things happen to people because of bad politics. Too many of the worries weighing heavily on so many of us right now are the direct result of really shitty political decision-making, or if not directly caused by bad politics then they have been made exponentially worse as a result. When this is the case, this would be the wrong thing to say to them, or to anyone really, at this time. So, no, my dear friend. The universe absolutely is not unfolding as it should, and I’m angry for you rather than resigned.
An alternative that I love comes from the Anglo-Saxon poem ‘Deor’s Lament’, told from the perspective of someone who has just lost his (presumably) job - along with his home, his position in society and his means of survival - as his lord’s official poet (or scop, as they were known) because he’s been replaced with someone new. All but one of the stanzas ends with,
Þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg. (That was overcome, so may this be.)
What I love about this is the word ‘may’, as opposed to ‘will’, which has to be one of the best - and earliest - examples of English caveating: things may get better. I mean, they might not, but you never know. Maybe. I dunno. Don’t get your hopes up, mind, but you never know. [Insert casual shrug here.]
Unlike the line in ‘Desiderata’, this isn’t fatalistic. Deor isn’t resigned to his fate; in fact, he’s really quite pissed off. There might not be much he can do to change the troubles he’s facing, but he’s going to have a really good whinge about it in the meantime while trying to convince himself that things might be ok. And maybe, just maybe, things will change - through his own actions or, more likely, the actions of someone more powerful than him. Deor retains a (small) sense of agency in his anger. In this, the poem has something in common perhaps with Dylan Thomas’s ‘Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night’, with his rallying cry in the face of someone’s (impending) death,
Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Sometimes the universe does unfold as it should, and sometimes we have to accept that things happen in our lives that are pretty awful. But sometimes we should not go so gentle into that good night.
The other part of ‘Desiderata’ I’m struggling with is the final couple of sentences:
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
Being American, I grew up with telling people to have a good day and believing in the inalienable right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Maybe it’s living in the UK for over 25 years, or maybe it’s just middle age, but I find the demand to be cheerful more than a little bit irritating nowadays, no matter how heartfelt it may sometimes be, and I’m just striving to be less tired all the time at this point rather than attaining a constant emotional state that is, by definition, temporary. But, grumpy old lady moan aside, this really, really isn’t something a friend facing incredibly tough times needs to be told when they’re just striving to survive the dawn of each new day.
I recently reread the Lord of the Rings trilogy, something I’ve not done since I was a teenager. It’s genuinely wonderful with some of the most beautiful writing I’ve read in a long time. (Thinking about Deor and Anglo-Saxon poetry, if you know what to look for you can see the influence of Tolkien’s deep knowledge of this literature as a Professor of Anglo-Saxon at Oxford, including things like his use of alliteration, kennings and other metaphors, symbolism, litotes (i.e., dramatic understatement for effect) and the importance of the oral tradition through poetry, storytelling and song throughout all three books. Anyway, before I geek out too much and get distracted…)
The LOTR books are filled with beautiful quotes for difficult times, many of which can be found in meme and gif form. One of the most famous, of course, and not too far removed from Deor, was beautifully acted by Sir Ian McKellan as Gandalf and Elijah Wood as Frodo:
Coming back to ‘Desiderata’, I really love this sentence almost at the very end: ‘With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.’ It’s one of the things I thought about when I read this paragraph in ‘The Return of the King’ when Frodo and Sam are almost at the end of their quest:
Reading this, you can really see Tolkien’s experiences as a British soldier in the First World War, where he took part in the Battle of the Somme. You can imagine him as a young man in the trenches looking up to see a bright star shining over the horror of that war and finding some peace and comfort in the thought that out there, somewhere else, the world was still a beautiful place, and that the ‘shadow’ is, in the end, only passing.
There is real truth in this sentence, and comfort too: ‘With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.’ It is the perfect ending to ‘Desiderata’ without the final demand to be cheerful and to strive to be happy. Being able to find the beauty in difficult times isn’t easy, but it’s pretty amazing, and it’s at the real heart of building resilience, or ‘nurtur[ing] strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune’ in Desiderata-speak. After all, things may get better, or they may not, and all we can do sometimes is to decide what to do with whatever hand we’re given in this life. Sometimes that might be to rage, rage against whatever crappy political decision-making increased our vulnerabilities, as individuals and as a society, and sometimes it’s simply about accepting the universe at is unfolds because who knows what might happen next, holding onto hope and leaving the rage for another day (or to friends or family who will rage for you).
But there is always time to look up to see the stars and to remember that it is still a beautiful world, somewhere out there, even when times are so tough that it’s hard to imagine the shadow will pass, or even when just looking up feels like it’s too much.
I’m not sure how to get all of this to fit on a mug though…
'rage' and 'hope' on a mug might do it for me. thanks Heather, for this read.
Thanks Heather. Just to add to your collection of inspired writing...
Many years ago, not long after my parents died, I was sitting on a tube and read the Poem on the Underground opposite me. It was called Sometimes by Sheenagh Pugh. I can't remember many lines but it began with the proposition
Sometimes things don't go, after all, from bad to worse
and talked about people turning away from war, a good person being elected, the resilience of nature in spite of all. It didn't feel gooey or sentimental, it recognised the horror that humans are capable of, but also offered hope that we need to go on living when things are tough.
The final line brought me to tears - and still does. I've just looked it up.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrows that seemed hard frozen. May it happen for you.