No words
Or: Why I'm a little jealous of my neighbor's dog
May was a strange month. At the exact point in time when I expected to be writing more here on Substack than ever, I fell nearly silent—due almost entirely to an unexpected (and as yet unresolved) matter involving my beloved father-in-law’s estate. That single situation became a dominating presence over the entire month.
At times like this, when life presses in us in a supremely distracting way, I’m often struck by how much work it takes just to exist as a human. We actually expend energy trying to get enough sleep, to make a sandwich, to notice the riot of color in the neighborhood rose garden. It sounds counterintuitive and even nonsensical, but I know I’m not alone in experiencing this.
Is this the price we pay for human consciousness? For all the magic of memory and language and imagination and complex emotion and adaptive ability?
Religions have grappled with this question, and philosophers, and artists.
My neighbor’s golden retriever does not grapple with this question. She gallops up to my son with a giant grin, holding her own leash in her mouth. She radiates utter happiness and presence. For Abby the dog, there is only ever this moment now.
When your work is words, and your only tool for trying to solve a problem is also words—whew, the words swirl around in your head like bats.
I’m not saying I’d rather be a golden retriever than a writer with a head full of bats! A goldie can’t read Tolstoy, for starters. I can’t say that Tolstoy clears away all the bats, but at least he helps you see a sky that is bigger than the inside of your own head. The lofty sky, he calls it, in the middle of a war.
Of course the trouble is, Tolstoy is also words. The lyrics to Leonard Cohen’s “Anthem”: perfect, and also words. (But also music. This video is one of my favorite performances of any work of art, ever.)
Well, I do have lots of my own words to write. The new novel is underway, and the picture book is a go! The kids and I have mapped out our summer plans: a Moomins book, of course—we can’t seem to do without them; and finishing our Hamlet studies1; and regular dates with Rilla’s delicious baked goods and our lineup of Jane Austen movies.
And it’s Dart-writing season again. First up (and due next week!!): Patricia MacLachlan’s lovely sports story, Painting the Game.
Words worth reading this week:
This bananas account of a conversation in which ChatGPT lies, and lies, and lies to Amanda Guinzburg’s face
“From Blossoms” by Li-Young Lee (my favorite poem)
Summer Reading by Kortney Garrison (ways to have fun with words this season)
Oh my friends. If you haven’t seen Andrew Scott’s performance, MAKE TIME FOR IT ASAP. We happened upon it during a comparison watch of many different To Be Or Not To Be speeches and I can’t stop thinking about it. He’s incredible. The words seemed freshly formed the moment he speaks them. The full production is here. Also! Since apparently you can’t footnote a footnote, this encounter with the soliloquy is as delightful as they come.
Oh, my goodness, estate issues can be exhausting and convoluted and so hard to deal with when all you want is to be able to grieve the loss of that loved one. I've been there with my parents' estate too. Hugs to you and Scott. ❤️
"At times like this, when life presses in us in a supremely distracting way, I’m often struck by how much work it takes just to exist as a human. We actually expend energy trying to get enough sleep, to make a sandwich, to notice the riot of color in the neighborhood rose garden. It sounds counterintuitive and even nonsensical, but I know I’m not alone in experiencing this."
This rings deeply true. Existing is so much work. So much.
And Oh the Andrew Scott Hamlet. I need to watch that.
I've seen the soliloquy skit before. HRH is perfect in that.