Thanks so much for the impromptu, mini Ayurveda lesson over the phone the other day, which included a (cautious and disclaimer-filled?) diagnosis of me as pitta vata. And now that I’ve done some Googling (and even took an online quiz), I believe you were quite correct. To take it a step further, I then searched: “How to balance pitta vata” and a few of the suggestions I found really resonated with me.
1. “Look for opportunities to create rhythm and routine in your life”
2. “Finish things once you start them”
3. “Eat with full awareness”
4. “Get a freaking massage, you stoop!” (I may be paraphrasing on this one.)
My response to the first two directives goes something like this, “akdjfkladjf;kdakldjfadlkfjadkaf I knowwwww! I want tooooo, but how can I now that my life and schedule is barnacled to the life and (constantly-changing) schedule of my 7-month-old?”
I’m reminded of that piece of writing advice: write through the middle. I’m also reminded of the advice I’ve given my own writing students: sometimes you just have to write it. As in, you can’t fast forward through the slog of writing it to the future to see if it was “worth it.”
Everything that interests me of late seems to be somewhat related to the idea of allowing ourselves to get lost. It began with this amazing essay, “Open Door” by Rebecca Solnit. And then there was this article in the New York Times about how, basically, we are filling up any potential quiet moments in which we might get lost in thought with checking our phones/the Internet/Instagram/etc. And then, there is my day to day life, in which while caring for Teddy, I sometimes feel like I’m losing myself entirely, not coming up for air until he’s asleep for the night. Which brings us back to Virginia Woolf by way of Ms. Solnit!
In the abovementioned essay, “Open Door,” Solnit quotes a long passage from To the Lighthouse:
“Out of the blue, May sent me a long passage by Virginia Woolf she’d copied in round black letters on thick lined paper. It was about a mother and wife alone at the end of the day: ‘For now she need not think about anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of—to think; well, not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others. Although she continued to knit and sat upright, it was thus that she felt herself; and this self having shed its attachments was free for the strangest adventures. When life sank down for a moment, the range of experience seemed limitless… Beneath it is all dark, it is all spreading, it is unfathomably deep; but now and again we rise to the surface and that is what you see us by. Her horizon seemed to her limitless.’”
In an effort to finish this post, all I can say, in terms of any sort of conclusion, is that I’m going to keep striving to find those moments to be silent; to be alone. To get lost in thought. To possibly put some of those thoughts down on paper. And then maybe, just maybe, to finish something I started.
Much love to you, friend!
Amelia
8/25/14
Dearest Amelia,
Well, here we are. "We" being Samantha and I, "here" being inside a new house in a new state. As you know, my family and I recently "relocated," a word I'm trying on lately to sound both in control of my life and very adult. And you know what? I'm pretty close to both those things, I'm proud - and lacking in humility enough - to say. That wasn't always the case, something I'm not ashamed to admit, so I feel particularly proud of this fact now.
But first, just one of Ms. Gay's contributions. Of Amy Winehouse, she says: "She was a mess. So what? We are all stinking messes, every last one of us, or we once were messes and found our way out, or we are trying to find our way out of a mess, scratching, reaching."
This is the Roxane Gay I love. On the back of her book, a tag attributed to no one says, "One of our most indispensable writers...on everything that matters." That's one heck of a thing to carry around. And while I'm 100% certain Gay lives up to it, that kind of pressure would send me to the hills to live out my hermit existence forever.
Speaking of hermithood, above you talk about the dangers and sheer disruption of crowding out the silences of daily life - how Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and other digital facets of our life clamp down on deeper rhythms that (can) carry real life purpose. I appreciate that Virginia Woolf-by-way-of-Rebecca Skolnit quote you shared, in particular the ringing words: To be silent; to be alone.
As you know and alluded to in your exploratory Ayurvedic Quiz anecdote above, I am a student of healing. Art, Yoga, nutrition, scholarship - all are variables in my wholly unofficial, working dissertation. As such, when I read the words, To be silent; to be alone, I couldn't help but think of what I have learned about masculine and feminine properties in yoga, specifically that silence and stillness are properties of the feminine (where feminine is a collection of attributes, rather than a gender construct or identity). When you go to a Yin Yoga class and hold poses for long amounts of time and let your spine unfold languorously in a three-minute forward bend, this kind of spacious non-agenda is what you explore.
It's also what I'm experiencing to the hilt with our new move, while I stay at home with Samantha and have few(er) responsibilities. And while I have several long-term projects keeping me anchored, I love the stillness that prevails when keeping this babe and myself happy are the driving ambitions of the day.
About having Pitta in my doshic makeup, there is also this: I have to be careful how much spice I put in my system and this means mentally as well as nutritionally. All of the essays in Bad Feminist are thought-provoking, and I am truly grateful for the education Gay's criticism provides. I appreciate her quest to understand popular culture and her ability to call certain policies, works of art, and opinions racist, misogynistic, and downright dangerous. And yet. (This is a sentence she writes a lot.) After reading the essays in just a few days, I found my Pitta nature revving up. I grew irritated by some thoughts and found myself feeling like I should be doing more, being more, and somehow performing greatness.
This, as you know, is pretty much the opposite of what I preach. I believe in stillness, in listening deeply, and a gentle approach to almost everything. On the phone recently, I said that, of all my accomplishments, every single one stems in some way from a spiritual approach. And while Salman Rushdie's The Satanic Verses often asks, "How does newness come into the world?" and the book seems to suggest, Only by violence (since giving birth, I ponder this question a lot), I find myself struggling to make sense of being culturally relevant, a responsible citizen of the world, while caring for my needs for stillness.
In short, is there salvation in haiku? That's what I really want to know. I sometimes feel like my greatest work is being done in these quiet hours at home, when I carry my baby from room to room. All the work I did to get here where I can be present with her and learn from her, while having patience for my own eternal mess, feels pretty worth it.
Can you tell yet from this post that Samantha sleeps well?
In gratitude to your formidable Pitta intellect, dear friend!
XOXO
P.S. On the (excellent) topic of slogging through the writing hours, Steve Almond has this to say. I like Steve Almond. He's smart and funny and in this article sounds about a hundred years old, which makes me happy for some reason. If he's old and wizened, does that mean more room for you and I and other young whipper snappers who are, shall we say, still figuring "it" all out? I hope so. For now, I'm working on my Problem of Entitlement, one white-girl MFA-holding day at a time.
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