Thank you! It’s a bit of a deconstructed essay, which seemed to fit the topic but leaves a lot unsaid (ironically, given how long it is!). The original outline had even more numbered items — all the elements I tried to pull together as lenses on the question.
You are so thoughtful. I don’t know I’ll ever feel I’ve “done mine” overall, but I do know that feeling of having done all I am willing to do, or enough, for a particular organization or field or cause. Each time I decide that I hope it brings me closer to feeling that whatever I do is enough as long as it’s done with presence and intention.
A beautifully expressed and thoughtful essay, Maria. Coincidentally yesterday as our own (sweet and gentle) dog barked madly from behind a glass door inside our house at another dog walking past outside, who barked back, my son said ‘they wouldn’t do that if they were both outside’. It reminded me that the glass door was a barrier to their natural, stress-free interaction and prevented them from smelling each other (like the roses). We are all about connecting, I guess.
Oh, thank you! Love this, about the dogs. Connection is essential, isn't it, at the end of the day? And then what one wants to add on top of that becomes complicated…
Doing yours. Doing mine. The job of being human. How interesting. I can’t stand the word retirement and intend to go on doing mine in my fashion. The Swedes (and you) are onto something.
“The job of being human” — exactly. That would be a great title for this essay, in fact. Yes, you are most definitely in the midst of doing yours! I’m not sure that I am… or less sure, anyway.
I very much enjoyed reading this essay. Such a wonderful mixture of thoughts and reflections, in a beautiful flow. Being present for self, others, plants and animals is key to deeper meaning I believe, ideally always being as open as possible to offer love and support whenever the opportunity or need to do so presents itself. But most often it is just fine to just be with and be present in the world, no matter how much or how little we have done before in our lives.
Thank you, Seth, I'm so glad! Most of the time I agree completely with that last sentence (and it's beautifully put); other times, I'm not so sure (when it comes to myself, I mean).
Wonderful essay. It brought up quite a few thoughts but I'll just share a couple here. The first is that your friend's story about the dog is uncannily similar to J.M Coetzee's short story "The Dog." It's only a page long and I'll link it here for anyone that wants to read it, I highly recommend it: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/12/04/the-dog
Besides that I've also been thinking a lot about characters in books and movies who attempt to leave society and go off on their own, and then the ways in which society either brings them back in or rejects them once they try to return. I ended up on this theme because I realized that I had unconsciously been picking out books/movies on this topic...which obviously says something about myself. The main one that really fits in with what you're talking about here, I think, is the movie "Blue" (1994) by Krzysztof Kieslowski and starring Juliette Binoche. Without revealing too much, the movie starts with a woman losing her family in a car crash, which causes her to withdraw from life and isolate herself; yet, little by little, she finds herself being called upon to reenter life through various encounters with other people, and must decide whether to accept or reject these calls. It's a wonderful film. Thanks for the thought provoking essay.
Thank you so much! Am glad that it has resonated. Just read the Coetzee story (which was new to me). It's harrowing, isn't it? And of course it ends in a completely different way, but was fascinating to read.
I'd love to hear more of the other books/movies on dropping out or retreat that you've collected. I always think that the ur-version of that, for me, was the children's book “Heidi” (the original Swiss novel, not the movies), where the story is as much about the hermit grandfather as about Heidi herself.
Blue — it's funny; I saw it when it came out, and not since, and remembered nothing at all about the plot. Will check it out again.
My previous essay on Substack might possibly be of interest on this theme (or not): it talks a little about Thoreau and his retreat, not from people, but from a more abstracted life.
Thanks for the mention of "Heidi," I've never heard of it. About the other books, here's the ones that got me thinking in this direction:
The Sailor from Gibraltar - Marguerite Duras
Life for Sale - Yukio Mishima
Serotonin - Michel Houellebecq
The Apartment - Greg Baxter
They all feature a protagonist that leaves society because of the meaningless that they find in a contemporary world focused on materialism...basically classic stories of alienation. They're all a bit dark, honestly! On the other hand there's one more movie I have to mention, which is "Wings of Desire" (1987). This follows the story of an angel who wants to experience life but can't because, well, he's an angel. It's without a doubt one of the most life affirming pieces of art I've ever experienced...it makes you grateful to be alive.
I also read the previous essay before this one (first one after discovering your stack!) and enjoyed it. And I love "Pond" as well, which I read some years ago. Her newer one "Checkout 19" is on my shelf waiting to be read...
(Posted this reply originally in the wrong place in the comments — seems to be something that happens regularly. Glad you found it anyway; am reposting it here in the right place also, for clarity's sake.)
Huh, so interesting! Thanks for sharing these!
You know, I haven’t read any of the novels, but have read other things by some of the writers, and reading the list was really engaging. It made me think about the difference between what one might call “warm” literature on alienation and “cool” literature in the same topic. Will have to think more about it. And about Wings of Desire.
Also have Checkout 19 on the shelf, waiting to be picked up when the time seems right😊
You know, I haven’t read any of the novels, but have read other things by some of the writers, and reading the list was really engaging. It made me think about the difference between what one might call “warm” literature on alienation and “cool” literature in the same topic. Will have to think more about it. And about Wings of Desire.
Also have Checkout 19 on the shelf, waiting to be picked up when the time seems right😊
Beautiful, and much to think about here. For some reason, as I read the section where you ponder whether you’ve done enough, and the Swedish concept of the “man who’d done his,” I thought of the old children’s book THE COUNTRY BUNNY AND THE LITTLE GOLD SHOES (DuBose Heyward, illustrated by Marjorie Flack). This is a very random association, I realize! But in the book there’s a theme of the country bunny’s many children working to keep house, as she’s taught them, and the two bunny children who she’s taught to paint and draw and sing for the others are providing just as much as the other bunny children. Long way of saying that I think writing a novel, or taking photos of the roses are valuable pursuits.
Aargh — apparently my replies keep going into the general comments area, not under the commemt itself.
Here is my reply from yesterday. now in the right place:
The children’s book sounds delightful! There’s a similar one that I love, and I wish I could remember the title and author. In it an ant (?) idly observes the world all day long while his friends and family gather food to store for winter. But then during the long grey winter he tells them stories of all of the colors of summer, and nourishes their souls. But in both stories the artists are giving something back to their communities… they haven’t said that that their goals are only to please themselves..—?
And thank ypu so much for this, I should have put first!
I wonder if you’re thinking of the book Frederick, by Leo Leoni? He’s a mouse who stores up color and light during the summer and gives it back to the other mice during the winter? A gentle and beautiful book.
Yes!!! That's the one. So nice to regain the author and title; and agreed, it's a beautiful book. I can remember the text and the atmosphere of the illustrations, but couldn't picture at all what sorts of creatures were depicted until I read this from you.
It seems that in both the Heyward book and the Leoni book, the point is very much that the seemingly lazy members of the community are actually doing their bit, just in a different way from most. There wouldn't be a story there, really, if Frederick spent the winter just reliving the colors in his own mind, without sharing them —?
Yes! Maybe the sharing is inherent in presence, even if one does not actually work or produce anything helpful. Will think about that. And lovely to be told/reminded of these picture books.
The children’s book sounds delightful! There’s a similar one that I love, and I wish I could remember the title and author. In it an ant (?) idly observes the world all day long while his friends and family gather food to store for winter. But then during the long grey winter he tells them stories of all of the colors of summer, and nourishes their souls. But in both stories the artists are giving something back to their communities… they haven’t said that that their goals are only to please themselves..—?
Such a beautiful and considered piece. Being present Each day is such a difficult undertaking and I especially love the passage where you wander through your garden discovering each opened rose. Each section is so delicately linked and I loved too hearing about the dog and have noted too the books you have mentioned. Thank you for your writing.
This is one to ponder on. It feels like there’s something fundamental about a selfish form of dropping out, and some other way of doing so that allows others in. The Swedish phrase made me think of passing the baton.
As for whether one has "done enough" -- I don't think that is quite the right question to ask. As if we should think about our obligations in quantifiable terms. I would prefer to ask whether I am doing what I am now being called to do, shouldering whatever obligations happen to confront me at the moment. (I myself come at this from a Christian perspective and would ultimately want to speak in terms of faithfulness; I suspect that what I am saying can be translated into different perspectives also, but will leave it to others to do their own translating if so inclined!) Putting it these terms means, on the one hand, that the moment will never arrive when we have "done enough," but it also means that our duties are not simply vague and unlimited. In one way, this is not necessarily reassuring: there is no built-in limit to our obligations, and it is always possible that what I am called to do at a given moment may be more demanding than I think myself capable of shouldering. We have no guarantee that we will not be asked to give more than seems possible; when that does not happen, we should, I think, be grateful and consider ourselves fortunate. In another sense, I do think this perspective is reassuring. I am not somehow "responsible for the world," a view I think we should avoid. I am responsible only for my own duties, whatever those might happen to be.
FWIW. : )
Thanks again for a nicely constructed and thoughtful essay.
As for whether one has "done enough" -- I don't think that is quite the right question to ask. As if we should think about our obligations in quantifiable terms. I would prefer to ask whether I am doing what I am now being called to do, shouldering whatever obligations happen to confront me at the moment. (I myself come at this from a Christian perspective and would ultimately want to speak in terms of faithfulness; I suspect that what I am saying can be translated into different perspectives also, but will leave it to others to do their own translating if so inclined!) Putting it these terms means, on the one hand, that the moment will never arrive when we have "done enough," but it also means that our duties are not simply vague and unlimited. In one way, this is not necessarily reassuring: there is no built-in limit to our obligations, and it is always possible that what I am called to do at a given moment may be more demanding than I think myself capable of shouldering. We have no guarantee that we will not be asked to give more than seems possible; when that does not happen, we should, I think, be grateful and consider ourselves fortunate. In another sense, I do think this perspective is reassuring. I am not somehow "responsible for the world," a view I think we should avoid. I am responsible only for my own duties, whatever those might happen to be.
FWIW. : )
Thanks again for a nicely constructed and thoughtful essay.
Thank you! This is so interesting, and I have been enjoying thinking about it over the last couple of hours. In this view, is the sense of being called a completely subjective experience - that is, if one does feel called, one is called, and if not, not?
And thanks for the kind words about the structure of the essay -- I played around for a long time before coming up with it.
I do not think of it is as subjective, no. The language of "calling" is useful, I think, but it can also give rise to unfortunate images--as if one were sitting around waiting to hear God speak directly, or some inner voice, or whatever the case may be. I think some people do have those experiences, but I don't think that's how it typically works. Rather, I think our calling--or perhaps simply the duties that rightfully call upon us for a response at any particular moment--generally emerge from the existing fabric of our lives. This looks different for each person, of course, but I have (for example) a wife, parents, siblings, children, a job and colleagues, friends, neighbors, members of my local community or my parish church or an association to which I belong... our lives our bound up in a thick web of relationships that make demands upon us. If we are attentive to these, we will, I suspect, always find that we have "enough" (at least) to do.
I don't think this alone is a fully adequate account. In particular, it may not describe the experience of those who feel called to make a fairly radical break with their past in some respect. I certainly want to leave room for that sort of experience, although my hunch is that it will often, upon reflection, turn out to have emerged in important ways from that existing web of experience and relationships. At any rate, this is about what I can manage in a comment. : )
Incidentally, in addition to complimenting you on the nice structure of your essay, I should also have mentioned that I appreciated how you made use of the books you were reading to help you sketch out those competing options. I thought it was a nice illustration of how books can assist us in thinking about our own lives and the choices we make.
Yes, have so many thoughts on this, but indeed too much to fit into a comment! So much appreciate this thoughtful reply, and have been mulling it over.
Would it fit with your sense that ”calling” might be a way of reflecting how far, subjectively, one feels that pull of obligation: that is, what the reach is, who in the world is encompassed in it, from local to global to anywhere in-between — ?
I'm glad that the book component works! That's been a goal of this substack, to use books as pegs fpr larger conversations. So this was very nice to hear.
Hmmm.... I'm not completely certain that I'm rightly understanding your question, but I'll give it a try. I would incline against describing the sense of obligation in overly subjective terms, because I worry that we then risk simply blessing our own desires or impulses. As much as possible I think we should attempt to run our sense of what is required of us up against the external world, not simply our internal experience, as a kind of check on ourselves. Perhaps we could say that the sense of calling is subjective in the sense that it will be different for each individual person--what is required of you will not be the same as what is required of me. But not subjective in the sense of emerging from within. The duties, whatever they may be, are real, and we can get them wrong. (Which is not to say that they are always easy to discern. Or, for that matter, that they are uncomplicated, since I suppose we can find ourselves with conflicting obligations, or different ones that cannot all be satisfied.) I'm probably not expressing this very well.
Wonderful and profound essay. I’m thinking about the girl in the dream posing that question about whether you should tear it all down and start over. What a choice!
Thank you! I’m so glad. And especially that the dream but resonated. It’s one of those dreams that one never forgets — the kind of metaphor that sticks with one. I tried to include the metaphor in a draft of a novel once, without success, but realized that an essay could perhaps hold it better…
There was a wonderful picture book my daughters repeatedly borrowed when they were at nursery school called Wilkie’s World, which posed that dilemma, about a little boy who finds all the ways you can mess up a world and keeps starting over. It was so simply and cleverly done. Never found it again. Am just looking online now… Ah! Edith Thacher Hurd, 1973, Faber and Faber. Can’t find a copy for sale, though!
Wow — that sounds amazing! I’ve never heard of it and will go hating off now to see if I can extracts at least, or some such thing. Are these worlds that he creates himself with a pen or blocks or something (like Harold and the Purple Pen), or worlds that he finds himself in? It sounds like a wonderful lesson about making mistakes and starting over —?
Looking again, it was reissued with the title Wilson's World in 1994. I've just ordered a used paperback of it, and am very curious to see how it holds up. I can't find any images of the pages.
Harold and the Purple Crayon is a good comparison. That's another book I love! This has colour illustrations and looking at her bio they were done by her husband. He (Wilkie, or Wilson in the later edition) creates the worlds himself.
This is great, thank you! I had never heard of her, and this sent me into a rabbit hole of interesting people. She worked with Margaret Wise Brown, and her husband illustrated Goodnight Moon — what a lovely world that sounds like.
When you get your copy, would you come back and share your reactions?? Would love to hear more.
The dog story is so sweet. :)
😊🐾🐾🐾
What an interesting, complex post. I think I have to read it again tomorrow...
Thank you! It’s a bit of a deconstructed essay, which seemed to fit the topic but leaves a lot unsaid (ironically, given how long it is!). The original outline had even more numbered items — all the elements I tried to pull together as lenses on the question.
It’s quite a read, so layered. So engaging.
Also, Nick Hornby liked my comment on your post and I may never delete the email that told me that!!
Oh, how nice!
FANTASTIC. NOW I'VE GOT TO THINK.
Thank you!
Thinking is all I could hope for 😊
You are so thoughtful. I don’t know I’ll ever feel I’ve “done mine” overall, but I do know that feeling of having done all I am willing to do, or enough, for a particular organization or field or cause. Each time I decide that I hope it brings me closer to feeling that whatever I do is enough as long as it’s done with presence and intention.
Thank you!
I like the approach of looking at it one field at a time. And the emphasis on presence.
But the larger question still remains, for me, I think.
I think sometimes too of Katherine May’s book Wintering, with its idea that there are times we all go into a kind of winter mode…
A beautifully expressed and thoughtful essay, Maria. Coincidentally yesterday as our own (sweet and gentle) dog barked madly from behind a glass door inside our house at another dog walking past outside, who barked back, my son said ‘they wouldn’t do that if they were both outside’. It reminded me that the glass door was a barrier to their natural, stress-free interaction and prevented them from smelling each other (like the roses). We are all about connecting, I guess.
Oh, thank you! Love this, about the dogs. Connection is essential, isn't it, at the end of the day? And then what one wants to add on top of that becomes complicated…
Doing yours. Doing mine. The job of being human. How interesting. I can’t stand the word retirement and intend to go on doing mine in my fashion. The Swedes (and you) are onto something.
“The job of being human” — exactly. That would be a great title for this essay, in fact. Yes, you are most definitely in the midst of doing yours! I’m not sure that I am… or less sure, anyway.
Oh, I think you are. Keep the faith, Maria. And yes, it’s a title.
I very much enjoyed reading this essay. Such a wonderful mixture of thoughts and reflections, in a beautiful flow. Being present for self, others, plants and animals is key to deeper meaning I believe, ideally always being as open as possible to offer love and support whenever the opportunity or need to do so presents itself. But most often it is just fine to just be with and be present in the world, no matter how much or how little we have done before in our lives.
Thank you, Seth, I'm so glad! Most of the time I agree completely with that last sentence (and it's beautifully put); other times, I'm not so sure (when it comes to myself, I mean).
Wonderful essay. It brought up quite a few thoughts but I'll just share a couple here. The first is that your friend's story about the dog is uncannily similar to J.M Coetzee's short story "The Dog." It's only a page long and I'll link it here for anyone that wants to read it, I highly recommend it: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/12/04/the-dog
Besides that I've also been thinking a lot about characters in books and movies who attempt to leave society and go off on their own, and then the ways in which society either brings them back in or rejects them once they try to return. I ended up on this theme because I realized that I had unconsciously been picking out books/movies on this topic...which obviously says something about myself. The main one that really fits in with what you're talking about here, I think, is the movie "Blue" (1994) by Krzysztof Kieslowski and starring Juliette Binoche. Without revealing too much, the movie starts with a woman losing her family in a car crash, which causes her to withdraw from life and isolate herself; yet, little by little, she finds herself being called upon to reenter life through various encounters with other people, and must decide whether to accept or reject these calls. It's a wonderful film. Thanks for the thought provoking essay.
Thank you so much! Am glad that it has resonated. Just read the Coetzee story (which was new to me). It's harrowing, isn't it? And of course it ends in a completely different way, but was fascinating to read.
I'd love to hear more of the other books/movies on dropping out or retreat that you've collected. I always think that the ur-version of that, for me, was the children's book “Heidi” (the original Swiss novel, not the movies), where the story is as much about the hermit grandfather as about Heidi herself.
Blue — it's funny; I saw it when it came out, and not since, and remembered nothing at all about the plot. Will check it out again.
My previous essay on Substack might possibly be of interest on this theme (or not): it talks a little about Thoreau and his retreat, not from people, but from a more abstracted life.
Thanks for the mention of "Heidi," I've never heard of it. About the other books, here's the ones that got me thinking in this direction:
The Sailor from Gibraltar - Marguerite Duras
Life for Sale - Yukio Mishima
Serotonin - Michel Houellebecq
The Apartment - Greg Baxter
They all feature a protagonist that leaves society because of the meaningless that they find in a contemporary world focused on materialism...basically classic stories of alienation. They're all a bit dark, honestly! On the other hand there's one more movie I have to mention, which is "Wings of Desire" (1987). This follows the story of an angel who wants to experience life but can't because, well, he's an angel. It's without a doubt one of the most life affirming pieces of art I've ever experienced...it makes you grateful to be alive.
I also read the previous essay before this one (first one after discovering your stack!) and enjoyed it. And I love "Pond" as well, which I read some years ago. Her newer one "Checkout 19" is on my shelf waiting to be read...
(Posted this reply originally in the wrong place in the comments — seems to be something that happens regularly. Glad you found it anyway; am reposting it here in the right place also, for clarity's sake.)
Huh, so interesting! Thanks for sharing these!
You know, I haven’t read any of the novels, but have read other things by some of the writers, and reading the list was really engaging. It made me think about the difference between what one might call “warm” literature on alienation and “cool” literature in the same topic. Will have to think more about it. And about Wings of Desire.
Also have Checkout 19 on the shelf, waiting to be picked up when the time seems right😊
Huh, so interesting! Thanks for sharing these!
You know, I haven’t read any of the novels, but have read other things by some of the writers, and reading the list was really engaging. It made me think about the difference between what one might call “warm” literature on alienation and “cool” literature in the same topic. Will have to think more about it. And about Wings of Desire.
Also have Checkout 19 on the shelf, waiting to be picked up when the time seems right😊
Beautiful, and much to think about here. For some reason, as I read the section where you ponder whether you’ve done enough, and the Swedish concept of the “man who’d done his,” I thought of the old children’s book THE COUNTRY BUNNY AND THE LITTLE GOLD SHOES (DuBose Heyward, illustrated by Marjorie Flack). This is a very random association, I realize! But in the book there’s a theme of the country bunny’s many children working to keep house, as she’s taught them, and the two bunny children who she’s taught to paint and draw and sing for the others are providing just as much as the other bunny children. Long way of saying that I think writing a novel, or taking photos of the roses are valuable pursuits.
Aargh — apparently my replies keep going into the general comments area, not under the commemt itself.
Here is my reply from yesterday. now in the right place:
The children’s book sounds delightful! There’s a similar one that I love, and I wish I could remember the title and author. In it an ant (?) idly observes the world all day long while his friends and family gather food to store for winter. But then during the long grey winter he tells them stories of all of the colors of summer, and nourishes their souls. But in both stories the artists are giving something back to their communities… they haven’t said that that their goals are only to please themselves..—?
And thank ypu so much for this, I should have put first!
I wonder if you’re thinking of the book Frederick, by Leo Leoni? He’s a mouse who stores up color and light during the summer and gives it back to the other mice during the winter? A gentle and beautiful book.
Yes!!! That's the one. So nice to regain the author and title; and agreed, it's a beautiful book. I can remember the text and the atmosphere of the illustrations, but couldn't picture at all what sorts of creatures were depicted until I read this from you.
It seems that in both the Heyward book and the Leoni book, the point is very much that the seemingly lazy members of the community are actually doing their bit, just in a different way from most. There wouldn't be a story there, really, if Frederick spent the winter just reliving the colors in his own mind, without sharing them —?
This is a wonderful point to be adding in this context, by the way — have been thinking about it since I read your original comment. Thank you for it!
That’s my takeaway too, that creating, noting beauty, and sharing are all as valid and meaningful as other helpful work.
Yes! Maybe the sharing is inherent in presence, even if one does not actually work or produce anything helpful. Will think about that. And lovely to be told/reminded of these picture books.
The children’s book sounds delightful! There’s a similar one that I love, and I wish I could remember the title and author. In it an ant (?) idly observes the world all day long while his friends and family gather food to store for winter. But then during the long grey winter he tells them stories of all of the colors of summer, and nourishes their souls. But in both stories the artists are giving something back to their communities… they haven’t said that that their goals are only to please themselves..—?
And thank you so much for this, I should have put first!
Such a beautiful and considered piece. Being present Each day is such a difficult undertaking and I especially love the passage where you wander through your garden discovering each opened rose. Each section is so delicately linked and I loved too hearing about the dog and have noted too the books you have mentioned. Thank you for your writing.
Thank you so much! This means a lot; it has transformed my afternoon, truly.
Well now you have cheered mine too!
This is one to ponder on. It feels like there’s something fundamental about a selfish form of dropping out, and some other way of doing so that allows others in. The Swedish phrase made me think of passing the baton.
”That allows others in” — I like that very much. The idea that presence is also a way of inviting presence by others.
This was a very nice essay. Thank you.
As for whether one has "done enough" -- I don't think that is quite the right question to ask. As if we should think about our obligations in quantifiable terms. I would prefer to ask whether I am doing what I am now being called to do, shouldering whatever obligations happen to confront me at the moment. (I myself come at this from a Christian perspective and would ultimately want to speak in terms of faithfulness; I suspect that what I am saying can be translated into different perspectives also, but will leave it to others to do their own translating if so inclined!) Putting it these terms means, on the one hand, that the moment will never arrive when we have "done enough," but it also means that our duties are not simply vague and unlimited. In one way, this is not necessarily reassuring: there is no built-in limit to our obligations, and it is always possible that what I am called to do at a given moment may be more demanding than I think myself capable of shouldering. We have no guarantee that we will not be asked to give more than seems possible; when that does not happen, we should, I think, be grateful and consider ourselves fortunate. In another sense, I do think this perspective is reassuring. I am not somehow "responsible for the world," a view I think we should avoid. I am responsible only for my own duties, whatever those might happen to be.
FWIW. : )
Thanks again for a nicely constructed and thoughtful essay.
This was a very nice essay. Thank you.
As for whether one has "done enough" -- I don't think that is quite the right question to ask. As if we should think about our obligations in quantifiable terms. I would prefer to ask whether I am doing what I am now being called to do, shouldering whatever obligations happen to confront me at the moment. (I myself come at this from a Christian perspective and would ultimately want to speak in terms of faithfulness; I suspect that what I am saying can be translated into different perspectives also, but will leave it to others to do their own translating if so inclined!) Putting it these terms means, on the one hand, that the moment will never arrive when we have "done enough," but it also means that our duties are not simply vague and unlimited. In one way, this is not necessarily reassuring: there is no built-in limit to our obligations, and it is always possible that what I am called to do at a given moment may be more demanding than I think myself capable of shouldering. We have no guarantee that we will not be asked to give more than seems possible; when that does not happen, we should, I think, be grateful and consider ourselves fortunate. In another sense, I do think this perspective is reassuring. I am not somehow "responsible for the world," a view I think we should avoid. I am responsible only for my own duties, whatever those might happen to be.
FWIW. : )
Thanks again for a nicely constructed and thoughtful essay.
Thank you! This is so interesting, and I have been enjoying thinking about it over the last couple of hours. In this view, is the sense of being called a completely subjective experience - that is, if one does feel called, one is called, and if not, not?
And thanks for the kind words about the structure of the essay -- I played around for a long time before coming up with it.
I do not think of it is as subjective, no. The language of "calling" is useful, I think, but it can also give rise to unfortunate images--as if one were sitting around waiting to hear God speak directly, or some inner voice, or whatever the case may be. I think some people do have those experiences, but I don't think that's how it typically works. Rather, I think our calling--or perhaps simply the duties that rightfully call upon us for a response at any particular moment--generally emerge from the existing fabric of our lives. This looks different for each person, of course, but I have (for example) a wife, parents, siblings, children, a job and colleagues, friends, neighbors, members of my local community or my parish church or an association to which I belong... our lives our bound up in a thick web of relationships that make demands upon us. If we are attentive to these, we will, I suspect, always find that we have "enough" (at least) to do.
I don't think this alone is a fully adequate account. In particular, it may not describe the experience of those who feel called to make a fairly radical break with their past in some respect. I certainly want to leave room for that sort of experience, although my hunch is that it will often, upon reflection, turn out to have emerged in important ways from that existing web of experience and relationships. At any rate, this is about what I can manage in a comment. : )
Incidentally, in addition to complimenting you on the nice structure of your essay, I should also have mentioned that I appreciated how you made use of the books you were reading to help you sketch out those competing options. I thought it was a nice illustration of how books can assist us in thinking about our own lives and the choices we make.
Yes, have so many thoughts on this, but indeed too much to fit into a comment! So much appreciate this thoughtful reply, and have been mulling it over.
Would it fit with your sense that ”calling” might be a way of reflecting how far, subjectively, one feels that pull of obligation: that is, what the reach is, who in the world is encompassed in it, from local to global to anywhere in-between — ?
I'm glad that the book component works! That's been a goal of this substack, to use books as pegs fpr larger conversations. So this was very nice to hear.
Hmmm.... I'm not completely certain that I'm rightly understanding your question, but I'll give it a try. I would incline against describing the sense of obligation in overly subjective terms, because I worry that we then risk simply blessing our own desires or impulses. As much as possible I think we should attempt to run our sense of what is required of us up against the external world, not simply our internal experience, as a kind of check on ourselves. Perhaps we could say that the sense of calling is subjective in the sense that it will be different for each individual person--what is required of you will not be the same as what is required of me. But not subjective in the sense of emerging from within. The duties, whatever they may be, are real, and we can get them wrong. (Which is not to say that they are always easy to discern. Or, for that matter, that they are uncomplicated, since I suppose we can find ourselves with conflicting obligations, or different ones that cannot all be satisfied.) I'm probably not expressing this very well.
It's very interesting, and will think about it!
Wonderful and profound essay. I’m thinking about the girl in the dream posing that question about whether you should tear it all down and start over. What a choice!
Thank you! I’m so glad. And especially that the dream but resonated. It’s one of those dreams that one never forgets — the kind of metaphor that sticks with one. I tried to include the metaphor in a draft of a novel once, without success, but realized that an essay could perhaps hold it better…
There was a wonderful picture book my daughters repeatedly borrowed when they were at nursery school called Wilkie’s World, which posed that dilemma, about a little boy who finds all the ways you can mess up a world and keeps starting over. It was so simply and cleverly done. Never found it again. Am just looking online now… Ah! Edith Thacher Hurd, 1973, Faber and Faber. Can’t find a copy for sale, though!
Wow — that sounds amazing! I’ve never heard of it and will go hating off now to see if I can extracts at least, or some such thing. Are these worlds that he creates himself with a pen or blocks or something (like Harold and the Purple Pen), or worlds that he finds himself in? It sounds like a wonderful lesson about making mistakes and starting over —?
*go haring off, not hating off! Stupid autocorrect😊
Looking again, it was reissued with the title Wilson's World in 1994. I've just ordered a used paperback of it, and am very curious to see how it holds up. I can't find any images of the pages.
Harold and the Purple Crayon is a good comparison. That's another book I love! This has colour illustrations and looking at her bio they were done by her husband. He (Wilkie, or Wilson in the later edition) creates the worlds himself.
This is great, thank you! I had never heard of her, and this sent me into a rabbit hole of interesting people. She worked with Margaret Wise Brown, and her husband illustrated Goodnight Moon — what a lovely world that sounds like.
When you get your copy, would you come back and share your reactions?? Would love to hear more.