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I was really excited about the two root canals I had to get done this week.
After booking the procedure on Tuesday, I got home from my checkup and stormed through my to-do list, completing days worth of work with a gusto. I then took a shower and applied a new sweet scented body lotion on myself. I was thrilled by the thought of my smooth ankles peeking out beneath cotton pants when I propped myself up on the dentist’s chair.
For dinner, I ordered a rice and chicken bowl, a sumptuous last meal before the procedure. As I settled in for bed, I wondered if I’d have a good dream that night. (I did.)
The next morning, I enthusiastically informed my clients that I’d be unavailable for the next 24 hours. I texted my friends, “I’m getting it done!”. Despite 7 Ubers and 4 Olas cancelling on me while I waited in the exhausting heat, my joy was unshaken.
All along, there was a part of me asking myself the things you may be wondering – Why was I so excited about this painful procedure? Had I gone bonkers? Should I have prioritised ringing up a therapist before a dentist?
But there was another part, a part I’ve been listening to more these days, that reassured me I was doing exactly what I had to.
-
Before March there was Jan and Feb, which were rough for me.
I spent most of these months locked up in my bedroom, ruminating over relationships I let go of and dreams I set aside over the past two years. Each day would end with the same conclusion – I made these choices, it’s my responsibility to make peace with their consequences.
In the last week of Feb, the fog lightened. After hours of sobbing, I saw that I’d been stuck in a bad mental loop of replaying my losses. The truth is that every decision I made was carefully thought and felt out and I wouldn’t change much if I could do them over again. Yet, there was still a lot of loss.
These years have taken away so much from us. While some of us have lost people we love, all of us have experienced some sort of loss, mostly more than one. From jobs to relationships to big dreams that felt right around the corner, chunks of our lives lay casualty to this pandemic era.
It’s easy to look at this magnitude and conclude that we did things wrong. It’s natural to be as confused by this loss as we are confounded by its grief. But while we repeatedly analyse this confusion, something else happens, which Anne Helen Petersen described perfectly in her latest newsletter:
“... we don’t actually leave the previous crisis behind; it just wanes in urgency, with a promise that it will certainly wax again. It demands a sort of cyclical vigilance — and it’s been the norm for the last two pandemic years, with their ongoing waves of high-alert anxiety... It happens, then it happens again, then it just keeps happening.”
While she was speaking about grappling with the global state of affairs, I’ve been considering this in the light of the personal too. The cyclical vigilance she speaks of is so familiar – a constant wait for the next thing to go wrong, wanting to prevent it but believing that isn’t possible.
There is a hopelessness bound into this. What’s the point of coming up with a yearly plan if it’ll probably not work out anyway? Why nurture a friendship when the strongest ones can fall apart so easily? Why try at life at all?
To work towards any sort of goal, it’s essential to believe that there are other possibilities besides the worst things that happened to us. My problem was simple – after the pandemic, it was hard for me to believe that things would turn out differently.
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My solutions always begin internally and extend themselves to the outer world. Even this time, I stumbled upon my answer a few weeks ago, when I realized how exciting it felt to do regular things again.
Stepping out of the house, meeting a friend, having an uncomfortable conversation with another, shaving my legs, asking for a raise, and going to the dentist were all suddenly imbued with a strange joy.
My first instinct was to dismiss this as that typical post-pandemic-wave happiness, appreciating everyday blessings and such. But it kept coming back to me, tickling me, asking me to pay attention. And then, I finally saw it.
What struck me wasn’t the joy I felt doing everyday things again. It was the surprise I felt about this joy. The surprise meant that I didn’t expect to feel good, yet I did. It was an internal note of difference, of multiplicity, of possibility.
So I started to notice the surprise.
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Most recently, it occurred when I went to get two long-pending root canals done. I expected this to bring me anxiety, but what I felt was excitement – this meant I’d be able to chew on both sides again, brush only once a day (no, I don’t intend to improve my dental habits), and drink water without wanting to rip my hair off!
I was surprised by this and made a note of it.
I didn’t just stop at that. I leaned in and created more room for surprise within the experience. I planned two whole days around it, doing little things that would give me opportunities to note the incongruence between what was happening and what I expected.
After two years of stifled, stunted, and ruptured hopes, possibility is what I most need to be aware of right now. And surprise is a reminder of possibilities I haven’t accounted for.
Loss → Confusion → Hyper Vigilance → Hopelessness
↓
Everyday Excitements → Surprise → Possibility → Hope
I’ve been better over the past month. I'm speaking more, I’m less angry, I’m traversing territory beyond my front door. I even manage to keep small promises to myself. I’m looking for ways to spot the excitement in everyday happenings and lean into their surprise.
If you’ve been feeling the same, I ask you to notice the surprise, my dearest. Because it is this gleeful child what will save our grumpy old man selves from despair. Surprise will show us possibility, give us hope, and help us keep building.
Love,
Soumya
Reflection Prompts ✍
- The next time you feel joy, excitement, or gratitude for a regular occurrence, pause. Ask yourself if it surprised you.
- If the answer is yes, ask yourself why. Write down the reason.
- When you have 10+ reasons on your list, read them out and note the possibilities you hadn’t accounted for. Remember that this is just the tiniest glimpse of the abundance that awaits you. How does that feel?
Wanna Swap ATCs? 😍
Artist Trading Cards are pieces of art that have only 2 rules: They must be 2.5" x 3.5" & are meant to be freely swapped between people.
This creates an excellent ecosystem between artists and art enthusiasts, a space away from museums and galleries where art is accessible and each trade itself adds meaning to what is created.
If you'd like to try your hand at creating, I'd love to swap a pair of these! Click the post for more details. Reply to this email or DM me on Instagram to swap.
Recommended Reads 📚
It's your friends who break your heart.
Is Lexi in Euphoria a Bad Art Friend? (and in case you haven’t read the viral article, The OG Bad Art Friend)
Read this if you constantly scan your relationships for threats.
Stop telling women they have imposter syndrome.
A big shitty party: Six parables on writing about other people.
Current Jam 🎵
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