The Strength in Resting
You do not have to be good.
In the fifth grade, my classmate and I did a project on Olympic injuries. The Olympics were happening in Vancouver at the time, and I thought it was the coolest thing ever. There were plenty of things about it that we could have presented, but I understand why that specific topic was suggested to us. There was nothing more admirable to a group of semi-athletic ten-year-olds than defying physical odds to win a gold medal. That was strength — pressing on.
And so I pressed on. I was teased in elementary school and laughed it off. A boy spread a rumor about me in middle school and I forgave him without an apology. I cried out of shame in front of my high school history teacher when asking for an anxiety accommodation. Even during the pandemic, I overworked myself and felt guilty when I fell into a mental collapse towards the end of the year. I wanted to be like my parents, like my grandparents, like my aunts and uncles, who escaped religious persecution in Iran and fled to America to build lives from the ground up, seemingly without breaking. I didn’t want to break. And then I nearly did, so I stopped. The relief was new.
I turn to Mary Oliver’s “Wild Geese”:
You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting-- over and over announcing your place in the family of things.
You do not have to be good. When I feel guilty about staying home, or cutting my hours at work, or asking for an extension for a paper, I repeat that in my head like a mantra. Poets like Mary Oliver ground me in nature and help me realize that there is so much more to the world than me. There are animals moving, trees stretching, and a soft breeze growing cooler each passing day. Meanwhile the world goes on.
My best friend and I have created a habit of watching films together in her basement. But those two hours always turn into four, because we tend to start a conversation, pause the film, and talk for an hour before pressing play again. Some of our best conversations have happened between those plays, and then I’ll leave much later than I intended to, but I know her a bit better. I know myself a bit better. Pausing gives you a chance to develop and observe something that already exists. There’s worth in staying still. You can take it with you as you press play again.
To circle back — watching Simone Biles withdraw from the Olympics in 2021 has given my inner ten-year-old a great lesson: It takes an immense sense of self to land before you fall. We have been told to fight our demons, to push back and push them away, but I feel like the best and bravest thing we can do is to just sit with them for a while. That is strength to me, now.
Mary Oliver (bless her, again) wrote in her essay Of Power and Time:
I have wrestled with the angel and I am stained with light and I have no shame. Neither do I have guilt. (…) My loyalty is to the inner vision, whenever and howsoever it may arrive. If I have a meeting with you at three o’clock, rejoice if I am late. Rejoice even more if I do not arrive at all.
You do not have to be good. You just have to be.
More on Pausing
What I Enjoyed This Week
Recent Reads
Severance by Ling Ma. God, this was haunting. A 2018 satirical science fiction novel taking place before, during, and after the collapse of society (due to a pandemic) narrated by a Chinese-American woman [who once lived] in New York City. It delved into office politics, capitalism, and a portrait of the Chinese diaspora. It was hard to read at times, but it had such rich character development and setting description. This Vulture article helped me debrief the pandemic thing a bit better. 4.5/5!
“Dead Stars” by Ada Limon. I had a conversation recently that made me feel extra existential with regards to humanity and its (unlikely) eternal survival in light of climate change. I think about Ada Limon’s idea of radical hope and bask in it a bit. That helps. I like this line: But mostly we’re forgetting we’re dead stars too, my mouth is full / of dust and I wish to reclaim the rising— / to lean in the spotlight of streetlight with you, toward / what’s larger within us, toward how we were born. I read once many years ago that everything on Earth is made of stardust. It connects the universe via one common denominator. So when I roll my trash bins out, I just say hello to my friends, up there, light years above me.
Other Wonderful Things
I watched Little Fires Everywhere on Hulu this week. I read the book a few weeks ago and really enjoyed it, but I think I liked the show even more. It patched up all the holes I felt were present in the novel (and the author produced the show too, which made me feel better about it) and added so much more depth to the characters and plotline. Reese Witherspoon and Kerry Washington gave really stellar performances. I cried for a while at the end.
penguinmopping on TikTok. I honestly don’t have much to say about this one. I loved Club Penguin as a kid. This account just has such specific nostalgic and eerie energy. And the comments are full of people encouraging this little digital penguin, which is just really cute.
Happy August! Hope you all can find a moment to pause this week.
<3
Tara
hi wow i loved this! <3 i've also been reading a lot of mary oliver recently, and her works are so lovely
i enjoyed this very much thank u, really ♡