Feeling a bit better today, starting week 9? I guess? of work under quarantine/SIP - still getting into that rhythm.
I’ve been thinking about narrative again - that our lives are predicated on the stories we construct about ourselves - and we are stuck in this place that has interrupted our narrative. It’s hard to tell which way we are heading and so unclear what to say about this moment. In the end it will be captured as a moment of reflection, coming to understand one’s purpose, taking a rest before carrying on, a moment to succumb to the seduction of indolence, a test of character, an exhausting delay. But for now we don’t quite know what this moment will be in our future stories.
I find myself wanting to delve into Bettelheim and Jung - to dig into the primordial archetypes. The story is unfamiliar to us, but common enough if we sink back a few generations. The Spanish Flu, the Plague, all have stories to tell, stories we’ve ignored and are now living them fresh. Tales of the hubris of those believing themselves exempt from nature, tales of nihilistic abandon of those believed condemned, tales of sacrifice and survival, tales of grift and compassion. These stories are old but new to us again, ready to take on the stamp of our retelling with the details that make them our own.
I wonder myself what story I will tell, or be told, about me in these times. I hope it’s a good one though.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment