how beautiful
these things you do
this week’s Thought (singular)
when the aeroplane is on the tarmac for half an hour, and you think to yourself - i have to circle around a bunch and sit for what feels like hours on this runway, to prepare myself to take off. there’s a lesson here. when i’m less sleepy, i will appreciate it.
a very warm welcome to all new readers. i love new readers so much that whenever i get an email about a new reader, i manifest that they get good news this week. thank you for joining us. may you get an email/call/message/conversation that brings new optimism to your outlook.
a very warm welcome to old readers as well. may good sense continue to prevail.
hi
i recently read Victoria Adukwei Bulley’s incredible poem “There You Are” -
There you are this cold day boiling the water on the stove pouring the herbs into the pot hawthorn, rose; buying the tulips & looking at them, holding your heart in your hands at the table saying please, please to nobody else here in the kitchen with you. How hard, how heavy this all is. How beautiful, these things you do, in case they help, these things you do which, although you haven’t said it yet, say that you want to live.
the tenderness with which this daily schedule — boiling water, buying tulips — is introduced doesn’t prepare me for the whammy of the lines ‘… holding your heart in your hands at the table / saying please, please to nobody else / here in the kitchen with you.’ this sort of appeal, to nobody else, is so striking, so visceral. i’m reeling from how gently this desperation is conveyed. the quiet strength of the last few lines is a journey in itself. a big, long-sigh-inducing journey. how heavy this all is. how beautiful, these things you do. how beautiful, these things you do, in case they help. you haven’t said it yet, but they say you want to live. you might not know it yet, but you’re saving yourself by doing these beautiful things.
along similar lines, i came across a clip of Billie Eilish’s acceptance speech at the recent golden globe awards, and she said something that stuck with me.
at the 0:45 mark, she says “…writing that song kind of saved me a little bit.” i think that ties in so beautifully with the words above. writing that song, just in case it helped, saving you a little bit.
a few months ago, i had shared my joy list in this post -
although i didn’t say it, i see now that everything on the list is saving me. i do all of those to save myself. so i thought we could make another list, with intent this time. not a joy list, but a save list.
what’s the point, you ask? we already did this once, you complain? have you run out of ideas already you’re so young how have you run out of ideas already, you cruelly accuse? the point is that if something that you don’t even realise is saving you is saving you, how much more powerful can that thing be if you do realise it’s saving you? a joy list is a list of things that bring you joy. a save list is a list of activities that you do, that take some amount of concerted effort on your part, that you aren’t really sure will help but you do them anyway, just in case. onward!
Jahnavi’s Save List
dealing with the before and the after of a hot shower, just to have the joy of the during. turning on that geyser at the end of a long day, even when all you want to do is crawl into bed, to feel the water beating at you, to stand in the curling steam.
waking up early enough to see the sun rise, to hear the birds sing. to sit on your bed in front of the open window, morning chill tickling your nose as you’re still half-asleep and cozily wrapped in your blankets. the stillness, and the silence. breaking dawn.
taking a detour on your way back home from the shop to look for the stray cat. there is work waiting at home and the constant ticking clock in your head is sounding alarm bells at this deviation from The Plan, but there’s a creature in desperate need of petting that keeps winding between your feet and not letting you leave, and now the work feels a little less daunting and the clock is ticking a little softer.
making something for yourself. whether that’s just a cup of tea or an entire meal. getting lost in the systemic process of the cooking, putting together this nourishment with care and effort, ending with something inside you feeling less wilted and more alive.
doing something creative with your hands. wrapping a gift, sewing, gardening, painting - anything that will channel the rabid ferocity of your thinking into a lovely finished product that gives shape and draws focus to your core. reminding yourself of the strength of your creativity, and the joy of creating.
i’m reminded of something Kanan Gill had said at the exhaustively documented bangalore literature festival last month - everything in life is a chore, so how do you make things funny?
how do you save yourself, just a little bit? does drawing attention to these activities and carrying them out with intent and belief make them more effective? let me know!
ps: big shoutout to one of my absolute favourite recent finds on substack
for introducing me to and discussing Bulley’s work hereif you liked this post, please hit the like button! it’ll help more readers discover thodi and join this lovely community. thank you!
A Picture!
English Recitation Competition
Danse Russe, William Carlos Williams
If I when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists above shining trees,— if I in my north room dance naked, grotesquely before my mirror waving my shirt round my head and singing softly to myself: “I am lonely, lonely. I was born to be lonely, I am best so!” If I admire my arms, my face, my shoulders, flanks, buttocks against the yellow drawn shades,— Who shall say I am not the happy genius of my household?
Adrift, Mark Nepo
Everything is beautiful and I am so sad. This is how the heart makes a duet of wonder and grief. The light spraying through the lace of the fern is as delicate as the fibers of memory forming their web around the knot in my throat. The breeze makes the birds move from branch to branch as this ache makes me look for those I’ve lost in the next room, in the next song, in the laugh of the next stranger. In the very center, under it all, what we have that no one can take away and all that we’ve lost face each other. It is there that I’m adrift, feeling punctured by a holiness that exists inside everything. I am so sad and everything is beautiful.
If I must worry about how I will live in my old age without wealth I would be without health now and how can I live to be old? If I must worry about how I will live in my old age without love I would be without dreams now and how can I go on living another day?
Missing, Anne Scott
I’ve hunted near, I’ve hunted far I even looked inside my car. I’ve lost my glasses, I’m in need, To have them now so I can read. I loudly swear and I curse Did I leave them in my purse? Are they behind the sofa, under the bed? Oh there they are—on my head!
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this week’s Song
find all shared songs here.
thank you for reading, and see you next week <3