Going Deeper

Do what you love. Know your own bone; gnaw at it, bury it, unearth it, and gnaw it still.

Henry David Thoreau

Over the weekend I attended a performance by the Stellenbosch University Choir. It was pure magic - a hundred or so voices, under the direction of a skilled and passionate director.

I came away thinking about the time and commitment required to arrive on stage, ready to perform to such a high standard. All members of the choir are students, who must continue to meet their academic commitments. The choirmaster not only directs the choir, but arranges many of the songs himself.

I've been reading The Song of the Cell, a book about cell biology. The author, Siddhartha Mukherjee, apart from talking about new developments in the field, also traces its history - telling the stories of men like Rudolph Virchow, whose love for his work and concern for people in need of medical help, shaped his life around the search for answers to difficult questions.

It's a line of thought I come back to often, the question I cannot brush aside - what would it look like to give myself to that which I love and care about? I'm not speaking here only about the luminaries - the famous scientists and engineers whose work transforms medicine or technology, the writers and artists who win the big prizes or whose work graces the walls of prestigious museums.

I'm thinking about the power and beauty of a life given to something. My father was a very creative man. He spent much of his spare time, outside of work, crafting beautiful things from wood. He never stopped reading and studying, learning everything he could and embarking on new projects. In his later years he followed a passion for amateur astronomy, joining a group of other astronomers and participating in "star parties", introducing the public to the magic of the night sky. We made furniture together that I still have in my home, and our forays into various artistic projects together are some of my favourite memories.

My brother and I had a wonderful music teacher when we were young, a woman who loved both her work and the children she taught. I have a memory of her driving a few of us to write an exam in town one day, then stopping at the beach on the way home for a picnic. She'd packed biscuits and cooldrink, such a treat after the nerves and challenge of the exam. Her life was built around her delight in music and in sharing that with us.

I am so easily distracted and discouraged, knocked off centre by other demands and the noise of the attention economy. Cal Newport, in his book Deep Work, says "...don’t try to say ‘no’ to the trivial distractions you find on the information smorgasbord; try to say ‘yes’ to the subject that arouses a terrifying longing, and let the terrifying longing crowd out everything else."

What a phrase, terrifying longing. It is terrifying to contemplate and engage with what stirs my heart. There's a lot to lose. What if I'm not that good at what I love? What if no-one likes my work? What if I'm supposed to be doing something else? But what if not following is more terrifying? I find myself with the question of what I would regret most. The long view helps to create clarity.

So I keep writing, sharing my scribblings, and listening to mentors whose skill and care help me to produce better work. Some days it takes a lot of courage and determination to pick up my pen, or arrive at the screen. But there are days when it feels easier, when the words flow or someone tells me a post has helped. Like Thoreau, I'm going to keep gnawing at my bone.

With appreciation,

Carri.

P.S. You can find a tongue-in-cheek poem on social media distraction in this week's Cloudlight post.