[Excerpt] The Examined Life - Stephan Grosz

‘I get to her office. I ring the bell. She’s got a buzzer system. What am I supposed to do if she doesn’t release the door straight away? Should I ring the bell again? If I ring again, will she think I’m annoying? Then she releases the door. Her office is on the fourth floor. I have to take the lift. I’d like to take the stairs, but if I walk up, I’ll be sweaty. So I take the lift.

‘But the lift is a bit of a problem. I wouldn’t want anyone to see that I’m going to a psychoanalyst – I’m antsy about that. So I get to the fourth floor and make it to her door. On the door she has one of those push-button combination locks, so that patients can let themselves into the waiting room. Sometimes I fumble with the lock and I get the combination wrong. Is she listening? Is she thinking, “What a klutz?”

‘I’m in the waiting room five minutes early. Should I start reading something? She once told me that it was interesting that I had started to read something despite the fact that I had only a couple

of minutes before the start of my session. Maybe I shouldn’t read. What do I do if someone else comes into the waiting room? Do I smile? What do I do if I see her colleague – do I say hello to him?

Is there a rule about this stuff?

‘She’s one minute late coming to the waiting room to get me. Now it’s two minutes. Has she forgotten me? She comes into the waiting room. Do I look at her, or not look at her? As I follow her into her consulting room, do I look around the room, or not look around the room? What do I want to see? Am I trying to avoid seeing something?

‘Now I’m at the couch. Do I really lie down and put my wet, dirty shoes on her nice clean couch, or do I take them off? Do patients normally take off their shoes or not? I don’t know. If I do take my shoes off and most people don’t, I look peculiar. But if I don’t take my shoes off and most people do – then I’m dirty. I decide that I’d rather be peculiar than dirty. So off come the shoes.

‘By the time I finally lie down on the couch, I’ve been through all of that. This entire discussion – my sense of being reproached and my sense of self-reproach, this whole saga of doubt and trouble – all of it has been conducted before either of us says a word.’

Tom downed his espresso.

‘It took a long, long time – probably a couple of years – to really divulge all that toing and froing clearly because, frankly, who wants to let someone else know just how absolutely small your own preoccupations are? But Dr A. kept returning to this sort of stuff, kept encouraging me to talk about it. We spent weeks on that shoe thing, for God’s sake. I wasn’t expecting that.’

---

This feels like something I'd talk to my therapist about, if I had a therapist. This story touched me because of how real it sounded. 

A Thing is never seen as it really is*

*Quote by Josef Albers

Have you ever had strawberry and grape fruit juice? It's not very good, but mom makes it for the guests sometimes. She says it's good but I can't see it that way. It's unbelievable how others don't see the things you see so clearly.
My brother thinks it's funny I laugh while watching the Mentalist, because it's a crime show and what is there to laugh at? But he doesn't see it the way I do, and that makes all the difference, doesn't it?
I also laugh out loud while reading, I know that a lot of people do that. Don't look at me like I'm crazy.

---

It's funny how we live pretending, we pretend we don't know about something waiting for someone to officially tell us, we pretend we didn't see someone do something and we treat them as if we didn't see it though we know something inside of us changed. 

I don't know if our pretend is out of decency, respect, our hope that they would overlook a few things or is it just deceit and how we got used to leaving things aside and avoiding confrontation.

---

Is the world falling apart? 

Unload.

I want to sit beside a stranger and say 'Tell me, I'm here.'
I want to give someone the comfort of being heard, of unloading, of even if everyone around them heard them going on and on about something, I want to be the one they tell that story to from the beginning, someone who doesn't have a preformed idea. About the stranger, about their friends, about their life, about anything else. I would sit, listen. And after they've drained their heart out, I'd sit. They wouldn't expect a reply. We'd watch people passing by. Taking turns in releasing our sighs. Knowing that at least a few sighs were less loaded because of me.
I'd never have the guts to do it. So I can only imagine it in words.

Maybe we need a campaign that says 'unload your heart for free'. I'd sit at that booth.

Driving

Last July I got my driver's license. I've been legally driving for a year now, and I really thought time will make me a confident driver who enjoys driving. Truth of the matter is, I don't really enjoy driving. I'm stressed most of the time and the cars on the road each presents a danger. I don't think of it as a way to let go of stress, or clear my head.

I'd rather be seated in the backseat and someone take me where I want to go. Car rides are usually a good thing, they make you look at the scenery, see the cars passing by, have time to contemplate. Imagine someone who takes refuge in the backseat of a car goes to not just the front seat, but to the driver's seat. Funny how life forces you out of your comfort zone to teach you things.
However, having my own license, and recently, mom's car has its benefits. You don't have to ask your family to get out of their way to drop you and come back to get you.

It's not without it's funny stories though. Just at the other day, going early to the hospital. I made the mistake of going inside to park the car. I stepped in too keenly and then the front got hooked to the pavement.I didn't think that was ever possible, but it happened.
I suck at directions, and even on the way back home I find myself asking which way should I be going. It can get a little annoying but I'm slow at processing a few things in life, and directions is one of them. 

I need a personal driver, don't you guys think so? 

Retrospect

We try to polish our image, knowing we're not perfect. We need validation from others to go on. We polish it even by trying to make ourselves look bad, consciously and unconsciously. The problem with this polishing is how superficial it is, we don't look from the inside, we look at our reflection in people's minds and go from there. People regard us as 'good' because of them, not because of us. Are we innately good or bad? I always argued in favor of us being good, and still if I had to discuss this my mind would always go towards the "goodness". But when it comes to applying this to you, things get confusing. You're not as clear cut as the fundamental question itself.

One day a few months ago, I was upset for some reason. I really couldn't talk or be near anyone. Unfortunately that time, I was too upset to hide it well. One of my friends tried to hug me, but I was so far off. I couldn't feel the warmth of the hug, I couldn't appreciate the tenderness with which it was given, I was so far gone into my world that I just wanted to break free. I wanted out. I was going to cry, because of a hug, because I didn't want it, because how unfair it seemed to me that I was getting suffocated and how unfair it was to her that I was inwardly rejecting this hug. It happens with other situations, I try to view myself from the outside, and I can't find another explanation for how often people forgive these misgivings than their innate goodness.

How good am I innately, to want others to let me do them good but refuse to accept their goodness? It's confusing, and it's not where I hoped to find myself in life. It's not an image you like of yourself, it's a thought you keep pushing away, it's a memory your mind refuses to accept.
Refusing kindness because it wasn't the right time for me, as if kindness has to be timed and acted according to my personal needs.It's curious to see how your values not matching to how you act. Fearing the person you've become.

I need to re-evaluate me as a friend.

أعمالنا لله

رمضان مبارك عالجميع.
دائماً نتمنى من رمضان أن يكون أفضل من الذي أسلف، لكن بنهايته نجد أنفسنا نعلق أمالاً بالقادم. و نحن لا نضمن لنا غداً.
نحاول أن نساعد أنفسنا و نساعد من حولنا بأي طريقة كانت. نصلي، نقرأ قرآن، نبتسم، ننصح. لا ندري أي من هذه الأعمال سننال منه رضى الله.
من المؤسف أن يذهب تعبنا هباء. نعمل خيراً و ننشر عملنا: نخبر أهلنا و أصدقائنا به. نكتب عنه على الفيسبوك أو تويتر. بطريقة مباشرة أو غير مباشرة، قد تكون نيتنا صافية بأننا نريد دفع الأخرين على فعل الخير، لكن قد يضيع عملنا بنشره لأننا نريد ثناءً أو أن نرضي غرورنا، أو نشكل صورة حسنة عن أنفسنا لدى الآخرين. و من المفروض أن يكون عملنا لوجه الله خالصاً.
من مشكلة هذه المواقع أننا نشر حياتنا بشكل علني، و لا ضير في ذلك، لا ضير في نشرنا للخير و لدعاء قد يفيد غيرنا، لنصيحة قد يعمل بها غيرنا فيستفسد بها و ننتفع نحن بالمقابل.
لكن أرجو أن تفكر قبل أن تتكلم عن عملك الخيري، أرجو أن تتذكر حث الرسول لنا على أن "لا تعلم شمالك ما أنفقت يمينك"

Sun & figs

I’ve gone a shade darker (or a few, but who cares really). Blaming the sun isn’t the answer, I could’ve used a stronger sunblock but the thing is, my daily intake of sunshine doesn’t exceed the two minute walks I take to the Lecture hall. Anyway, increased melatonin secretion will do that to you (as well as living in this part of the world). My sister was the one who pointed it out, when I stare at my reflection, which is not infrequent, I usually look at how tired my eyes look, my nose, my hair, my hair and my hair. I have hair issues, but don’t we all? Except if you’ve got your own hair stylist, then you’re exempt from hair issues, but not from my envy.

Figs. I’ve been craving figs for ages now, I think this state will go on forever. There doesn’t seem to be figs around. I ate a dried fig last night, you know to compensate a little for my hunger for figs. I saw a dead ant inside. I’m sorry I don’t mean to disgust you but bear with me. I thought if I didn’t look at the fig, if I was absorbed watching TV, if I just ate it, that ant would be inside of me now. God sometimes makes us see things, he makes us notice little things. He opens our eyes for a minute to protect us, when for so long our eyes are so blinded. We never see life around us and we complain we’re not “living”. It’s our souls that are blinded, not our eyes. We see clearly. We see the colors, we watch the movies, we read the books, we just never notice anything. Every few weeks, I home back home by the bus. The ride takes over 2 hours. I still don’t know the road well after nearly a year of living there. I don’t like the road at all, I hate going back to the hostel, and I miss my family. These thoughts are always there on my mind, they stop my from noticing things on the road.

It’s not just that. At times, if you asked me what color my tooth brush is, I’d take a few minutes to remember. I never learn the way to any place we go to, and I drive now so it’s kind of an issue. I never pay attention. I feel my head crammed with so many nonsense and I never have in my head what I need to remember. I don’t have ‘be kind’ or ‘do good’ playing in my head, I don’t remember to be patient until after I’ve expressed my frustration and complained. A second to take things in before they’re tagged and labeled by my ever-so-ready brain. A second to appreciate things is all I need to take. 

 I feel I need to go inside my brain and de-clutter it. Throw away all the things I don't need. 

Till then, I'll keep craving figs and trying to take deeper breaths and sharpen my gaze.

Getting books in a dream

I've been dreaming a lot lately, don't know why. I think it's my disturbed sleep habits. I'd like to tell you about the one I had last night and I woke up happy not knowing why before I remembered the dream.
An -imaginary- writer gave me books he bought for me from a bookfair, they were -imaginary- books I was looking for and his -imaginary- published books along with some notebooks.
I think I sat on the floor checking everything and I was telling my sister that one of the books I just found out about that day itself and... It wasn't romantic in any way, the writer must have been just a little younger than my dad and the joy those books brought me in the dream was immense.

May you have better dreams and a better reality.
Noor

Chuck Palahniuk, Choke

“The unreal is more powerful than the real. Because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it. Because its only intangible ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. Stone crumbles. Wood rots. People, well, they die. But things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on. If you can change the way people think. The way they see themselves. The way they see the world. You can change the way people live their lives. That's the only lasting thing you can create.”
― Chuck Palahniuk, Choke

What surrounds us

Walls were supposed to be protective, from the world outside. When it got stormy, you were safe from the harsh wind because of these walls. We make walls poetic because they surround you all the time.
You long for freedom. You go for a walk and we see the walls, and suddenly, it's oppressive.

These walls are limiting, preventing us from seeing the world. We can't be dwelling in endless comfort anymore, they can't keep imposing these walls on us. The 4 walls of our rooms are more than enough.
Skies are withheld from our sight, imagine our view was the sky while we lie awake thinking of our problems at the end of the day. How insignificant they would seem, how better our sleep would be, how small we would feel.

Walls shielding the vastness of the world from us and shielding us from the insignificance of ourselves. We need more of 'the great outdoors'. The immense sunshine and the total darkness. The two extremes we try to imitate by turning the lights on and off.
Are the walls to blame here or are we?