Hi!
Life has had me pretty down, recently, because the things I want to do keep getting interrupted. So today—if you'll humor me—I'd like to take a moment to reflect on that. Let's start by considering this statement:
Life is a series of interruptions.
This is a slightly humorous generalization, sure, but an interesting idea; one I'm sure I've heard somewhere before, from someone smarter than me, and that I've certainly lived, recently.
I'll offer some examples, to explore the idea, keeping in mind that, by nature, interruptions can be either positive or negative (or, of course, fall into the murky space between):
Of the middling variety, we might have things like a road trip being interrupted by a car breaking down, or a depressive spiral being interrupted by healthy interventions, or—as a hypothetical example—preparations for a big move being interrupted by one's apartment flooding for a second time in three months (hypothetically).
On the macro scale, we might have war interrupted by peace, or the typical functioning of the biosphere and climate interrupted by human influence, or the existence of most life during the Cretaceous period being (erm) interrupted by an asteroid.
And on the micro scale: a dinner might be interrupted by a phone call, and writing this sentence might be interrupted by taking a drink of coffee, and one second will be, unavoidably, interrupted by the next.
The point being, I guess, that everything gets interrupted; nothing doesn't end. Time moves on, and entropy does its work. So let's complicate that original statement:
Life is a series of interruptions; these interruptions are impossible to avoid.
Now: there's another, very well-trodden bit of philosophical flotsam that I've been thinking about in relation to this, which is attributed to Heraclitus (yeah, we're going there). The idea, expressed clearly, goes something like: "A person can't step into the same river twice, because it's not the same river and they aren't the same person." This relates to a view of the world (or, at least, the human experience of the world) as always in a state of becoming, of change, of process, rather than any steady, static "being". It's one way of looking at things—I'm not saying it's the right way, but it's interesting, here. And it suggests this corollary to our first statement:
Once a thing is interrupted, it is lost. Repetition of the interrupted thing is impossible.
This is a little sad, but intuitive. We know that when a moment passes us by we can't return to it—that both our worst and our best days come to their inevitable end, that children grow up, that the party winds down and we all go home, eventually.
And yet—there are still patterns, and cycles. In a single lifetime we can watch tens of thousands of sunsets, see a billion flowers bloom across a hundred springs, and meet the same, different people again and again. Each of these instances are distinct—we have lived another different day each time we watch the sun set, and each day the sun sets on us differently—but we can repeat, and return to, the same, different places to do the same, different actions and engage with the same, different people again, and again, and again. We can step back into the same, different river as the same, different person. Which brings us to this seemingly contradictory point:
All things can be repeated.
A digression: there's this joke, in mathematics, that Le Guin brings up in The Dispossessed (yeah, we're going there, too): a thought experiment that asks us to imagine a rock thrown at a tree, and asserts that for the rock to hit the tree is impossible, because the distance from the rock to the tree can be halved, infinitely, so that there is always space between them. The punchline is that the rock hits the tree. We always knew it would. Mathematics, rationality, reason—they explain things correctly, but not perfectly.
I bring this up because it helps me understand how things go on, and get done, despite everything always being interrupted. Sarah and I's big move will happen, because despite the interruption of our apartment flooding again (hypothetically), we've returned to the packing, albeit in a more frazzled state. I will finish my novel, because despite the stops and starts, the drafting and redrafting, the pauses, I keep coming back to it, usually with better ideas and a clearer vision. The rock will hit the tree. Another way to put it, to add to our previous point and paraphrase Le Guin, again, is:
What is interrupted can be returned to, so long as you recognize it as entirely different. Everything can be repeated.
When you put all of these points together, they make a rather pleasing refrain that, while rough around the edges and in need of further polish, has the ring of a Zen koan or Taoist proverb, at least to me. In any case, it makes me feel a bit better amidst all the current turmoil and interruption in my life. I'll leave you with the lines all knitted together, as well as my sincere gratitude for getting here with me:
Life is a series of interruptions; these interruptions are impossible to avoid.
And once a thing is interrupted, it is lost.
Repetition of the thing is impossible.
But—what is interrupted can be returned to, so long as you recognize it as entirely different.
In this way, all things can be repeated.
PS Jokes aside, our current apartment really did flood for a second time this past week—but we're okay now (and extra excited to move to our new place)!
PPS I know there's a lot going on in this edition, so here are some extra thanks for sticking with me. I had a lot of time to think this week, obviously. And as always, I'd love to hear if this sparked any thoughts for you, positive or negative!
PPPS Okay, love you, bye!
