Since graduating university a year ago there has been little opportunity, or necessity for me to think or write critically about…well, anything. It’s a shame, because I enjoyed cultivating that skill, and growing my ability to write thoughtful essays and debate effectively.
I majored in International Relations and English Literature, a strange but intriguing combination. International relations contains a bit of everything: politics, war and peace studies, history, economics, strategy, humanitarian aid, cultural studies, religion and more. English Literature is much the same, as books and literature can transport us anywhere and discuss almost anything.
This degree required a sense of curiosity and understanding in a range of fields. It required an ability to read all kinds of works with a critical and analytical eye, from novels to poems to international charters to journal articles to project plans to legislation to propaganda to speeches. Not only did you have to read and understand these works, but you had to decide if you agreed with or wanted to challenge them, and you had to synthesise the information with other works and ideas. You had to translate things too, from one perspective or analytical lens and reinterpret them from an entirely different or opposing understanding (try comparing a realist and feminist view on the necessity of nuclear weapons, or engaging with debates about the environment from a neoliberal point of view).
Then there was the intensity of the content. Everyday was difficult because of the delicate nature of the topics we discussed. I’ve said it plenty of times before, but the class I took on genocide in one of my earliest years will stick with me forever. Dead bodies covered the screen for hours, as we looked through several of these awful atrocities. It didn’t help that I was also studying the Rwandan genocide in my French class at the time (double whammy), or that the next week we just moved on to the next kind of conflict common in international relations (hello civil wars!).
Literature had a solid place in all this too, don’t underestimate that. My class on World Literature was one of my favourites, as we read several incredible and unique stories including:
- The Moor’s Last Sigh by Salman Rushdie
- Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books by Azar Nafisi
- Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
- Feeding the Ghosts by Fred D’Aguiar
- Baby No-Eyes by Patricia Grace
- Zong! by M. NourbeSe Philip and Setaey Adamu Boateng.
These books were fascinating, as explorations of different time periods, events, and reactions to these instances. I think Literature is such an incredible vessel for human communication, and these books absolutely transformed how I thought about life, humanity, history and art.
I’ll add Petit Pays by Gaël Faye to that list, which I read in French and English for another class. This novel reflects the author’s own experience as a young boy living in Burundi during the Rwandan genocide. The book is shattering, and helped me to see the intense personal cost of the conflict I had studied so scientifically. You shouldn’t need things like this to remind you to have empathy for these situations, but it made me realise how apathetic I had grown. Studying these topics is heavy, and you do need to desensitise yourself quite a bit to handle it, but the way these books shocked me out of that detachment was surprising.
Working at my desk job by comparison is far more boring, and much more safe. It requires consistency, and the social ability to navigate office politics, but beyond that, there isn’t much else required of you. Some problem solving, sure, but even then you don’t get solutions implemented for another year at the earliest.
It’s a far cry from the intense work and mental gymnastics I was doing at university. Which is why the lack feels so great.
To be brutally honest, I feel like I’m growing numb. My brain no longer needs to parse through difficult texts and form complex and nuanced arguments. I used to write daily about the articles I was reading, applying my knowledge to various instances around the world today. Now, I worry that I won’t be able to form a single coherent thought.
It’s scary, so I’m doing what I can to get back on track. I’ve decided to read through bell hooks’ book Communion: the Female Search for Love after I read All About Love last year. Her flowing writing style make her works seem conversational, as she weaves her thoughts and experiences together to discuss love in a unique way. Instead of just reading and forgetting however, I challenged myself to write about the work and my reaction to it, to keep engaging with the text. Who knows, maybe others will enjoy reading it and learning from her/me too.
I’m still writing my books, which has been helpful too, but it’s not the same as analytical writing. I worry that without time to read other works, engage with them critically and form new thoughts, I won’t be as strong or good as a writer. Fiction is still an important form, and I don’t want to write simple or boring stories. My work is not only for entertainment but for promoting personal growth and reflection on the world around us too.
Combatting my mental numbing is going to take work, but I hope I can stave off the dullness. I don’t want to wake up one day realising that it’s too hard for me to write or think. I don’t want to outsource my thinking or skills to machines, though that is a real and ever-growing possibility. I want to enjoy my work and my life, constantly improving it too.
I’ve already started this journey, by reading Communion by bell hooks, and responding to it chapter-by-chapter here on the blog.
So are you with me? Will you also embrace the practise and practice of learning? Not only the act of doing the work to get better at it, but treating it as an everyday job.
Because the ‘work’ is yourself at the end of the day. You only get to live in this very moment once, and you’ll only get to live this life one time. Will you actually live it yourself, or will you give in and give up, accepting the ‘ease’ offered to you at the expense of your own mind?
Food for thought, until next time.
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