on bittersweetness
unpacking the inherent strength of softness, sensitivity, and vulnerability
Something that never fails to shock me no matter how many times it happens is the way in which words heal, transform and transcend us. It’s happened more times that I can count — a really well written sentence can just strike me down and lift me up. Whether it’s a incredibly resonant passage that touches my soul or a multi-generational fiction novel that sweeps me off my feet and carries me to a continent I’ve never visited (I’m reaching Pachinko by Min Jin Lee right now and I’m kicking myself for putting it down earlier this year) words, language, this dance that me and you are doing right now as you read this, never ceases to amaze me.
I think most writers are readers first. I grew up taking family trips to the library. My mom read and she read to me and my siblings every night. We incurred more library late fees that I care to admit, fees my mom ensured we paid with our own money. “Readers are leaders,” she would say. I learned so much from my favorite authors and librarians and my mother, of course. I can’t wait to pass down this love to my own children one day. I didn’t know then that I was embarking on what would become a lifelong love affair with the written word.
A recent read that really stuck with me was “Bittersweet: How Sorrow and Longing Make Us Whole” by Susan Cain, author of the bestselling book Quiet. In Bittersweet she writes “bittersweetness is not as we tend to think, just a momentary feeling or event. It’s also a quiet force, a way of being.. an authentic and elevating response to the problem of being alive in a deeply flawed yet stubbornly beautiful world.”
I’m a shameless lover of a sad song on a rainy day. I’m certified sad girl through and through. I think my ability to sit with my sadness, grief and longing amplifies my capacity to be with my joy, wonder and love. By refusing to label the “negative” emotions that surface as “negative”, I am able to stay present with the gift that it is to be alive and to feel anything at all. I feel everything deeply, even if it’s nothing at all.
I wrote last week about a sadness that showed up unannounced and overstayed its welcome in September and it struck me that it was the first time I wrote openly about my relationship with sadness. Whenever I notice sadness in myself, my immediate response is “Of course I am sad. I am alive, I am paying attention.” It’s not to say I’m unhappy with my life, or I’m not aware of all the things in my life I have to be grateful for. I used to think I had to have something to point to as a reason for the sadness. An answer for the anticipated question “what’s wrong?” I’ve gotten to the point where the sadness doesn’t have to mean anything more than proof that I am alive.
I can feel the same spectrum of emotions on a sunny day that I feel on a rainy day. I can watch as the feelings rise and fall within me throughout the day, the hour, the moment. There is so much capacity for feeling within me, within all of us, and I’ve come to know it as one of my greatest strengths. I wrote on my 2023 vision board “own the strength in your softness.” Growing up in a culture like ours, I came to understand sensitivity as a weakness, it’s taken a recent and ongoing rewiring to understand it as anything otherwise. Susan Cain writes that some of the most creative souls have this innate sense of bittersweet melancholy about them. If you’re reading this maybe you do too.
Some of my favorite people, the artists that I admire, the friends that I feel the most seen by, mirror this same bittersweetness. I’m starting to understand bittersweetness for the gift that it is, for the way that it enriches my life.
“The tragedy of life is linked inescapably with its splendor.” - Susan Cain
COME AS YOU ARE
I distinctly remember making the conscious decision to show up exactly as I am when spending time with family and friends. Giving them the opportunity to receive me, showing me that I am enough, just as I am. We’ve all painted on a smile on while leaving the house even if we’re in the midst of grieving, spiraling anxiety, or a sadness we just can’t seem to shake. I wonder what makes us think, even for a second, that the people who love us most won’t receive us in our rawest form. Why do we do each other that great disservice?
When a friend calls on me during their time of need, it makes me want to return the favor. Why do we hide ourselves away when we’re moving through hard things? We’re quick to celebrate our wins and successes with our circle, but when we don’t get the job, or the romantic connection unravels, or we experience loss or financial insecurity, it’s harder to pick up the phone and call.
I started asking myself these questions and trying it out in some of my most intimate friendships. What would happen if I showed up exactly as I’m feeling that day? No forced smiles, no “I’m good, and you?’, the raw and honest truth of it. It was uncomfortable at first, it still is sometimes. My relationships benefitted, I felt more connected than I’ve ever felt, more seen, more held. I felt less alone in my experience. I hear it gets easier over time. We’ll see about that.
“If would honor sadness a little more, maybe we could see it – rather than enforced smiles and righteous outrage – as the bridge we need to connect with each other”
I will never get over the miraculous gift that is language. The power to convey meaning from my mind to yours. To capture a feeling and bring life to it on the page. It’s the gift of writers, and readers alike. I’ll be a word worshiper until the very end. Thank you for being here and reading some of mine.
Take Care,
Asha Nia