I love this quote. I have it on my desktop background as a constant, steady reminder. Write hard and clear about what hurts. In essays or emails or letters or thoughtful conversations. Put it out there. Practice succinctness. Choose bravery. Hemingway is my favorite author for exactly that— brevity, clarity, directness. Most people need 900 pages for what he can do in 100. He chooses to write hard— to cut to the heart of life and skip the fluff.
You know the saying that you are an amalgamation of the five people you spend the most time with? When I think about their common trait, it’s this very quality of Hemingway that I so admire. I feel so fortunate to have these strong, inspiring examples surrounding me, to hopefully help me amalgamate (is that a word?). They set a high bar for facing reality, always always always having compassion (for themselves and others), and total presence. I mean presence in the sense of fully experiencing the joy or the pain in themselves. Or fully sharing my joy or my pain without wishing it away or making it about them.
In trying to be brave and share “clear and hard” about what hurts, I’ve noticed which interactions feel nourishing and which interactions feel depleting. Nourishment: active listening, compassion, holding space. Depletion: advice, making the pain and the conversation about themselves, misplaced energy that’s overwhelming.
We all have real, silent struggles. When someone seems rude or annoying or disengaged, what’s really going on for them? Is a loved one sick? Are they awaiting a diagnosis? Is some sort of trauma present for them every day? I want to continue to write hard and clear about what hurts. I want to talk hard and clear about what hurts. And I want to take cues from my five about how to create a nourishing space for others to do that: sweet empathy, question asking, ease in silence.
Thank you so, so much to those who have created that space.