Since my last blog post, I’ve started studying and taking lessons in the hope of getting my driver’s license soon, gone for a swim a few times, run 10K and 8K, decided to learn again how to bike – endeavors I’d dropped somewhere along the way ages ago.
Someone asked me, why now and why things all relating to movement? Maybe it has something to do with turning 35 as a woman and hearing a lot about perimenopause and the importance of taking much better care of your brain and of your body. Also, these things are long overdue, and I feel ridiculous for being a beginner again but thought I’d feel even more so if I postponed them for yet another year.
Behind each pursuit we’ll find a reason and, if we dig deep within ourselves, we’ll likely find more than one. When it comes to biking, for instance, I biked a little as a child but never in traffic and I want to be comfortable on a bike so I can cycle to work and stop missing out so much: I recently skipped a trip to the south of France because it involved a day-long bike tour. I thought of other ways I’m making my life smaller because of fear – I’m writing in the present tense because fear is still taking up a lot of space.
In the miniseries Unbelievable, through all the abuse and gaslighting, Marie finds something to hold onto. My favorite scene is when she travels to the beach and leaves her footprints in the wet sand, letting the waves wash them over, then does it again, playing this little game – just her, the waves and the peaceful sea. It moves me deeply because it’s her way of reliving a long-ago moment when she felt happy, of reclaiming the insouciance that was stolen from her. Her driver’s license and her car are her gateway to a sense of freedom and independence, to a long-awaited exhale. We all have our reasons.
Digging deeper still, I realize something else might be going on behind this burst of energy. What if it’s an excuse for temporarily disappearing from the world and for life being stagnant? These activities give the illusion that things are progressing, but they aren’t, not when it comes to “the big things”. Many people around me are making strides (being interviewed on national television, traveling to yet another dream destination, refurbishing a house and welcoming a newborn, enjoying a blossoming romance…), and I’m so happy for them: I’ve never quite understood the concept of Schadenfreude, the idea of delighting in another’s troubles, because my happiness multiplies when people around me are striving and diminishes when they’re struggling. Yet, comparing yourself to others faring better does take you back to that familiar sense of lack: the big love, happiness, destiny… feel oh-so out of reach then.
I rewatched a film close to my heart the other day: the tragicomic claymation movie Mary and Max. At the beginning of it, the two lead characters are watching The Noblets at the same time in cities separated by over 10,000 miles. Besides their dorky interests, it’s their loneliness, their social awkwardness, their “confuzzlement” about the world, that has them bond and build a friendship that will span more than two decades.
After another painfully embarrassing interaction with her crush Damian, Mary bursts into tears alone in her room and, as if by reflex, looks in the mirror to check her forehead: her birthmark, the flaw she hated so much for so long, is still gone. Why, then, is she still not lucky in love? She had it surgically removed, sported a new look, pretended to be confident, tried to stand out, as if to say, how about now: Am I lovable? Will you love me? She still doesn’t get Damian to choose and love her and writes to Max “love is obviously not for me.”
Things work out for Mary… until they don’t. She goes from the highest highs to the lowest lows, sinking into depression and self-loathing, numbing it all with cooking sherry and too many instant noodles. I won’t give too much away – hopefully, you’ll see for yourself how the plot develops and how it all ends – but it’s a beautiful movie that explores serious themes with plenty of humor.
What I particularly like are the characters’ journeys to self-compassion and how the story of their friendship starts with something as simple and brave as Mary placing her finger on a random name in a phone book – we’re in 1976 – and reaching out to another wounded soul. And her words don’t get lost: Max really hears them.
The world is full of raging wars, climate damage and wildfires, of losses and suffering… but still, wonder keeps finding ways of sneaking in. On August 12, the sun and the moon made a date, and a great many of us watched this rare celestial encounter. From where I live, the eclipse covered about 90% of the sun. I’m lucky to have witnessed two significant solar eclipses in my life – the first one in 1999.
Most of the time, the pops of color in my life aren’t as impressive: they’re as tiny as getting my nails done by my sister or noticing during a swimming session that I swallow less water, or that I no longer get out of breath after doing a length or veer off as much when swimming the backstroke, but they’re causes for rejoicing, nonetheless.
I look forward to making more space in my calendar and in my life. I want to go through with my plans, but I also recognize that crazy-busy can become an armor to protect ourselves from life itself, if we let it. Keeping active, doing something useful, working toward a license or certificate, tends to be more socially acceptable then a vague “I’m working on me”, so the metaphorical Do Not Disturb sign is effective: you’re left alone. Someday though, I know I’ll have to remove this sign, dare to do the equivalent of pointing to a name in a phone book and try, once again, to engage with the world.
The solar eclipse on August 12, 2026. Photo by my sister Nirana Ohara
