Love Is A Bowl Of Pumpkin Curry With My Wife

A personal statement, of sorts

These modern times are more chaotic than ever ––and I probably should not have to tell anyone. Or, at the very least, they certainly seem to be. With the current chattering of an imminent World War III (and some arguing we are already within it); the uncharted territory of Artificial Intelligence and its various implications; the many multi-billionaires and their tight grip on what the future beholds, and a generation or two of humans whose perspective has been blasted by social media and the never ending scrolling of the cell phone, it is easy to see why some are dreading the future––if not for themselves, but for those who surround them, in full knowledge that what we call society, civilization, is a shared collaboration. A collaboration whose mere existence is a fragile one. Yes, we depend on one another–no man or woman can be an island.

And yet, there is the distinct feeling that there is little that we can do about anything. We cannot stop Artificial Intelligence (speaking to those who want to), nor the values of the billionaire class, nor can we control the levers of conflict and war.

I cannot help the children of Gaza any more than I can demand the freedom of the population of North Korea. In this strange way, the news that is reported, on every matter from the weather to the latest air strike in whichever country, is simply a series of things you cannot control. As if to say, “we´re here live in the newsroom with an update of all the things you cannot control, and after that, here is Kathy with weather–also, out of your control”. But of course, just like our chaotic world, the news, too, has been that way forever.

It is no wonder the publishing world is chock-full of books of the self-help variety. Inexplicably, they seem to have a habit of putting a curse word in the title. Books like You are a Badass, How to get Sh*t Done, or The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck––the censoring of the words is their own, by the way, not mine––fly off the shelves quite predictably. Everyone wants to be accomplished, wants to be a badass, and likely could use some guidance on what or what not to give a fuck about.

But the fact that so many are seeking help of this type (that is to say, of the reassuring, affirming kind) is an indicator of something. In this way, it is the opposite of the news: here are the things you might be able to control, and here is how you might do it. However trite and pedestrian these books appear to be, it is hard, and even quite rude, to knock someone for trying to better themselves through books. I imagine the consequences are much less than those that come with the decision by psychiatric patients to relegate their future treatments to an AI chatbot. This is already happening, and it too is worrisome.

In my last piece for this publication, I stated that I refused to live in this world alone; well, for one, I genuinely love people. I love to be loved by them, and I love for them to feel my love. But I cannot live in the world with everyone either. The conundrum of universal love is its specificity. Universal love is, in truth, very local. One must prioritize it to their spouses and some for themselves; the streets they live on, the stores they shop in; the children who play in the neighborhood, the elderly lady who could use help with her groceries going up the stairs.

And this is no advice. I don’t like to give it and am quite selective about the advice I take. It is more a meditation, a reminder to myself that there are simply things I can impact, on some level, and things that I cannot. Values require discretion, lest you be entirely swallowed whole by every reported conflict in this world of overlapping chaos.

Another way I can look at it: values are those things that cannot be taken away from you. You may need to reinforce them from time to time, but once that constitution of the self is formed, it is damned hard to break. Unfortunately, few understand this. Few understand that in any given situation, stupidity will likely win through sheer numbers, that quality is determined by the lowest acceptable rate of mediocrity, and that we may have more control than we think, so long as we prioritize and realize our immediate surroundings.

Having said that, I find my marriage to my wife to be my immediate source of inspiration, love, and in collaboration with her, there is the shared promise, the shared happiness that we both work to keep alive. Most of all, our dinners, which we never skip, are just as ingrained in our daily schedule as taking a shower or making the bed. In our dinners, there is the shared promise that we will eat a hearty meal together, discuss all the world's problems, plagues, and dilemmas, and through our mutual inability to do anything about them, we can either laugh or cry, but still, there is a calm to the whole thing. Anyway, I suppose that is what dinner is for––and marriage.

JSV

Wrong Speak is a free-expression platform that allows varying viewpoints. All views expressed in this article are the author's own.