Two Statements. One True. One False.
It is not great, and it is okay.
I’ve been on Clubhouse recently. It’s a cool app, and like most things in the world, it comes with its downside and bright side.
And like most social media, this one too, prompts me to remind myself of all that I have fallen short of.
Two statements hover over my mind.
Statement 1: People know so much more than I do.
Statement 2: I know nothing worth sharing. I don’t matter.
Statement 1 is a fact. People indeed know a lot more than I do. People always will. As a collective whole, there is an infinite combination of things that our mortal minds can only imagine to capture a piece of.
At 89, Sir Roger Penrose was still continuing his research when he was awarded the 2020 Nobel Prize for Physics. In the Black Swan, Nassim Nicholas Taleb writes:
The library should contain as much of what you don’t know as your financial means, mortgage rates and the currently tight real-estate market allows you to put there. You will accumulate more knowledge and more books as you grow older, and the growing number of unread books on the shelves will look at you menacingly. Indeed, the more you know, the larger the rows of unread books. Let us call this collection of unread books an antilibrary.
Our journey to knowing and trying is incessant, no matter who we may be or where we may have reached.
Statement 1 is simply a humble reminder that there is so much in the world that we will never come across, let alone have a grasp over. I am a small being in the ever-expanding universe. That is okay.
Statement 2, however, is an opinion I know is not true. But my mind is colluding on different levels inviting an endless spiral of thoughts. The little remaining spirit inside tries to fight back: “I do have something worth sharing,” the voice says, “It might not be great, but I do have something.” All of us do, in our unique and mostly invisible ways.
As the second wave of the novel coronavirus sweeps South Asia, my country is severely affected. Infections are rife, health care scarce, and vaccines aren’t enough; we are in a sinking boat with many many holes. I am one of the lucky ones who get to stay home and break the chain — a privilege many do not have. Staying at home is the best I could do, and I decided to raise some funds through an online art workshop and donate the proceeds. When I prepared for the workshop, I met with the reality that whatever I was doing would not amount to anything. I understand the act is not great. Perhaps, not worth mentioning either. But I needed to try.
Ironic as it may be, could it be that the virus is a reminder that each one of us matters, and that is how the chain is formed? If we weren’t a part of the whole, if we didn’t matter, the virus wouldn’t travel. Each of us on the chain matters, and that is why we must do as much of our doable parts to keep everyone around us safe.
The older I get the more I come to understand, not all of us carry the world on our shoulders, most of us carry small bricks. I am merely a small brick carrier. I must carry the brick and learn to be content. You must carry the brick. We must carry the brick. On most days, the acts are invisible; sometimes it means getting through the day, other times it means helping someone, feeding a pet, watering the plants.
Like Hank Green says in his vlogbrothers videos:
We are all exceptional and none of us are. The stories of Elon Musks and Mark Zuckerbergs we tell are good stories and inspiring stories, but they are stories we tell because the real stories are far more complicated.
Getting back to the statements: Statement 1 is a reminder than I am a part of a bigger whole, statement 2 — a doubt that must be met with acts of kindness and compassion.
If you needed a reminder, here’s one. Statement 1 is true, Statement 2 isn’t. Maybe this is my reminder too, one of the many that I need — I do have something worth sharing, I do matter. It is not great, and it is okay.
