A Facebook friend today posted some beloved lines, something I actually have on a magnet that re-surfaced just last week:
“I beg you . . . to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday, you will gradually, without ever noticing it, live you want into the answer . . .” (Rainer Maria Rilke)
One question: How frigging old will I have to be before I live my way into the answer? But then, perhaps I haven’t been very successful at living the questions. A completion junkie, I like to finish things — tasks, books (reading and writing), trips. Perhaps that’s why I hate gardening. It’s never truly done.
The Rilke magnet once held this strange document to the metal door in my office. It is a hotel message from seven years ago, taken by someone — I feel safe in saying this — whose first language was not English. (To be fair, if you asked me to take a message in Spanish, the grammar would be similar.) Can you read it?
The letter is not an imperative, as it might seem. Mark Billingham is not ordering me to eat soft-shell crabs in Toronto, but trying to say that I will be buying them for him there, as I have lost a bet. The bet centered on my belief that something nice wouldn’t happen for me; Mark had more conviction and we ante’ed up a dinner. I’m still not sure if I’ve ever paid up. Soft-shell crabs were not in season, not in October.
A second piece of paper, affixed with a Whitman magnet (“Stand up for the stupid and the crazy . . .”) requires a little more sleuthing on my part to date. The front, which shows a man being drowned by his own creation, gives away nothing. But if I flip it to the back, I see that it’s a “side” from a script called “All Due Respect” and dated May 13, 2004. This would have been The Wire’s third season.
I don’t write a lot about Mr. Lippman’s work on my blog. It’s not as if he’s being ignored and no one can expect me to be objective. But I think it’s instructive, seven-plus years later, to be reminded that The Wire, despite what people think they know about it, wasn’t hailed as the greatest show in the history of television during Season 1 or Season 2. And by the time Season 3 started to film, one of its executive producers, Robert F. Colesberry, had died most unexpectedly. The widespread acclaim really began with Season 4.
So I find this cartoon oddly cheering and endearing, another reminder to live the questions and stop being so worried about the answers.
And for those of you waiting for the answer as to who won last week’s drawings — try living the question for just a little while longer.
I wrote this in the morning. Since then, I’ve learned of a horrible tragedy that affects young friends, the death of two men Saturday night in what appears to be an accident related to the hurricane. Sometimes, it’s really hard to live the questions.