That Friday Freeling

This week's book: A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway

This is one of my favorite books and is the book that got me hooked on Hemingway's writing. The Old Man and the Sea didn't quite do it for me in high school English class. A Moveable Feast, on the other hand, a memoir written in the 1960s about Hemingway's time in 1920s Paris as a struggling writer did indeed move me. I suppose it strummed on a wiser cord of my newly developed prefrontal cortex.

In 2015 after the Paris terrorist attacks, the French translation of this book, Paris est une fête (Paris Is a Celebration), rose to number 1 on France's Amazon site. Hemingway wrote this book in a nostalgic state of mind, longing for a Paris that was no longer quite there, just out of reach - out of touch. So much had changed in his life that he had only the memories, much of which were longing for simpler times. Parisians could relate, and collectively they wanted to fall in love with their idea of Paris again.

Excerpt

Context: Hemingway inside of his hotel room in Paris where he used to write.
Time frame: early 1920s.
Hemingway: not yet famous.

But sometimes when I was starting a new story and I could not get it going, I would sit in front of the fire and squeeze the peel of the little oranges into the edge of the flame and watch the sputter of blue that they made. I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, "Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence you know." So finally I would write one true sentence, and then go from there.

~Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast 1964

Thoughts

Hem had a knack for simple, to-the-point sentence structure, and since I have read a lot of Hemingway books and books about the man, I believe he was more or less talking literally about his writing struggles. The man was disciplined by hunger, cleansed by long walks- a real-life flâneur; saturated by the expat crowd soaking up the city, and motivated by oysters with a glass of Macon.

I'm going to take the symbolic route. We've all been there. Sitting alone, occupying our hands with something to do- knead the dough, check the e-mails, whisk the matcha, bite the nails. We are facing a great decision. Should I do this or should I do that? My mind says one thing while my heart says another. My gut agrees with my heart, but shouldn't I be logical? No, logic is overrated. Ding. The bread is done.

I have struggled with making decisions for a long time. I am not so sure when it started, but I feel it had its moment while I was living abroad in the United Arab Emirates. I made a decision by fully listening to my heart, and what followed after was not the easiest of roads, but it was one of the most hideously ravishing - like Eat, Pray, Love, but more like Chew, Plead, Lust.

How come we always romanticize following one's heart? It's like how Americans always romanticize Paris; how I romanticized Paris. It's not always pretty out there. I've realized Paris is a grand idea, but an idea can be much different from reality. The same goes for that decision I made with my heart- it was an idea my brain drew up the blueprint for, and I finally had the heart enough to follow it.

I came to a place of beating myself up about my decision-making skills when I felt stuck because I could not get my story going the way I wanted to and quite literally found myself going broke in Paris, looking over the rooftops (what are the odds). Then a friend said something that made my heart go- thumpity do da. He told me a story about a man being interviewed once:

Interviewer: "What is the secret to your success?"

Man: "Two words. Good decisions."

Interviewer: "How did you make good decisions?"

Man: "One word. Experience."

Interviewer: "How did you get experience?"

Man: "Two words. Bad decisions."

Story of my life, I thought at the time. I may not like how success always seems to equate to success in one's career and finances in the American culture, but even if the "man" here was a CEO, I still loved this little story. It gave me that nudge, like a glass of Macon would for Hemingway.

"Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence you know." So finally I would write one true sentence, and then go from there.

This is what plays over and over in my mind when I think back about or forward to decisions I have made and decisions I will have to make. I have done it before, and I will do it again, and I am here. I am doing alright. Those "bad decisions" led to a hell of a lot of experience, and I can say with gusto that I have made some damn good decisions too in life. When I feel a creative block, or anxiety stinging my veins and pinching my nerves, trying to take me out of my body, out of my little hotel room with a view of the rooftops, all I have to do is write one true sentence and begin again. Speak my truth, even if it surprises me, and even if, especially if, other people aren't so sure about it. Make it the truest sentence I know, write it down, and go from there.

~Zavoir