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This is a hard day to sit down and write.
There is a big essay lurking here, about the loss of an illusion -- yes, another one. Even after so many illusions wavered and dispelled, like so much socially-constructed mist, over the last five years, apparently there are yet more. No matter how much you lose, there is always more to lose; and no matter how much you win, the amount by which you fall short is heartbreaking. And we had so much more to win.
But I don't feel like writing that essay. It wouldn't help, that's the thing. For grief time helps me more than dissection, and of all the illusions I may have, the idea that my particular articulation of this common grief would be helpful to anyone but me is not one of them. There is an ample supply of these essays already, and by more practiced analysts than I. The point, and we must all know it, is that the work does not, and cannot, stop after all the votes have been counted.
This is more like what I feel it is useful to write.
But from that. There is a justly famous biography of the brilliant nuclear physicist and should-have-been Nobel Laureate Lise Meitner, by Ruth Sime. Meitner did much of her great work in Germany, establishing herself thoroughly in the Weimar Republic. I came away from the first part of that book in utter awe of what she was able to achieve at a time when, once you were paid, you needed to immediately rush out and buy groceries for the week, because if you waited until the end of the day, your salary would be worth less. I was -- and still am -- in complete awe of Meitner's discipline and focus, her brilliance, and how she was able to achieve astounding things in the bitter teeth of a hostile society and the unbearable turmoil of the times.
And now, a decade later, I wonder -- I have been wondering since that horrible November evening, four years ago -- the extent to which it is right to admire that furious focus. Or rather, how to weigh the completely orthogonal demands of doing my job -- especially since, while the impulse toward excellence may be selfish, doing my job is still, alas, inextricably political -- as opposed to the urgency of, well, saving the world.
Anyway, record scratch – I unapologetically took most of the day off today. Which means, nowadays, I mostly answered email.
There is a big essay lurking here, about the loss of an illusion -- yes, another one. Even after so many illusions wavered and dispelled, like so much socially-constructed mist, over the last five years, apparently there are yet more. No matter how much you lose, there is always more to lose; and no matter how much you win, the amount by which you fall short is heartbreaking. And we had so much more to win.
But I don't feel like writing that essay. It wouldn't help, that's the thing. For grief time helps me more than dissection, and of all the illusions I may have, the idea that my particular articulation of this common grief would be helpful to anyone but me is not one of them. There is an ample supply of these essays already, and by more practiced analysts than I. The point, and we must all know it, is that the work does not, and cannot, stop after all the votes have been counted.
This is more like what I feel it is useful to write.
But from that. There is a justly famous biography of the brilliant nuclear physicist and should-have-been Nobel Laureate Lise Meitner, by Ruth Sime. Meitner did much of her great work in Germany, establishing herself thoroughly in the Weimar Republic. I came away from the first part of that book in utter awe of what she was able to achieve at a time when, once you were paid, you needed to immediately rush out and buy groceries for the week, because if you waited until the end of the day, your salary would be worth less. I was -- and still am -- in complete awe of Meitner's discipline and focus, her brilliance, and how she was able to achieve astounding things in the bitter teeth of a hostile society and the unbearable turmoil of the times.
And now, a decade later, I wonder -- I have been wondering since that horrible November evening, four years ago -- the extent to which it is right to admire that furious focus. Or rather, how to weigh the completely orthogonal demands of doing my job -- especially since, while the impulse toward excellence may be selfish, doing my job is still, alas, inextricably political -- as opposed to the urgency of, well, saving the world.
Anyway, record scratch – I unapologetically took most of the day off today. Which means, nowadays, I mostly answered email.
