The Art of Leaving

The two guys I met two days ago. Two remarkably peculiar human beings. We had one of the best conversations I’ve had in a long time. The encounter inspired me to start writing again. They are both writers. Though one writes in Arabic and one in English. They’re both well-versed in topics I love to talk about.

The discussions went beyond surface-level conversations, though. They were not scared of being vulnerable, even brutally honest, when necessary, but most importantly, they felt genuine. They did not fear judgment or repercussions.

They wore their suffering not as a badge of honor nor of shame, but as an inescapable truth that simply exists in the universe.

In the tiny hotel room, we went around sharing samples of our writing. They spoke of despair and anxiety. Meditations on masks and self-worth. Musings on angst and love. Their writing not only resonated. It felt eerily familiar. It felt like passages that I had written in a past life and had long forgotten. The words didn’t merely elicit an emotional response, they amplified my very own feelings.

My therapist told me that I wield empathy as a weapon to self-sabotage. I am always longing to take other people’s pain as my own. Yet this… this felt different. It felt like we were all carrying this alarmingly heavy baggage together. We were delicately repairing a broken vase that would never be whole.

The encounter was brief. A fleeting moment in an ocean of solitude. I’ve known them for less than two full days. Our conversations were short but fulfilling. Knowing that they exist does not by any means lower the amount of suffering that the world spits out; it lowers the density.

Today, I’m not just inspired to journal but to publish. I’m not just inspired to write but to live. To learn. To create. To meet. To know the people who collectively share my suffering.

So this is life. This is all there is to it. You wake up in the morning. You put on your best suit. You comb your hair and wash your face. You put on your bravest face and you walk out of the bathroom. Then what? A barrage of unpleasantness, a tidal wave of insults, and a salvo of agony.

You ask yourself if it’s worth it. You wonder at the possibilities the future can bring. You pretend that better days will come. You look around, trying to find traces of beauty. You go to sleep dreaming about a better tomorrow. You cling to your hopes and dreams, as if they could be your savior.

Tomorrow comes and it bears no gifts. You set up your own defenses to escape reality. Your drugs. Your religion. Your exercises. Your prayers. You distract yourself thinking reality will play into your games. But the protections set in place are a facade. Life will not give you the privilege of pretending. And soon your facade melts away, and you again are exposed.

You spend your time thinking of a way out. Can there be an easy way to escape this cruel experiment? You fantasize about that chandelier in the ballroom. You wonder if it can hold your weight. You look at that intersection as you cross the street. You wonder how painful getting hit by a bus would be. You look out of that hotel window. You wonder if the fall is sufficient for a quick death.

It can’t be that easy to escape could it? What is it that stops you? Life would never allow you the mercy of leaving. But it would never let you know why you cannot leave. You’re sure you exist for a reason. That you’re destined to make the world a better place. You tell yourself that you bring joy to others. But life throws around sprinkles of doubt in your mind. It takes pleasure in knowing you would never know your place in the world. That you will never fit in.

Life takes pride in every additional layer of torture. It has been scheming for millennia. Each iteration leads to another layer. The cruel experiment continues indefinitely. And we willingly take part of it with no objection.

“You may open your eyes now. The curse has been lifted,” she said. “This ceremony is a celebration of all that you have accomplished. The council will award your sacrifice with glory. Open your eyes and accept the blessings of the council,” she continued triumphantly.

“You’ve lived your entire life with this burden. It is time for you to gain your deserved reprieve. Unshackle your chains and live,” the guardian said. She was getting increasingly apprehensive. This is not the reaction she expected. She had hoped he would open his eyes by now, but with every sentence she uttered, the more strength he dedicated to keeping them shut.

“I have watched over your struggle since you were born. I have seen the difficulty this scourge has put you through. I understand the unbearable suffering we have caused you for decades,” the guardian pleaded.

“But you have to realize that I am giving you a way out. You have paid your dues. You have earned this moment,” she continued. The guardian was has never experienced a case where a supplicant refused to let go of the curse when given the opportunity.

The guardian shifted uncomfortably in her throne awaiting a response that never came. His silence left a small but noticeable fracture in her facade. She was left with no other choice. “Call the guards in,” she jeered. Her discomfort turned into bitterness.

“I hereby sentence you to the Iron Garden for disobeying divine decree. Your punishment will be severe, but fitting your crimes,” she declared. “I hope one day you get to see how the council acted solely in your benefit. You merely have to open your eyes,” the guardian bellowed with disdain.

She was getting comfortable again in her throne. The cracks in the facade rapidly plastered and repaired. These supplicants don’t know the weight we carry she thought to herself, as the offender was carried away by the guards to the Iron Garden.

The thing is my dear friend, you seem to have forgotten how to live. You’ve tethered yourself to all these “meanings” and ideals behind life to the point that you have been completely immobilized. Tethered to what you think people expect of you. Tethered to your false Gods. Tethered to your own impossible standards. Tethered by simple chemical reactions in your brain. You have allowed your existence to be taken hostage by mercenaries paid for by your own blood and tears. You allowed your soul to be imprisoned in a cell built by your own hands.

When was the last time you stopped to feel the sun’s warmth on your face? Drove with the windows down, just to feel the air? Ran down a flight of stairs out of excitement? Felt your heart race from the thrill of a chase?

Open yourself up to serendipity. Break free from these labors of the mind. Untangle from the limitations of reality. Embrace absurdity.

Untether and let yourself live.