Fragile Things

I’m reading Neil Gaiman’s collection of short (and often bizarre) stories, Fragile Things. Technically, he’s reading it; I’m listening. (Audiobooks are the only balm for my sanity on the daily commute.) It’s rare that a writer is also a good reader of his or her books, and I’m delighted to discover that Gaiman is one of the rare ones.

In the introduction, he discusses briefly his choice of title for the collection. The fragility of life, the fragility of humanity, and the fragility of a story are all put forth for consideration. But at the end of the introduction he circles back to the idea of fragile things and quite rightly points out that perceived fragility is often more misperception than verifiable reality.

The egg, when force is applied on the proper axis, is surprisingly robust. And dreams, those constructs of the subconscious that routinely defy narrative logic, are powerful entities capable of haunting (or inspiring us to achieve the impossible) over the course of a lifetime.

It is this last thought – the resilience of dreams – that has stuck with me since my commute (mercifully) ended. Dreams not only of the sleeping conscious mind, but also those ideas we have about ourselves as we imagine ourselves capable of being.

Though we do not wholly believe it yet, the interior life is a real life, and the intangible dreams of a people have a tangible effect on the world.

James Baldwin wrote that in his essay “The Discovery of What it Means to be an American.” Baldwin was sort of referring to something else, but taken on its own this quotation speaks volumes. (I don’t usually advocate taking things out of context, but this particular sentence resonated so strongly with in me that I decided to break my own rule. That’s the nice thing about rules; once you know and understand them, you know when and how they may be broken from time to time.)

Another way of thinking of this idea is the ages old warning that you will become whatever it is your pretend to be. And while that can be true in instances when we are pretending to be something out of character with our basic sense of self, I don’t know that this warning is necessarily results in a bad outcome.

If, for example, I want to be someone that is admired and respected among my peers, what might start out as pretending to listen to the perspective of others will eventually become reality. You will find yourself listening more than speaking out of instinct born of practice. And you will find that this practice of listening has become a skill that has actually garnered respect and admiration for the insight you provide when you do choose to speak.

The flip side of this, I suppose, is that if you desire to become known as the baddest bad ass going and you pretend to be that, then you will become, well . . . you know. That might not be the best outcome.

So let’s focus on the positive side for now. We’ll visit the dark side another day.

Dreams – the sort we imagine for our lives; not the sleeping kind – can be powerful motivation for changing the status quo. True, they are – at least at first – imaginary. But why are imaginary things any less true than things that we call “real”? Without dreams of any sort . . . I suppose a business book might call them “goals” or “objectives” or something similarly unromantic . . . we are lost. We are somehow less.

Our dreams give us direction and sometimes meaning in the midst of untenable circumstances. To be denied the chance to reach for and fulfill those dreams is the sort of sin of the gravest sort. To deny ourselves the belief that we can be more than we currently are is a kind of suicide.

As for me, I’m still sorting out my dreams. It’s not so much a “what do I want to be when I grow up?” as it is a reaching to be more tomorrow than I have been today. Perhaps that’s listening to a series of fantasy-oriented short stories when I drive. Perhaps that’s working toward being self-employed again full-time (one of the few times I actually liked my employer – well, most of the time – in my working life!). Perhaps it’s something else entirely. And unless or until I allow myself to dream and then to work toward the achievement of those dreams, I am stuck. And as was written long ago, those who do not choose to be either hot or cold will be spewed out for being lukewarm. I do not wish to be lukewarm!

Neil Gaiman was right. Dreams are simultaneously fragile and strong. And it is in the paradox that we can find a glimpse of truth. Choosing to look, to see with something more than our eyes is what makes the difference.