Hello my lightbulbs!
How have you been? I had a draft ready for you last week, but my laptop decided that it was hungry and swallowed it whole; I hope it was delicious. Since we last spoke – I completed my Masters in Education (wahoo!) and am awaiting results (wish me luck!). I also finished another academic year, gave a graduation speech to my students for the first time ever, and then flew to Vietnam. I have so much to say about Vietnam – but all in good time, that’s for a later post!
I wanted this post to be a bit of a check in and a reminder that I’m thinking of you. I have my mail list and you’re more than welcome to get in touch with me that way if you miss me too much between my sporadic posts (hehehe). When we last chatted, the focus was on intuition and returning to a sense of alignment. As you would probably expect – I’m still on that journey but have made some pretty decent breakthroughs. I hope that as you read this, you are feeling aligned and excited about what this week has in store for you – I’m sure it will be full of cool opportunities as long as you try to spot them!
The timing of this post also aligns with my dad’s anniversary- marking the seventh year since he passed away. I’ve written most of this between his birthday and anniversary – where he has been at the forefront of my mind. The anniversary has hit me harder this year. I’ve been thinking a lot about who I was when it happened. The just-turned-22-year-old Jess in Japan feels like such a faraway version of the Jess who is writing to you now. And it’s easy to look back on earlier versions of ourselves in a simplified way – either as miles worse or better than our present selves. But change is change, it’s nuanced and led by experiences and intention – it’s evolution, it’s growth.
I miss my dad a lot and find myself reminiscing on our film nights and philosophical riffing pretty frequently. Ironically, I finished reading Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar recently. I would most certainly recommend it – it’s chockful of thought-provoking perspectives on identity, agency and culture. One of the quotes that stood out to me was – ‘Seneca said grief should last no longer than seven years. Anything more was indulgent’. My immediate interpretation was that after 7 years that’s it – think about your loved one briefly but the majority of the healing should be done.
A few weeks after finishing and reflecting on the book, I decided to read a little further into Seneca’s views on grief. I couldn’t actually find the exact reference to seven years – but I did find his letter to Lucilius in Moral Letter 99. While I found the start of the letter to be a little harsh (Seneca accuses Lucilius of grieving for his dead son like a woman – love to see a callback to the women are overly emotional stereotype) – he does warm up later in the letter.
Seneca writes:
‘Many men fail to count up how manifold their gains have been, how great their rejoicings […] During so many years, amid such close associations, after such intimate communion of personal interests, has nothing been accomplished? Do you bury friendship along with a friend? […] Believe me, a great part of those we have loved, though chance has removed their persons, still abides with us’.
I agree with Seneca that allowing the sorrow of grief to overshadow the gains and learnings from the love you shared with that person does them a disservice. And I understand why we do it, you’ll get no shame or judgement from me (unlike sassy Seneca). I actually believe that this perspective is one that can only fully manifest after some time has passed. At first you’re dealing with the physical shifts; the changes to your daily life, the absence, the painful shift that your identity makes to a life without this core person. In this way, I think time works on grief like a kaleidoscope – we get to turn it and see things through different lenses that weren’t possible before. And this applies to all grief- not just grief of loss through death; but loss of friendships brought on by distance, a loss of job or sense of purpose, realising that you are shifting into a newer version of yourself.
This pondering on Seneca and grief let me linger on the kind of reflections I’ve been having about my dad in this seventh year of his absence. I’ve been reflecting on the life choices I’ve made since he passed, the hobbies that I indulge in and how I show up in the world. I found myself missing those moments of sheer acceptance – when his eyes would light up listening to me chunner away about why I think that the afterlife is like The Sims or verbally drafting my latest story idea. He wasn’t simply accepting or tolerating me in those moments – he was revelling in my idiosyncrasies, excited by who I was. Those memories made me sad at first, and then I dug a little deeper. The digging led me to this desire: I want a life where my relationships are built on delight for who I am, not what I can do. It’s so simple, but was so difficult to admit to myself.
I looked at some of my behaviours with curiosity – especially those ones that got me to the point last year where I could no longer identify what food I liked or what music I enjoyed; like trying to guess how people would respond to me if I expressed how I felt or what I thought, to then shrink and contort into my assumed expectations. It contrasted so strongly with the version of me in those memories with my dad. I wasn’t, in those moments, bothered about how I was being received. I was just… being.
At this point of reflection, my poor writing hand was killing- page after page of my journal filling while pieces of the puzzle fell into place. I began to look for evidence of loved ones meeting this need – and started to find it – so why didn’t it feel like it? Had I been revelling in my own marvellous mind? Had I been giving myself opportunities and space to celebrate those bright and beautiful elements of myself? Nope!
So I’m setting off to address that neglect – excited to experience the joy and excitement of swimming in my own creativity and curiosity again without self-flagellation or judgement. And the focus, as is always the case with self-development, falls to changing what I can. I don’t expect every person I speak with to have sparkling eyeballs, to lean in and drink in every word- that’s not what this about. It’s about feeling at home in myself and making that home a place of light and laughter again, like Miss Honey’s house from Matilda. It’s about bolstering a foundation strong enough to accept that other people don’t need to relish who I am for me to feel whole and at the same time to gravitate towards those who do. Because why would I linger in an inner world that was uninhabitable and hostile? Why wouldn’t I want my home to be warm, full of green plants, sweet teas, books and good music? Why would I snap myself in half to appease people who may not even like me for who I am? And from that place of clarity, why would I invite people into my house when they’ve made it clear that they don’t like the décor?
The hilariously annoying thing is – I’ve already had this revelation, multiple times, starting when I was about twelve. The revelation just comes in slightly different hues and densities each time, but the same at its core. We forget and then remember and the cycle goes on. Florence Given talks about this forgetting and remembering in her podcast. This cycle makes sense to me because I see life as an upward spiral – we build and grow and learn – revisiting the same lessons again and again – applying them in more useful ways every time.
So, as I start to navigate another year on this earth without my dad, I’m choosing joy and what self-love means to me now. Instead of grieving the years I’ve lost: the hypothetical weddings, children, trips, hikes, Sunday dinners, cinema trips, arguments and make-ups – I’m celebrating the years that I got. I’m celebrating a relationship that has never been replaced. Moments that made me who I am today; memories like my dad’s eyes shining as I chat absolute shit that I can call upon years later to enrich my life. A man being authentically himself in the moment, responding to his daughter being authentically in the moment, creating eternal magic. I’m thinking of us singing ‘Hey Jude’ with a bar full of Japanese Beatles tribute artists; I’m taking a sad song and making it better.
I hope that whatever you may be grieving – a lost loved one or a past version of yourself – I hope that this post helps you to balance the scales. Have a big cry – grieve like a human – and then think of the things that you’ve gained from what you lost. It could be wholesome memories, a lesson in your own resilience, a cherished song that you’d have never heard otherwise. And then, I hope that you reflect on what I’ve said here – take your lessons and channel love into yourself for who you are – not who you can perform to be, or what purposes you can serve for other people. Be mindful of who is pouring the love back into you too.
I know for a fact that you are a wonderful person – you are currently reading a blog called Akarui Lifestyle, a blog dedicated to lightbulbs in the world who want to make their life even brighter. So, view yourself through different eyes today – through my eyes, the eyes of a lost loved one or a past version of yourself who would think you’re the coolest person ever.
Stay Positive.
Love,
Jess x
Further Reading:
Letter 99: On Consolation to the Bereaved
Kaveh Akbar – Martyr!
AKARUI LIFESTYLE 