I suppose we all have moments when an experience in close proximity to a strongly contrasting one makes each the more vivid. A warming day that feels of spring next to the bitter chill of more snow, ice and cold as winter refuses to relinquish; darkness then sudden bright light, squinting, blinking, groaning; tasty fumbling through sunflower seeds before the bitter gag of a rotten one. I had one such moment recently, though it had to do with a different sense.
I read My Name is Asher Lev over our recent vacation. I wouldn't describe myself as a voracious reader, especially of non-fiction, but I actually finished this book in less than a week. That qualifies as voracious by my standards. The evening I finished we were in a hotel. After consuming the final few chapters I sat silently letting it digest. I had wondered if I would continue at points throughout the book, somewhat dissatisfied by its pace, but having come to the end I found myself moved. There was pain, long and drawn out. There was wrestling with a conflict between gifts, purpose and tradition. There was a family who shared faith, but it actually ended up driving them apart. Love, jealousy, generosity, hope, dispair, pride and disappointment. It was rich and real. Real in its passing of time, real in its questions, real in its tension, real in its dividedness. It was rich in the ways it portraid all of these with clarity and beauty. I was moved.
After several moment I stood and walked across the room, still savoring the story. A magazine on the desk caught my eye. "Can Porn Stars be Rock Stars?' I won't deny the appeal of the title. I flipped through a few pages and saw the subtitle of another article: "How to Make Big Money in the Music Industry and Look Like You aren't Even Trying." I suddenly lost my appetite for any more.
Both reads had an appeal. The one invited you to feel the reality of pain in a long journey, a good struggle really that very much included love and connection. The other invited you to crave, to thirst for power, lust for more. They both spoke to desire, to a commonly felt absence, but what they were offering as an antidote was very different. The one encourages faithfulness and authenticity in spite of the reality that it will bring rejection along with intimate knowing. The other offered the fantastical: excess, slack, admiration, eroticism.
The difficulty in being invited to pursue these ends is that they are contradictory. You must choose. Sure, you can sample each, but you can not simultaneously turn your life to chase fortune, philandering and the affection of the masses while also intentionally walking toward vulnerability, fidelity and intimacy.
Contrasting offers in such close proximity. One offeres clarity for the deepest longing of our lives. It offers sustainance along an arduous trail over the course of many seasons. The other confusion, confounding our efforts at satisfaction and connection. It offers empty calories in a superhighway chase that only drains your tank leaving more exhaustion and hunger.
The invitations persist.
