Thanks for this one, Jonathan, both for the glimpse it gives of a particular world and for a thought it spurred. An important teacher of mine from my late twenties, a man who I recognise now held the vital "older brother" role, being about five years ahead of me, taught me to question my youthful centering of intensity. This was primarily intensity of feeling, and I'd have to think further about how that relates to the intensity you are writing about here. But the lesson he taught me was to recognise that, contrary to an assumption I had absorbed in adolescence, there is no necessary connection between intensity and authenticity. Indeed, in the domain of feelings, not only does my intensity of feeling not make the experience I'm having "more real", it also increases the likelihood that I am oblivious to what anyone else involved in the situation may be feeling. So the louder my feelings, the more likely it is that something will go astray between us. That lesson was, for me, the beginning of learning how to move beyond being young, and the seed from which the kind of middle-aged laughter I seem to hear in the background of your piece would become possible, a laughter which, at its best, is grounded in the kindness of experience.
Honored to be a small part of your reflection on how you want to spend your time here and elsewhere. I wrote the piece with embeds of my own realizations across the years!
Thanks Janet. I have asked myself that question too, and did answer it briefly in the piece, but there might indeed be other ways to look at it. I don’t think it’s because I’ve become too serious though. It’s more about entering an arena that is not connected to the pressures of work and family; something truly my own, which gets harder to find as you get older and more entangled/integrated…
this sentence "They don’t know how the nervous system feels when you allow it to invest and continuously reinvest in winning at a game that asks so much of your body, mind, and soul."
I have had an ongoing relationship with theatre for most of my life. When I became a mother at 40, I took a complete break for a decade. Now I am directing plays again from time to time, and there is something about bringing my best to the task without believing that it is a life or death situation. I want to participate in the creation of beauty and meaning, something I still believe in deeply; but without the literal "drama" around believing any of the hype that I and others generate around it. I am in search of something like balance, where I am willing to do the heavy lifting of creation without pretending that I am or must be "all powerful" or become "all consumed." I love the t.s. eliot line in Ash Wednesday "Teach us to care and not to care." Thanks for this post and directing me to Anu's post.
Excellent, resonating with the notion of intensity as central to the process "organic philosophy" of Alfred N. Whitehead. I am currently re-reading the book Intensity by Jude Jones (prof. of philosophy, Fordham University). Your piece is, among other things, relevant and telling phenomenological illustration/corroboration of the personal and cosmic importance of intensity.
Thanks for this one, Jonathan, both for the glimpse it gives of a particular world and for a thought it spurred. An important teacher of mine from my late twenties, a man who I recognise now held the vital "older brother" role, being about five years ahead of me, taught me to question my youthful centering of intensity. This was primarily intensity of feeling, and I'd have to think further about how that relates to the intensity you are writing about here. But the lesson he taught me was to recognise that, contrary to an assumption I had absorbed in adolescence, there is no necessary connection between intensity and authenticity. Indeed, in the domain of feelings, not only does my intensity of feeling not make the experience I'm having "more real", it also increases the likelihood that I am oblivious to what anyone else involved in the situation may be feeling. So the louder my feelings, the more likely it is that something will go astray between us. That lesson was, for me, the beginning of learning how to move beyond being young, and the seed from which the kind of middle-aged laughter I seem to hear in the background of your piece would become possible, a laughter which, at its best, is grounded in the kindness of experience.
Thanks Dougald. I recognise some of those downsides of intensity in my younger self. Perhaps we should all aim for a life of mellow intensity 🙃
Thanks for the Anu book suggestion.
And…I was one who (Blithely!) encouraged you to get back to playing chess. Right, I had no idea.
It’s ok. I am still happy to be encouraged!
Honored to be a small part of your reflection on how you want to spend your time here and elsewhere. I wrote the piece with embeds of my own realizations across the years!
Thanks Anu. Glad to share it. If you check DMs, I’m keen to repost your original post on my work account with your permission. 🙏
From the peanut gallery, I’m wondering why your friends and loved ones are encouraging you to “play again.” Is this a question worth answering?
Thanks Janet. I have asked myself that question too, and did answer it briefly in the piece, but there might indeed be other ways to look at it. I don’t think it’s because I’ve become too serious though. It’s more about entering an arena that is not connected to the pressures of work and family; something truly my own, which gets harder to find as you get older and more entangled/integrated…
Thanks for the inside peak into the life and love and struggle of being a chess master, Jonathan. You conveyed a palpable sense of the feeling.
this sentence "They don’t know how the nervous system feels when you allow it to invest and continuously reinvest in winning at a game that asks so much of your body, mind, and soul."
I have had an ongoing relationship with theatre for most of my life. When I became a mother at 40, I took a complete break for a decade. Now I am directing plays again from time to time, and there is something about bringing my best to the task without believing that it is a life or death situation. I want to participate in the creation of beauty and meaning, something I still believe in deeply; but without the literal "drama" around believing any of the hype that I and others generate around it. I am in search of something like balance, where I am willing to do the heavy lifting of creation without pretending that I am or must be "all powerful" or become "all consumed." I love the t.s. eliot line in Ash Wednesday "Teach us to care and not to care." Thanks for this post and directing me to Anu's post.
Excellent, resonating with the notion of intensity as central to the process "organic philosophy" of Alfred N. Whitehead. I am currently re-reading the book Intensity by Jude Jones (prof. of philosophy, Fordham University). Your piece is, among other things, relevant and telling phenomenological illustration/corroboration of the personal and cosmic importance of intensity.