On Running in Place and Walking Still
Reflections on a year of rush, mental health & what (not) to do about it
Some friends and family always shoot me a curious look when I say that I prefer taking the bus over the MRT or car ride. My mother thinks it’s crazy that I’d prefer to squeeze into public transport and lengthen my travelling time when I can just tumpang (Malay: hitch a ride) her car instead.
But what she misses out on is (quite a literal) change in perspective.
For example, I’m writing this now in a private hire fading into the most ominous evening sky. It’s quiet, main character energy hours. But from here, it’s hard to capture the sky — and even harder to capture the insidiousness.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to idealise or romanticise public transport; I hate having to take three hours to get from East to West while squeezing on a crowded bus with sweaty, boisterous kids as much as the next person.
But there’s just something about these serendipitous encounters that excite me, and in contrast, something about this constant need to rush that irks me.
In December 2021, I finally got hit with our dear friend, ‘Rona. (That’s Covid-19 for you.)
It wasn’t at all too serious actually, I was just hit with a high fever and fatigue. I’m bringing this up not for a pity party, but because it was the first time I’d actually stopped the whole year.
Like everything came to a standstill.
Prior to that, I’d been running between two internships, a mentorship programme, school submissions, exco duties in a film club with external communications… It was a lot, to say the least, even for someone so used to running around all her life.
And so, when it finally came to a halt, I think I felt this rush of relief.
A relief that I probably would not have allowed myself to feel had I not been ill. And a relief that, thereafter, I wish I could’ve continued to have.
When the quarantine eventually came to a close, I was distraught. Quite honestly, I did not expect to survive it, and now, I would have to face the consequences.
What would happen now to those hours of freedom where I could simply read a book I was interested in it though it served no further purpose? To those moments where I could lay down and guiltlessly nap just because I felt like it? Would I have to face the horror that was my email inbox and work chats?
To cut a long story short, eventually, I found myself inside the observation ward of a mental health facility and exiting with a mountain of administrative mess.
“Why are you here?” the doctor assessing my fitness to return to school asked. “You look so fine, so cheerful, and you have all these things that you’re doing.”
And it was true: just a week post-hospital stay, I was back in full force, replying to emails setting up new interviews for a publication I write for, working out a shooting schedule and going out for recces in the rain…
And yet, in spite of all that running around trying to get things done, it felt like I was still running in place. A whole month had zoomed by but I still felt this gaping hole.
What was I doing? And why was I trying to do it all at once?
Spoiler alert: he did not think I was fit enough for school since it had only been a month after my hospitalisation.
And cliffhanger: the latter I’m still trying to work out with my counsellor.
So, what is this? One of those mid-life crisis stories where one realises they’ve got to take things slow, find their path and get a life? Bonus points for being a sucker for buses and serendipitous meetings?
In a way, yes it is.
But from another front, that’s quite the unfortunate point. That this languishing we feel (article originally published by NYT), it’s not an isolated account. It’s become so common that it’s almost become a meme of its own, some flippant comment embroiled in dark humour to mask the fact that we, as a society, we’re not okay.
Err, ok… so those books you were reading, Carman?
What can we do about this languishing we feel?
I wish I could tell you that within this short span of time I’ve found some kind of spiritual enlightenment (this was something my social worker actually suggested, by the way, let me know if this works for you?) and the key to world peace, but alas, all I have are some readings and book quotes that might hopefully help prod us in some vague new direction.
The New York Times article suggested things like putting a name to your feelings (ok, languishing maybe, check), finding new challenges (living, not just surviving, check), and working on setting boundaries (err… working on it, 2022 goals, anyone?).
All in all, the author, Adam Grant, was largely approaching things from a psychological perspective.
But what does languishing look like from a sociological perspective?
For one, it recognises that we should be looking at these issues on a broader scale. What might appear to be private troubles are actually public issues [1], meaning these patterns of oppression are less the personal failings of individuals but are instead more systematic consequences of a larger capitalist machine.
The capitalist machine here refers not to a literal robot of sorts but rather an underlying logic to why we do things and how we do things.
The book In Defense of Housing, for example, touches on how dehumanisation and alienation occur when we prioritise our housing as assets in place of the shelters and safe spaces they can and should be [2]. I quote:
The commodification of housing means that a structure’s function as real estate takes precedence over its usefulness as a place to live. When this happens, housing’s role as an investment outweighs all other claims upon it, whether they are based upon right, need, tradition, legal precedent, cultural habit, or ethical and affective significance of the home.
In the same vein, is this rapid toil a kind of commodification of the body? Has your body become an asset rather than the living, breathing thing that houses you, your mental wellness, and your true hopes and aspirations?
More optimistically, sociology sees these structures as logics that can be contested and rewired. I might be an Arts student, but as far as I can remember, primary school science lessons taught me that humans only require air, food and water to grow. Thereafter, we also covered concepts like Maslow’s hierarchy of needs (not in primary school) — but most definitely, the endless pursuit of money is not up there.
Again, Madden and Marcuse phrase this in a less crude manner [2]:
Separated from their own creative capacities, alienated workers experience their time and bodies as someone else’s property. But the dehumanizing conditions in which so many people toil are not caused by immutable natural laws. They are political-economic creations. And they can be changed.
This is the part where I include the caveat that although these logics are arbitrary, the impact they have is not. Issues of poverty, homelessness, this mental stress… are all very. real. issues.
But thank the heavens, there might be hope.
Earth to Carman, Earth to Carman… I see what you mean but how does this play out in our daily lives?
When I get tired of non-fiction depression, I turn to poetry and fall into an even deeper existential hellhole [3][4][5][6].
But ever so rarely, poetry also provides the answers.
A kind of Call and Response [7] if you will:
For some, resistance might look like continuing the toil but finding meaning in it. For others, it could look like a walk in the park.
Essentially, there is no hard and fast rule, just the rules you make up for yourself. Again, these are not immutable natural laws.
And perhaps, what might add a little reverie to your life is this idea of connection. This experience you have is not a lone one, and this battle for agency should not be a solo one.
Resistance also comes in the form of showing kindness to co-workers when they don’t perform as fast as you need them to.
It comes in the form of being patient when your food server has quite a few more orders to handle before it reaches yours.
It comes in the form of choosing reusable cups and cutlery because the actions you take here today do impact the lives of real people tomorrow.
It is easier for a thousand people to take a single step each than for one person to have to take a thousand of them.
To close the housing metaphor, I’d like to quote from Marwa al-Sabouni’s Building for Hope: Towards an Architecture of Belonging [8]. She purports:
The main problem with the way we build today is not just a question of style, nor of blind planning. It is not a matter of achieving goals of sustainability, nor is it about renewable energy… Almost everything we build is characterized by separation between man and vocation, between man and nature…
In the Quran, man’s mission on earth is to yoemer: not merely to build, but to do so in a way that creates prosperity, justice and peace. So although stability and settlement imply stillness… this stillness is only required for the psyche. It is the kind of stability that encourages us to stay put, to take root where we are in order to initiate the movement required for life and prosperity.
In that sense, stability is felt, and movement is built.
A final note on losing your way 🦀
The final book I read for the month was Rebecca Solnit’s A Field Guide to Getting Lost [9]. In it, she has a wonderful analogy about hermit crabs.
She explains that while most crabs come with their own shells, hermit crabs have to find their own residences. These can be in the form of snail shells, whelk shells, periwinkles or any covering they find suitable really.
But there comes a risky moment when they outgrow their shells and have to moult.
Sometimes, it has to test a few new shells before it finds the right one. Sometimes, it has to chase out another creature or eat a dead creature to empty the shell. And sometimes, female hermit crabs in particular have to cling tightly to their shells in order to fend off males who are trying to pull her out by her claws just to mate.
From birth to death, hermit crabs are always trying to find their space in this world.
So it’s okay if you’re still trying to figure yours out.
Some day you will find a shell that fits you, and someday you will outgrow the shell you’re currently in.
And when that happens, you’ll be alright. As long as you just keep swimming, just keep thinking — and, of course, just keep walking.
[1] Mills, C. Wright. The Sociological Imagination. Oxford University Press, 2000. https://b-ok.asia/book/892464/528cd2; I also quote Mills in my other article, The Dangers of Singular Narratives.
[2] Madden, David, and Peter Marcuse. “In Defense of Housing.” The Politics of Crisis (2016). https://b-ok.asia/book/5180418/6ee2d7
[3] Wee, Jason. An Epic of Durable Departures: Poems. Singapore, Singapore: Math Paper Press, 2018. https://epigrambookshop.sg/products/an-epic-of-durable-departures; Jason, if you ever see this, this was a really great anthology, thank you for sharing this with the world.
[4] Ho, Tammy Lai-Ming. Too Too Too Too: Poems. Singapore, Singapore: Math Paper Press, 2018. https://epigrambookshop.sg/products/too-too-too-too
[5] Chan, Stephanie. Roadkill for Beginners: Poems. Singapore, Singapore: Math Paper Press, 2019. https://epigrambookshop.sg/products/roadkill-for-beginners-pos; All my luck for the year probably went into getting a signed copy of this. Do check out their amazing poetry film follow-up as well: https://youtu.be/Qw_i6EKC1CY
[6] Yew, Andrea. In These Curved Spaces: Poems. Singapore, Singapore: Math Paper Press, 2019. https://epigrambookshop.sg/products/in-these-curved-spaces; Obviously, by this point, you might’ve figured that I’m just using this list as an excuse to recommend you poetry. But also, support singlit and independent bookstores y’all.
[7] Khokan, Zakir Hossain, Bhing Navato, Yong Han Poh, and Joshua Ip. Call and Response. Singapore, Singapore: Math Paper Press, 2018. https://booksactuallyshop.com/products/call-and-response; With every full-priced copy purchased from www.booksactuallyshop.com, BooksActually will donate $5 to HealthServe, in support of their mission to serve, advocate and raise awareness of the needs of migrant workers in Singapore.
[8] Al-Sabouni, Marwa. Building for Hope: Towards an Architecture of Belonging. London, UK: Thames & Hudson, 2021. https://wardahbooks.com/collections/new-arrivals/products/building-for-hope-towards-an-architecture-of-belonging
[9] Solnit, Rebecca. A Field Guide to Getting Lost. Vancouver, B.C.: Langara College, 2018. https://b-ok.asia/book/1233697/7bd14b
