Getting to Humble & Tough: Inspiration from C.S. Lewis
Taking a break from my app replacement experiment, I’m focusing on a personal/philosophical issue this week. I have found myself battling feelings of insecurity and inferiority this past week (not for the first or last time) as it relates to my mind and intelligence and I’d like to share this unresolved struggle with y’all.
There is someone in my personal life who is incredibly brilliant, eloquent, thoughtful, talented and yet completely humble and unpretentious — all the things and more I wish I was on a regular basis. I am concurrently jealous and in awe, sometimes unable to remain in the present moment as my mind daydreams of a future me that would think up amazing things the same way they do. They are a bright light in my life, even though they’ve been gone for many decades now and I know them “personally” in the way that most bibliophiles describe their proximity to a favored author or character.
I never read C.S. Lewis’ Narnia stories as a child but have come to adore his nonfiction writings as an adult. He writes with an ease and intellect that is staggering at times, requiring one reread his lines over and over to digest them properly. Lately, I’ve been reading his work with the same fondness but with an added twinge of envy. Why can’t I write or speak as eloquently as he has? Why doesn’t my mind think to ask the questions he asks or make the profound statements he makes?
Graduate school has been a strange crucible that is painfully revealing my impurities at the same time it works to refine and beautify me. Insecurities and doubt have become much more frequent companions of mine as I struggle to grow and develop into a version of myself I haven’t seen or known before. What is interesting, however, is that these most recent doubts concerning my intellect and my abilities — and this transformation of my admiration into envy towards a literary hero of mine — are reminding me of a time that I didn’t have these doubts about how “smart” I was. And got me thinking about what was different then than now. Why did I feel more confident then when I know and have experienced so much more now?
When I was younger, I never minded spending dedicated time learning something new or teaching myself a new skill. I could stay in my room for hours playing a computer game or reading a book from the library; designing newsletters in Corel WordPerfect back in the day, or making marine mammals out of modeling clay. I remember once when I was 10 or 11, I checked out a CD set from the library that was intended to teach actors how to speak in different accents for their roles. I wanted it so I could practice to become a CIA agent one day — my mom thought it was hilarious. That type of exploratory learning and experimenting, even if it took all afternoon, was perfectly fine with me and I (mostly humbly) loved sharing my new skills with others. I think this changed when throughout middle and high school, I was teased a often for these interests and made to feel that I wasn’t “normal for my age” or “good enough.” I remember in high school, this “popular” guy stops me as we’re heading out of class just to sweetly say, “You know, you’ll never have a boyfriend because you care about your homework too much.” Lovely.
Needless to say, a lot of that early passion and enjoyment of learning was stifled by serious insecurities and pressure to stay social, not appear too “smart,” and do whatever I could to “fit in” with a particular crowd. While I’d like to think I’ve grown out of a lot of those insecurities, these last couple of weeks in my graduate program have revealed that those doubts and behaviors are still lurking there. What I am learning and excited about right now in school is requiring my complete allegiance to the process in order to see some positive leaps. I have often opted to downplay this required work time in favor of social obligations or increased volunteerism in order to stay “in the mix.” From those difficult years until now, there has been something within me that allows me to work just hard enough or just long enough that I can have done the work but to ensure that I don’t miss out on anything or threaten my social standing. It has been a block and barrier for me that hasn’t allowed me to really see who I could become when I give something my full attention and time. Well, this tension has grown over the last few weeks and this is where I come back to C.S. Lewis. Thanks for following along on this winding story.
I am currently reading a collection of his speeches from World War II that were transcribed and in one titled “Learning in War-Time,” he gives an acknowledges that for learners, that there is often a “comic discrepancy” between the sometimes dull, arduous tasks we must complete in order to get good at something and the higher, loftier aims of learning as a whole. And he writes that this is a good thing, because “it weeds out the vain, windy people and keeps in those who are both humble and tough.” I can characterize much of my past endeavors as wanting to be serious but were certainly windy, when not also vain. As I read this, something clicked in mind to connect my source of envy with its true subject: Lewis’ dedication to his work. He was certainly not a vain and windy man but pursued his craft with diligence, time, sacrifice, humility, and toughness. If those are qualities he elevates for the learners he was addressing in his speech, then most certainly he revered those same qualities in himself and his pursuit of excellence.
I think the particular life experiences, inner obstacles/road blocks, and insecurities that we all face are certainly diverse, but I believe there is a truth that winds through them all, which is that what we may envy or find ourselves jealous of in another person speaks to a desire deep within. There may be a belief within us that desires the thing we our jealous of, but doesn’t believe we currently possess or could ever possess it. What I loved about reading this essay from Lewis was that I obtained the solution to my doubts and can go back to being an adoring reader again. I don’t have to remain doubtful or insecure about my progress or my intellect when the subject of my admiration has illuminated my path. Sticking with my work beyond the tough, dull, and lonely moments, choosing to be humble and tough, can produce in me the brilliance, intellect, and thoughtfulness, I admire in him the most.
