Final: A Traveling Comfort

There’s an artificiality to Paris. The buildings-basically all one height, one color-provide an endless and expected facade. A facade that doesn’t invade. A facade that doesn’t surprise, and doesn’t distract. To the credit of Haussmann and Napoleon III, Paris lacks the spontaneity of a city like Manhattan. There’s no architecture that suddenly, upon looking at, takes you out of yourself; surprises you. You know what to expect: an expanse of cream-filled uniformity.

Because of this, Paris acts as a background; a place that allows one to focus on himself; delve fully into himself. And the expatriates in Paris were confronted with this; ultimately with themselves. 

Observing my surroundings-the first step. I try to remember what else the article said to do…something about counting breaths-a way to ‘center’ you. I begin. I match my breath with my steps. Right foot, inhale. Left foot, exhale. I start noticing a rhythm-an internal clock I forget I can control. I become focused, and suddenly competitive. Why do I feel competitive?

Cross-country: I ran cross-country all throughout high school and my coach used to yell at us about breathing the ‘right way.’ Coach Kerns: the quintessential star high-school athlete who settled down and now coaches, living semi-vicariously through his players. 

My mind is wandering. I’m not in the present. I’m in the past. I remember something from Ñanadhammo’s piece:“Life is a continual process of arising and passing away.” That’s what a memory is. To live life, you have to embrace the memories; you have to accept that these memories have layered onto each other to create your present, your identity, and your perception of your surroundings. 

You can't fight memories. As disorienting from the present as they are, they’re still apart of you. They’ll always be apart of you and you can only run from them for so long before they catch up to you. I exhale. 

I’m still thinking about cross-country, which leads to high school, which leads to an endless spiral of past relationships, and remembrances of a naivety that was and, to some extent, still is my reality. 

I need to be in the ‘present.’ I start thinking about what else the reading said to do. My memory has always been shit. 

Okay, Emily. Focus. Suddenly something comes back: Goodness. The reading was talking about goodness.“Walk up and down and ask yourself, ‘Today, what acts of goodness have I done?’” I inhale, look out to the Seine and think. It’s the 1st of May and I brought my friend one of the Lily of the Valley plants. It’s supposed to be good luck in France. The reading states that,“Goodness is a cushion for tranquility, a base for peace.” 

My mind wanders to the agendas of life. I need to call my boss at home and make sure I’ll still be employed when I return. I work at a flower shop in Jersey. I love that job. Giving people flowers all day really boosts your mood. My boss emphasizes that flower arrangements are ‘living art.’ Granted he’s super pretentious and, being a failed artist, is in a constant state of convincing himself he’s still doing ‘art,’ but there’s some truth behind it. Flowers make people happy; they make me happy, and they made my friend happy. I smile. I don’t mind being transported into the past if it’s a good memory. A memory that comforts you from the inside out; a memory that gives you something in the immediate moment. It’s disorienting, but a nice disorienting. 

I can’t concentrate on anything without being reminded of the past. It’s not always bad. I used to hate it. I used to strive to always be in the ‘present,’ but that’s overrated-some scheme someone came up with to sell self-help books. Your present is your past. Your past layers over itself to create your present perception, so why not accept the past as an extension to your present? 

Okay, Emily. Focus. I’ve been walking for a while. The reading, “Walking Meditation: Three Expositions on Walking Meditation,” states, “When you get to the end of the path, turn slowly around and re-establish your mindfulness. Where is the mind? Has it wandered off?” Yes reading, of course it has ‘wandered off.’ Observing nature and thinking about goodness can only distract it for so long. 

The reading continues, “The mind tends to wander elsewhere chasing thoughts of: anxiety, fear, happiness, sorrow, worries, doubts, pleasures, frustrations and all the other myriad thoughts that can possibly arise.” That makes sense-it’s bored. It’s trying occupy itself with something flashy and exciting…not that walking isn’t glamorous…

Going to Paris, these expats had lost a lot of the responsibilities that they once held. And they could escape the responsibilities of day to day life, but now with extra time to think and reminisce, they couldn’t escape the issues that stemmed from the war; issues of their past that ultimately came to define their identities and perceptions.  

Suddenly able to escape their prior responsibilities in America, the expat community became consumed with excess and we see this through Jake and his friends’ drinking habits in The Sun Also Rises stating, “We had another absinthe,” “Have another shot.” Then further Hemingway mentions that Cohn, “Playing for higher stakes than he could afford in some rather steep bridge games with his New York connections, had held cards and won several hundred dollars.” We’re presented excess, Hemingway describing characters going out and drinking/dining frequently. The Count says to Bret, “You’re always drinking my dear.” This excess only provides these expats with momentary distraction, their memories of the war quickly coming back and disorienting them entirely. 

Throughout the novel, Jake tries to escape his memories of the war. Paris provided this ‘escape’ to some extent for authors such as Hemingway and Fitzgerald, but the city essentially acted as an external refuge. The uniformed environment failed to distract these expats from their internal injuries. It provided them with material distraction and a freedom from responsibility, but didn’t make them forget their past-a past they had not yet entirely confronted or digested.

The connection that Adair emphasizes in his essay, “Cafes and Food: Allusions to the Great War in The Sun Also Rises,” between food and war sheds light on this inability of the expatriate community to fully escape their past. Adair states, “This quarrelsome scene at the Cafe Versailles alludes to Versailles, 1919. (Imagine a conflict at Versailles with the Germans narrated by a wounded vet opening at the Cafe Appomattox). There was conflict at Versailles with the Germans and even more conflict among the Allies themselves.” This connection found between food and war enforces the claim that, for Jake (and presumably other expats), the war was always there. It’s inescapable for Jake even while he’s partaking in the most ordinary tasks. 

And these expat’s avoidance of the war is blatantly apparent. Upon being urged by Brett to tell a war story, Jake answers, “I’ll not tell that story. It reflects discredit on me.” These ‘lost souls’ are pretending as though their past doesn’t affect them; attempting to distract themselves with drink and excess.

Bill, in conversation with Jake states, “You’re an expatriate. You’ve lost touch with the soil. You get precious. Fake European standards have ruined you. You drink yourself to death. You become obsessed by sex. You spend all your time talking, not working. You are an expatriate, see?” Bill identifies the expatriate; the man trying to escape his memories of the war; distract himself from having to face the traumatic nature of the war. Bill discusses that an expat clings to sex, food, excess. These are things that would allow one a certain level of distraction. However, as Adair points out, even these things bring with it reminders for Jake. 

Jake’s whole mindset is affected by the war. “They are headed for the end of the line, the ‘war zone’ of the cafe district, where Jake again will be ‘wounded’ by Brett.” Jake’s entire reality is tainted by the war. And even his day to day activities become reminders of the traumatic experiences Jake was forced to face. Jake cannot escape his past. And the associations to the war that Jake finds in his day to day prevents him from fully living in the present, the past continuously disorienting him. Adair states, “Pamplona during fiesta time has been seen as a kind of war zone, and Jake’s wounding is in a sense re-enacted when Cohn knocks him unconscious.” The war comes back in waves to Jake, the way memories come to one-suddenly striking him. Jake is searching for a certain level of clarity; a new perception of his world devoid his past memories. However, memories layer to define who one is; they are apart of one and this is why these men ultimately fail to escape their past: memories of the war. 

“In Chapter 3, at Lavigne’s restaurant, Jake, for some unstated reason, assumes that the prostitute whom he has picked up is from Liege. It was at fortified Liege in August 1914 that the Germans shocked the world by invading neutral Belgium. Perhaps he assumes that she is a war refugee and associates her (and her war-time experiences) with the Rape of Little Belgium, as it was called in the world press.” Again, here we see Jake associating women/sexuality with war, again supporting the claim that the war is inescapable in even the most basic aspects of his life (food, sex, etc).

Adair continues, “First he [Jake] suggests that they ‘fly to Strasbourg’ and then walk up to Ste. Odile’s. The shrine of Ste. Odile, patron saint of Alsace and a patron saint of the blind, was a popular destination for men blinded in the war.” This idea of Jake taking us around to cafes and locations associated with the war does more than show how us how engraved the war is in Jake, it also supports Atherton’s claim that Jake acts as a sort of tour guide for us; that The Sun Also Rises is merely an “arranged trip”; a historical itinerary. 

The emphasis on time/itinerary is something Jake probably gained while in the war. Atherton continues in his essay, “The Itinerary and the Postcard: Minimal Strategies in The Sun Also Rises”, “Hemingway’s prose adopts this pattern; the reader is made aware of the hour of day, the day of the week, etc., the chapters often begin in the early morning as if the purpose were to set down all the details of a programmed schedule, not forgetting the essential time off for meals and refreshment.” This type of mentality-one of order, structure-is similar to one that would be enforced in the military. 

Jake also doesn’t leave himself with much time left over for idleness. Atherton states,“The catalogue of places is thus a means to exhaust, to use up by correspondence, the characters’ pool of available time, and thus create the impression that the narrative eye is truing the action steadily, unwaveringly, without letup.” Jake is constantly trying to distract himself; to prevent his mind from wandering to his past: the maker of his injuries. And this is a purposeful decision on his part, for left to his own devices he’d probably recount the horrors of the war. By filling his time and creating an itinerary to his day to day life, Jake is able to obtain the ordered mentality enforced on him while he was in the military (a mentality he's now probably comfortable with), but he is also able to escape, or distract himself rather, from memories of a past reality. This could explain the narrator’s “obsessive aversion to the iterative.” It’s obsessive because Jake needs to be obsessed; needs to create distraction from something he doesn’t want to face; from the horrors he’s trying to escape.

There’s something comforting in order; in an itinerary. It’s concrete-we can point to it, understand it thoroughly, and find comfort in knowing that at least we understand that; have mastered that, and can accomplish that. This comfort in order is universal. It’s why we order nature, for example. It’s also a way of occupying and controlling thought-a way to prevent the mind from wandering to memories one may not want to face. 

It’s a Sunday morning. Nine o’clock. I forgot to shut my shades last night, the sun intruding, invading and reminding me to go enjoy the day. Seize it. 

I need to go to the market. Buy some breakfast. Something light-an apple. No, I had that last weekend. A plum…I haven’t had a plum in a while. 

I stretch. I’m up now, peeling off my sheets. The warmth and security of the blanket fades—alone again: just me and the world. No safety net. No comfy blanket. 

I’ve never been one of those people who wakes up and rolls around; one of those people who stays in bed until twelve only to spend the next six hours complaining about how they wasted the day. It’s not worth the guilt; the guilt of knowing I’m not taking full advantage of time; life. 

Time slips away quickly, catching the errands of life along with it, collecting whatever I produce that day. 

Producing is the ultimatum of everyday. Me vs. what I produce. Me vs. how much I can produce. At least if I produce something I have something to show; something concrete. ‘Future Me’ will thank ‘Past Me’…or at least remember her. 

No matter what I’m doing there’s always something else to be done. Slipping in and fading out, the possibilities of the day stay conscious of their ability to occupy; to fill a space of aimless thought. It’s probably better anyway that that brain space is filled than left to its own devices-circling down a spiral that I’m familiar enough with to know it warrants fear. 

Jacket, bag, keys. I check my watch: 9:40. I would’ve liked to have left already. If I go straight to one stand I can make it back by twelve and start my homework. 

One-thirty to two-oclock. Cool. 

Then I’ll watch one episode of Friday Night Lights. It’ll be 4. Fuck, that’s at least six hours until bed. 

Hm…

I’ll go for a run. Talk to the roommates. Maybe I’ll stop at Tania’s for some coffee or something after. Head back around nine. Shower. Bed at ten. 

Perfect. 

Even parks are ordered. Every park is organized to a certain degree, asking one to park somewhere, enter through somewhere, or look at the scenery in a particular order. We like to understand things. It’s nice to point to something and say, ‘This is like this because…’ 

Thoreau emphasizes this, choosing walking as, “A protest against the encroachments of the city and the erosion of the natural world.” He uses walking as a means of, ‘escaping confines of the city.’ Being a transcendentalist, Thoreau uses walking to get in touch with nature, wilderness, and eventually the spiritual realm. It’s a process for him of getting out of society, into himself, and eventually into something bigger than himself. Similar to the expats, Thoreau wants to escape confines, but his confine isn’t his past. Instead it’s the city; society.

Rather than focusing on being apart of society, “Wordsworth shares none of the intoxication with the natural world that he himself was to experience. On the contrary, the walker in invariably portrayed as a figure of social alienation, divorced both from his society and his surroundings.” Using characters such as discharged soldiers and beggars, Wordsworth focuses on this concept of being socially alienated. 

It even seems as though walking enthusiasts, such as Wordsworth, Hazlitt and Thoreau find pleasure in the fact that they are isolated from society. Hazlitt states, “I like to go by myself," "I am never less alone than when alone."

These walking enthusiasts were able to find a comfort, a distraction (within nature and isolation) from the confines that they felt the city contained. For the expatriates the confines, or responsibilities were found in America, and Paris offered this freedom. A freedom that would ultimately prove substantially artificial, but still a freedom.

Unlike these walking enthusiasts however, the expats didn't find a comfort within Paris. The expats’ injuries stemmed extremely deep and the memories that accompanied their injuries were constantly brought back, or triggered, from the city. These expats couldn’t comfort themselves. They were all suffering. They needed a community; a sense of belonging, so they forced one. 

Space invaders sprinkle themselves along the area, providing some sort of constant throughout Paris. These little critters, unobtrusive yet undeniably apparent-there for those who want to appreciate them, but not asking for anything in return. Their technological façade contrasts with the old Parisian architecture. The colors, unapologetic in their vastness and clarity, clash against the classic cream. A cream that knows better. A cream that’s wise enough to accept the critters, but polished enough to distance itself from them.

The streets continue and so do the critters; connecting the Marais, connecting Paris, but also connecting me with home. A friend’s favorite artist is Invader; every critter carrying a wave of comfort. A wave of familiarity, tenderness, followed by a sharp pang for something-someone-I don’t have. The streets are filled with his memory-more his presence. It’s comforting to be constantly reminded of someone who made you happy in a way you didn’t even know you were capable of; who filled in that last bit that’s missing. That last little something: an outlet to share the happiness with. That’s why love works so well. It makes you happy and gives you an outlet for that happiness. 

Going through an ally there’s an assortment of street art. Each piece carries its own message. Each piece is screaming to be heard, but ends up merely masked by its competitors. Street art: competitors who aren’t even trying to compete. The causes, messages, overlap and overwhelm, turning into one huge mass of ‘angsty' rebellion.

If any of this art was displayed at a gallery, people would probably be lining up to see it. Reading into the artist’s ‘message’ and nodding approvingly, feeling gratified that they understand and appreciate art…as long as someone else has told them of its value. Shepherd Ferry, Banksy, they started out as street artists, branding themselves to gain respect. With branding ('selling out') comes recognition. 

A storm trooper sits on the entrance of the ally. My brother loves these guys and suddenly I miss him; miss my family; miss the comfort they provide. The thought of missing people is worse than the actual process-self-pitying remorse. With time being the controlling factor, there’s nothing to be done; no coping mechanism for this form of pain. Taking a picture and sending it to him is all to be done. And it’s time for lunch…

In Paris, the expatriates didn’t truly delve into Parisian culture, instead they joined together with other Americans-reminders of home, the familiar: comfort.

And this explains why the characters in The Sun Also Rises,  “Criticiz[e] the church and its lack of comfort.” Because they could criticize it. They had created, in a sense, their own church through each other. They “look for salvation in a predominantly Godless world and who find it, ultimately, in the community of other lost souls”; a ‘lost generation’ joining together. 

The expatriates, in a new environment and still affected by the trauma of the war, fought to find comfort in Paris. Helbig points out: “‘Some people have God,’ I said. ‘Quite a lot.’ And even here in Jake’s comment near the end of the novel, Hemingway fosters the ambiguity in regard to religion seen throughout. The reader must decide: do quite a lot of people have God or do some people have quite a lot of God?” If it is the latter, Hemingway presents God as something in human nature; that religion is more complex than merely a face or a name; that the components of religion-comfort, hope-are universal. And the expats formed a community to re-create this universal comfort (and hope) that many find through religion. 

Helbig states, “And ‘making sense’ of loss and life emerges as a major theme in a novel whose characters look for salvation in a predominantly Godless world and who find it, ultimately, in the community of other lost souls.” The characters have questioned God but still crave the comforts of religion, forming a sense of religion within each other; maybe even forcing this sense of community out of pure necessity. They don’t have religion anymore; don’t have God, but still need comfort-comfort from the trauma of their pasts, and comfort from the differing culture surrounding them.

Ultimately Jake, even with the support of this community, can’t shake his past. Hemingway points out, “Some bootblacks sat under a tree talking to a soldier. The soldier had only one arm.” There are memories of the war everywhere, surrounding Jake, and preventing him from fully living in the present. Again, we see that he can’t escape the memories of the war. 

Unfortunately for these expats, the past is always with you. It layers to form your present identity. That’s all memory really is-layers. Coming to Paris I was struggling with this. I was constantly reminded of my past-a smell would bring me back to a memory of my childhood; a song would bring me back to who I was in high school. And this scared me. Not yet confidant enough in my identity, I felt that the past was interfering with my future; preventing me from ‘growing’; becoming my own person. 

There I was, trying to distance myself from past memories; trying to be a woman devoid of my past. I was constantly trying to imagine my identity; to form a perception of who I was. And these memories stung me, forcing me to face the reality that I was still connected to a girl I wanted very little to do with. 

I tried to form a portrait of myself. Who was I? My ‘injuries’ are not as severe as the expats. But the city and its endless possibilities for associations with my past overwhelmed me. 

For example, I would be confidently walking, head up and heels clanking loudly, a loud that screamed with confidence ‘I am here and deserving of notice.’ And suddenly, unexpectedly, a waft of some cheap perfume would pass, disorienting me, transporting me quickly and naturally, as though my mind had rehearsed this; as though it had been there before. I had been there of course. 

My mind was more familiar with that reality (a reality of my past) than my present. And I was bitter towards this. I didn’t want to be that girl. I craved to be the woman I knew I’d soon be; a woman of vitality and vigor; a woman whose heels echoed through the metro station, not the girl who, before asking the crush she so eagerly infatuated for a pencil, would pour this same wafting 'cheap perfume' on herself. I am better than that now; I am a woman in a trench coat; I am confidant. 

But then why did the memories of my past reality feel so comfortable? I wanted comfort in this new city, but didn’t want to be the girl of my past. At first I ran to social environments for distraction, partying or reading, doing anything to keep my mind occupied and away from considering ‘identity’ and ‘the past.’ I went to museums, tried to force Paris to entertain me. But similar to the expatriates, these distractions proved only momentary and the moment it was left to its own devices, my mind ran straight back to the past-the familiar. 

I wasn’t bitter the way Thoreau and Wordsworth were. And I tried nature, but spending a lot of time farming when I was younger this just acted as yet another portal to the past. 

Why was the past everywhere? Why couldn’t I just be in the present?

I talked to a friend of mine who’s Buddhist and she said Buddhists don’t worry about identity. They believe that you’re constantly changing, and since you’re constantly changing, you can never have a firm grasp on your identity-likes, dislikes, interests, values...sure, but a concrete portrait of who you are-an immortal portrait-doesn’t exist. 

Suddenly something clicked. My identity is a collage. The past layers and creates who I am; creating my dislikes and likes, values, etc. It’s almost like an armor. 

Your identity is an armor, made up of varying memories and experiences. And when one memory is triggered, it comes to the forefront-that part of your armor is enhanced-but eventually it’ll cool down, and fit back into the greater mold, and you’ll be you again; you in your present, working to make new memories and experiences to add to this armor, getting thicker everyday.

These expats were trying to avoid their past. It was too painful to bear, and reminders of it were everywhere. Sometimes accepting things is easier than trying to avoid them. Living alone, without my family and friends and familiarity of my own home, I had no comfort. My apartment building, as bizarre as this feels to officially type, actually burned down while I was in Paris, so I don’t even have a home in an environment I’m familiar with anymore. 

I was forced to find a comfort in Paris. And to do that, I had to find a comfort in myself. The past is comforting; it’s proof that you’ve lived, and also evidence that you will keep changing. Every experience becomes another layer to your identity-an identity that will constantly change. 

With this being said, it’s interesting to see how Miller views his past: America. Miller states, “Everything American coming up in a rush. And with every name a thousand intimate details of my life are connected.” It’s this connection which leads to the armor which becomes you in your present. 

The past is overwhelming and it’s always with you. There’s no way to avoid it. A new location will provide you with distraction from it, but not forever. It’s just a matter of time before something will trigger a memory; trigger your past. 

I was forced to find comfort within myself and within Paris. In The Sun Also Rises, Jake experiences this, stating, “It felt strange to be in France again. There was a safe, suburban feeling.” There’s a familiarity in the known; the comfort of home. Jake finds a comfort in Paris out of necessity, but the real goal is finding comfort within yourself, which requires being comfortable with your past. Then, and only then, will you have achieved a comfort that travels.  

The Comforts of Community: "A Sun Also Rises" P. 3

Helbig states, “Community…almost always means a positive alternative, a better quality of human relationships;…for its opposing or distinguishing meaning is the particular state of isolation, dissatisfaction, discontinuity, or misunderstanding that the confessional speaker feels is the reason for making a confession.” 

We can’t really blame the expatriate community for clinging to each other: the known; the familiar. They were in a new place with a new language and a new culture. Delving into a community allowed them to have a better experience; it offered ‘a positive alternative’ to being alone in a foreign country. What Helbig fails to outrightly acknowledge is that even though these expats formed a community, it was not one that formed genuinely, rather it was forced from a pretext of familiarity (being American). So it’s no surprise that these people still felt, ‘isolated’ and ‘dissatisfied,’ leading to their confessions. 

The community that they formed provided them with entertainment and distraction, but not necessarily a feeling of belonging. Religion had offered this to generations prior, but the times were changing and religion was fading out of the forefront for many of these characters. 

Brett states, “You know it makes me feel rather good deciding not to be a bitch.” She continues, “It’s sort of what we have instead of God.” Here we see that these characters are still striving for something that religion offers-a sense of belonging, a sense of reassurance. Hemingway presents certain elements of religion as universal; that one doesn’t necessarily need religion to experience what religion offers. And we see this through his characters, trying to find a sort of religion within each other. Helbig states, “To find solace for themselves and to regain a sense of community, the characters turn to confession.” The elements that religion offer are still present, however the characters look to each other to express themselves, instead of to a church. 

And here is where Jake is presented as a sort of priest figure. “As Jake tells Brett at the end of the novel, “ [s]ome people have God” including perhaps, himself. Jake’s ability to reconcile himself to his failings and to his condition as a sinner empowers him to help others, to become their confessor.” Although the characters aren’t religious in the conventional sense, they are creating a sense of universality to religion; that one can be religious without a conventional church set up and that elements of religion can be found anywhere; in anything. 

Helbig states, “And “making sense” of loss and life emerges as a major theme in a novel whose characters look for salvation in a predominantly Godless world and who find it, ultimately, in the community of other lost souls.” Here we see exactly this. The characters have questioned God but still crave the comforts of religion, forming a sense of religion within each other; maybe even forcing this sense of community out of pure necessity. They don’t have religion anymore; don’t have God, but still need this comfort. 

And the characters don’t disregard God entirely, but do it rather subtly. Brett states, “You’ve a hell of a biblical name, Jake.” This example of “Hemingway juxtapos(ing) the sacred and the profane” provides the reader with a sense of the lack of respect for religion. The reader sees that this doubt in religion is beginning to appear, but the characters have not disregarded the universal elements of religion/that religion offers. They’re not ready to; they still need it.

Helbig states that, “Confessional elements do find their way into the novel.” And this exposes the discomfort that the characters feel and ultimately the lack of true fulfillment that their community is offering them-that they are merely flocking to it out of a fear of being uncomfortable. 

And writers who did not flock to this expat community definitely did experience discomfort. We see this through Henry Miller stating, “Every night, as I head toward La Fourche, I run the gauntlet. Every night I’m scalped and tomahawked.” 

It’s interesting that the characters discuss their own religions so much, Hemingway “identif(ying) Jake so early and explicitly in the novel as a Roman Catholic would have affected readers’ perceptions of him.” It shows that religion is still on his mind. And although the characters are distancing themselves from religion, they haven’t entirely let it go.

They are making their own religions for themselves. “And just as Hemingway’s technique of blending religious and secular discourses produces an acceptable hybrid form, so too must Jake reconcile absolute values concerning how one should act with the realities of his modern world.” Although Jake isn’t religious (or is claiming not to be) the concept of morals and what is ‘right’ is still apparent, again supporting the claim to the universality in religion.

Helbig points out: “‘Some people have God,’ I said. ‘Quite a lot.“ (245). And even here in Jake’s comment near the end of the novel, Hemingway fosters the ambiguity in regard to religion seen throughout. The reader must decide: do quite a lot of people have God or do some people have quite a lot of God?” If it is the latter, Hemingway presents God as something in human nature; that religion is more complex than merely a face or a name; that the components of religion are universal.

The characters “criticiz(e) the church and its lack of comfort” but only because they can. They “look for salvation in a predominantly Godless world and who find it, ultimately, in the community of other lost souls”; a ‘lost generation’ banning together. 

Jake, even with the support of this community, can’t shake his past. Hemingway points out “Some bootblacks sat under a tree talking to a soldier. The soldier had only one arm.” There are memories of the war everywhere, surrounding Jake, and preventing him from fully living in the present. He can’t escape the memories of the war.

Towards the end of A Sun Also Rises, when Jake is alone with Brett, Hemingway points out, “Ahead was a mounted policeman in khaki directing traffic.” Jake could be happy, could have the girl, but something is holding him back. This authority is holding him back-reminders of authority, reminders of the war. 

Further we see elements of the expat community found within the end of the novel. An emphasis on money is present, Jake stating, “Everything is on such a clear financial basis in France.” Further there’s a sense of excess, Mike stating, “That drink’s mine” to which Jake responds, “Let’s roll for it.” Here they’re gambling and drinking, two themes that continually reappear within this community.

Upon returning to Paris, Jake states, “It felt strange to be in France again. There was a safe, suburban feeling.” There’s a familiarity in the known. The comfort of home. A comfort in routine, possibly stemming from Jake’s wartime mindset. Jake finds a comfort in Paris out of necessity. There is no religion to get this from; he must find it within himself. 

The Walking Meditation

Remembering this assignment, I decided to walk home from my friend’s apartment. She lives right near the Seine, and I had the time. I pretty much always have time…at least I’m in Paris performing ‘walking meditations’ instead of the backyard of some sorority chugging a mystery combo of alcohol and juice…right? 

It’s raining, but just enough to form a sort of misty haze. There’s no oppressive force pelting down. It doesn’t interfere. I walk feeling refreshed. I know I need to appreciate this before getting back to New York in the summer-walking into the subway in the summer is what I imagine walking into the deepest layer of hell might be like…

I decide to start this meditation and already know it’s going to be difficult. A friend of mine was raised Buddhist and is constantly trying to get me into meditating but I can’t grasp it. I place one hand in front of the other, “to differentiate from “just walking.”” 

The only people I ever see walking like this are elderly men in nice hats, clearly out for a ‘stroll.’ Usually they have some sort of color-coordination going on. Color coordination is underrated. 

I feel authoritative. Knowing this is going to be hard for me, I remember the advice from the reading: “If your mindfulness is weak (meaning your mind wanders a lot), then walk very slowly until you can stay in the present moment of each step.” 

I begin walking. Looking out to the Seine, everything seems peaceful. I hear the rain lightly beating against the concrete, my own feet clumsily clanking against the floor. The mist surrounding the Seine stays constant. The tour boats zoom past, flashing their fun and glamour. A glamour that accompanies the luxury of escape; the luxury of tourism. 

Observing my surroundings-the first step. I try to remember what else the article said to do…something about counting breaths-a way to ‘center’ you. I begin. I match my breath with my steps. Right foot, inhale. Left foot, exhale. I start noticing a rhythm-an internal clock I forget I can control. I become focused, and suddenly competitive. Why do I feel competitive? 

Cross-country. I ran cross-country all throughout high school and my coach used to yell at us about breathing the ‘right way.’ Coach Kerns: the quintessential star high-school athlete who settled down and now coaches, living semi-vicariously through his players. 

My mind is wandering. I’m not in the present. I’m in the past. “‘Life” is a continual process of arising and passing away.” That’s what a memory is. To live life, you have to embrace the memories; you have to accept that these memories have layered onto each other to create your present-your identity-your perceptions of your surroundings. As disorienting from the present as they are, they’re still apart of you. They’ll always be apart of you and you can only try to run from them for so long before they catch up to you. I exhale. 

I’m still thinking about cross-country, which leads to high school, which leads to an endless spiral of past relationships, and remembrances of the naivety that was and, to some extent, still is my reality. 

I need to be in the ‘present.’ I started thinking about what else the reading said to do. My memory has always been shit. 

I look down and my hands are no longer crossed in front of me-they’re at my sides. Okay, Emily. Focus. Suddenly something comes back: Goodness. The reading was talking about goodness. 

“Walk up and down and ask yourself, “Today, what acts of goodness have I done?” I re-assemble my hands, inhale, look out to the Seine and think. It’s the first of May and I brought my friend one of the Lily of the Valley plants. The reading states that, “Goodness is a cushion for tranquility, a base for peace.” 

My mind wanders to the agendas of life. I need to call my boss at home and make sure I’ll still be employed when I return. I work at a flower shop in Jersey. I love that job. Giving people flowers all day really boosts your mood. My boss always said flower arrangements were ‘living art.’ Granted he’s super pretentious and, being a failed artist, is in a constant state of convincing himself he’s still doing ‘art,’ but there’s some truth behind it. Flowers make people happy; they make me happy, and they made my friend happy. I smile. I don’t mind being transported into the past when it’s a good memory. A memory that comforts you from the inside out; a memory that gives you something in the immediate moment. It’s a nice disorienting. 

I can’t concentrate on anything without being reminded of the past. It’s not always bad. I used to hate it. I used to strive to always be in the ‘present,’ but that’s overrated-some scheme someone came up with to sell self-help books. Your present is your past. Your past layers to create your present perception, so why not accept the past as an extension of your present? 

Okay, Emily. Focus. I’ve walked awhile at this point. The reading states, “When you get to the end of the path, turn slowly around and re-establish your mindfulness. Where is the mind? Has it wandered off?” Yes, reading. Of course it has ‘wandered off.’ Observing nature and thinking about goodness can only distract it for so long. 

The reading continues, “The mind tends to wander elsewhere chasing thoughts of: anxiety, fear, happiness, sorrow, worries, doubts, pleasures, frustrations and all the other myriad thoughts that can possibly arise.” That makes sense-it’s bored, it’s trying occupy itself with something flashy and exciting…not that walking isn’t flashy and glamorous…

I try to re-center myself. Focus on walking. Focus on breathing. One foot in front of the other. My grandpa used to sing this war song to me when I was little and didn’t want to walk. It went something like, ‘left, right, left, right, left. I wanna go home but-“ I can’t remember the rest. I miss him. 

Okay, time to re-focus myself…again. This feels like my a millionth time trying to establish ‘samadhi.’ I’m not cut out for this whole inner-peace thing. I’m never bored, generally. I’ve been doing this whole, ‘not chilling out and taking things at face value’ thing for nineteen years and it’s a habit I don’t really intend on breaking. It’s my perception now. Plus I’m stubborn, which doesn’t help anything.

The reading states, “As the ability to concentrate for extended periods of time increases, the hindrances are suppressed more and more.” Hindrances, okay life without ‘hindrances’ might be nice, but only when they’re phrased this as hindrances. Who’s to say the past is a hindrance? I would’ve agreed at the beginning of the semester, but now there’s something comforting and reassuring within it. 

There’s too much going on in a city to achieve this ‘zen’ state of mind. There are too many things to associate with. The city itself is a distraction from yourself; from your own ‘hindrances.’ Maybe that’s why so many people want to escape to it; want to escape from themselves. 

"The Sun Also Rises" as an allusion to the 'American Clique of Paris'

Throughout The Sun Also Rises, we see Jake trying to escape his memories of the war, as was the goal of many expatriates. Paris provided this ‘escape’ to some extent for authors such as Hemingway and Fitzgerald. 

The connection that Adair emphasizes between food and war sheds light on the inability of the expatriate community to fully escape their past. Adair states, “This quarrelsome scene at the Cafe Versailles alludes to Versailles, 1919. (Imagine a conflict at Versailles with the Germans narrated by a wounded vet opening at the Cafe Appomattox). There was conflict at Versailles with the Germans and even more conflict among the Allies themselves.” This connection found between food and war enforces the claim that, for Jake (and presumably other expats), the war is always there. It’s inescapable for Jake even while he’s partaking in the most ordinary tasks. 

And these expat’s avoidance of the war is apparent. Upon being urged by Brett to tell a war story, Jake answers, “I’ll not tell that story. It reflects discredit on me.” 

Bill, in conversation with Jake states, “You’re an expatriate. You’ve lost touch with the soil. You get precious. Fake European standards have ruined you. You drink yourself to death. You become obsessed by sex. You spend all your time talking, not working. You are an expatriate, see?” Bill identifies the expatriate; the man trying to escape his memories of the war; distract himself from having to face the traumatic nature of the war. Bill discusses that an expat clings to sex, food, excess. These are things that would allow one a certain level of distraction. However, as Adair points out, even these things bring with it reminders for Jake. 

Excess is another theme found amongst the expatriate community. Going to Paris, these expats have lost a lot of the responsibilities that they once held. And they can escape these responsibilities, but they can’t escape the issues that stemmed from the war and that have ultimately come to define their identities and perceptions. Now able to escape their responsibilities, the expat community becomes consumed with excess and we see this through Jake and his friends’ drinking habits, stating, “We had another absinthe,” “Have another shot.” This excess only provides these expats with momentary distraction.

Paris acts as a distraction itself, providing a new background and a new culture. This culture, however is one that the expats don’t really ever fully grasp, as they are never truly engaged in it. Instead they find the other Americans within the city and cling to each other; an American clique in Paris. These expats are even aware of their separation from European culture. 

Bill highlights it throughout The Sun Also Rises. Cohn asks Bill, “Where are the foreigners?” Bill responds simply, “We’re the foreigners.” Later on, “I won’t eat downstairs with that German head waiter. He was damn snotty when I was getting Mike upstairs.” This divide between the Americans and natives to Europe is apparent and acknowledged by these expats, but they don’t seem to care, rather they seem to take pride in their clique, or maybe rather find comfort in it. Jake, speaking spanish, does stray from this a bit, but he too is pulled back into his clique, willingly traveling with them and spending the majority of his time with them.

Paris (or Europe in the case of The Sun Also Rises) offers these expats a new environment and a new culture, but doesn’t provide these expats with the opportunity of letting their issues and inner conflicts rest. These expats can’t really see clearly.

Jake’s whole mindset is affected by the war.  “They are headed for the end of the line, the “war zone” of the cafe district, where Jake again will be “wounded” by Brett. “ Jake’s entire reality is tainted by the war. And even his day to day activities become reminders of the traumatic experiences Jake was forced to face. Jake cannot escape his past. And this association prevents Jake from fully living in the present, the past ultimately disorienting him. Adair states, “Pamplona during fiesta time has been seen as a kind of war zone, and Jake’s wounding is in a sense re-enacted when Cohn knocks him unconscious.” The war comes back in waves to Jake, the way memories come to one-suddenly, striking him, affecting him. Jake is searching for a certain level of clarity; a new perception of his world devoid his past memories. However, memories layer to define who one is; they are apart of one; make one who he is and this is why these men repeatedly fail to escape their past/memories of the war. 

“In Chapter 3, at Lavigne’s restaurant, Jake, for some unstated reason, assumes that the prostitute whom he has picked up is from Liege. It was at fortified Liege in August 1914 that the Germans shocked the world by invading neutral Belgium. Perhaps he assumes that she is a war refugee and associates her (and her war-time experiences) with the Rape of Little Belgium, as it was called in the world press.” Again, here we see Jake associating women/sexuality with war, supporting the claim that the war is inescapable in even the most basic aspects of his life (food, sex, etc).

Adair continues, “First he (Jake) suggests that they “fly to Strasbourg” and then walk up to Ste. Odile’s. The shrine of Ste. Odile, patron saint of Alsace and a patron saint of the blind, was a popular destination for men blinded in the war.” This idea of Jake taking us around to cafes and locations associated with the war goes back to Atherton’s claim that Jake acts as a sort of tour guide for us; that The Sun Also Rises is merely an “arranged trip”; a historical trip. 

The emphasis put on bullfighting and the excitement and edge that Jake experiences through bullfighting acts as a replacement of the excitement experienced in the war. Watching, for instance, a bullfighter receive, “A cornada right through the back” provides some perverse pleasure for Jake, allowing him to re-live the horrors of the war at a safe distance; to shock him; add excitement and gore back into his life. On bullfighting Jake states, “It became more something that was going on with a definite end, and less of a spectacle with unexplained horrors.” Maybe this is how Jake wishes to see the war too. 

Bullfighting can also be seen as an allusion to sexuality. Each character’s interaction with the bullfights speaks to his or her own sexuality. Cohn is uninterested in the bullfights, later finding them gruesome and gore-y. This speaks to his intense fixation on loving Brett; a ‘love’ that isn’t coming from lust, but rather admiration. In this same sense, Brett finds nothing wrong with the gore of the bull-fights, becoming engaged in them, just as Brett ultimately becomes engaged with her sexuality, romancing with Roberto. Jake finds the bullfights fascinating and emphasizes the interaction between bull-fighter and bull. Jake, unable to have sex, can only observe the interactions between him and women, but never be fully engaged in the act itself. Roberto, a man who had not experienced the war, is highly skilled in bullfighting. He is able also to conquer sexually in a way that the men who went to war are unable to; the war isn’t holding him back-he is able to live in the present and fully engage in day-to-day activities without interruption from memories of the war.

Ultimately through this, we see the inner struggles of these men at war and the extent to which the war holds them back from experiencing and engaging in their immediate reality. 

Jake recalls, “There were worms underneath. They slid out of sight as I lifted the sod and I dug carefully and got a good many. Digging at the edge of the damp ground I filled two empty tobacco-tins with worms and sifted dirt onto them.” This imagery further reveals Jake’s situation. The worms represent Jake’s past problems. The sod is the distraction Europe provides for him. Europe is only masking his inner torment of the war, but it’ll always be there; squirming around, sometimes hiding, but always underneath the sod.

Ashley, an ex of Brett’s and a ninth baronet sailor, “Always slept with a loaded service revolver. Brett used to take the shells out when he’d gone to sleep.” Clearly the effects of the war were major, leaving these expats searching for an escape that would never truly be found.

Catacombs Walks (Fr)

J’ai pris une promenade. Une autre promenade. Les promenades avant étaient belles. Celui-ci était effrayant. Il y avait tant de crânes. Ils sont rappels de la mort. Je n’avais jamais peur de la morte. Peut-étre parce que je suis jeune. Paris est calme. Mais les catacombes ne sont pas. Les crânes vides regardent eu arriére de moi. Les gens qui ont veçu; des gens qui avaient aimé. Je vais un jour être un crâne vide. 

Les catacombes sont libres d'étudiants, alors je ai marché vers le bas dans le musée. Les touristes sont partout. Je suis un touriste également. Ils prennent des photos. Je pense que ce est un peu irrespectueux pour prendre des photos des morts. Ces personnes ne ont jamais choisi d'être mis sur l'affichage.

Il ya beaucoup d'os. Marina Al Rubaee constaté que, «l'un d'Eux Explique à touriste juin, Dans un anglais rapide et haché, au Québec« L'Endroit ABRITE six millions d'ossements sur près de deux de Kilomètres »."

Tout en marchant, je pense à chacune de ces personnes. Chacun de ces crânes. Ils étaient tous les individus. Ils avaient tous des familles. Ils étaient tous malades.

Dans l'avenir, je pense que ce sera notre nouvelle réalité. La surpopulation va causer un manque d'espace. Où vont tous les cadavres aller? Je ne sais pas. Mais les humains créés catacombes fois et ils le feront encore. Probablement.

L'aspect religieux des catacombes est aussi intéressant. Comme si ce était l'intention de Dieu. Les gens sont très confiants en Dieu.

Comme je marche je regarde autour et je remarque beaucoup d'écrits. La plupart d'entre eux sont religieux. C’est probablement parce que les gens avaient besoin d'espoir. Espérons que les choses iraient mieux.

Les os ont été extraits d'un vieux cimetière de Saint-Laurent. Aussi le cimetière de Saint-Jean et l'hôpital de la Trinité. Tout cela se produit dans les années 1800. Je me rends compte que je me promène dans l’histoire.

J’ai entendu qu'il y avait eu du vandalisme dans les catacombes. C’est très irrespectueux. Je me demande pourquoi il ne sent pas mauvais ici. Mon ami m'a dit, elle descendit dans les catacombes de nuit, illégalement. Cela semble très effrayant.

Les catacombes sont effrayants. Il est effrayant de penser que ce peut-être notre avenir. Que ce est probablement notre avenir. (Robin, j’ai essayé)

More on Hemingway

The Sun Also Rises is presented as a type of guidebook. Everywhere the narrator takes us, he has been before. By choosing this narration style, “Hemingway is giving up one of the major tactics of the classical novel—the use, as a focus of perception of a character who is taken by surprise.” But by leaving out Jake being surprised or taken severely off guard, he’s presented as jaded, possibly from the war.

The emphasis on time/itinerary is something Jake probably gained while in the war. “Hemingway’s prose adopts this pattern; the reader is made aware of the hour of day, the day of the week, etc., the chapters often begin in the early morning as if the purpose were to set down all the details of a programmed schedule, not forgetting the essential time off for meals and refreshment.” This type of mentality-one of order, structure-is similar to one that would be enforced in the military. 

Jake also doesn’t leave himself with much time left over for idleness. Atherton states, “The catalogue of places is thus a means to exhaust, to use up by correspondence, the characters’ pool of available time, and thus create the impression that the narrative eye is truing the action steadily, unwaveringly, without letup.” In addition to this, however, Jake is not left with much idle time; time to just think. And maybe this is a purposeful decision on his part, for left to his own devices he’d probably recount the horrors of the war, etc something Hemingway himself had admitted to being extremely affected by. By filling his time and creating an itinerary for life, Jake is able to obtain the ordered mentality enforced on him while he was in the military, but he is also able to escape, or distract himself rather, from memories of a past reality. This could explain the narrator’s “obsessive aversion to the iterative.” It’s obsessive because Jake needs to be obsessed; needs to create distraction from something he doesn’t want to face; from the horrors he’s trying to escape.

Even when he discusses the war, it’s very matter-of-factly. Never extremely detailed. Jake states, “I got hurt in the war.” Hemingway’s general minimalistic style also portrays something of one who is jaded. One who is jaded from, presumably a war, has seen such horrors and blocks a lot out due to this, not delving deep into emotion for that would be a dangerous and guaranteed route to sadness, madness even. 

Jake has learned to value stability and an ordered mindset/lifestyle from the war. He finds a certain sexiness in stability describing ‘a remarkably attractive woman’ as ‘fine and straight.’

But Jake doesn’t just live in his own itinerary, for that wouldn’t be enough distraction. He  talks to his friends about their schedules too, but also watches the people of his surrounding’s itineraries stating,“I watched a good-looking girl walk past the table and watched her go up the street and lost sight of her, and watched her go up the street and lost sight of her, and watched another, and then saw the first one coming back again.”

Atherton discusses that this talk of itineraries is also, at times, used as a weapon. Atherton gives the example of Frances discussing her future voyage to England. This is hard on Cohn, as it ‘precipitates his “trip”.’ Hemingway’s lack of directly introducing or giving the reader an emotion or intention, but instead merely throwing it in, imitates how natural speech is spoken and how humans interact normally: being passive aggressive, etc. The characters in The Sun Also Rises are therefore relatable as you love to hate them. Their subtleties in language are something most readers have confronted on a daily basis and therefore understand intrinsically, without description, making this book less dense and more entertaining…at least at its surface. 

We don’t really get a sense of Jake’s past-who he was before this account. Due to this lack of background, we lose “what otherwise would have been part of a biography and thus part of the fullness of character into assigned attribute and function.” Jake simply ‘knows’ and the reader puts a false trust in him due to this presented knowledge/demeanor.

He speaks to us as a ‘guide’ describing the colors of things almost presenting everything as though we were a tourist as when he describes the ballroom. And, due to a lack of background (insight) we trust him as our guide. We have no reason not to trust him.

Jake describing his surroundings to us in this manner allows us to gain insight into his own mentality and the truth is revealed that he is, in fact a tourist too-an American, an outsider, hanging out with his American ‘buddies’ in establishments taken over by Americans, as we see when Jake goes to a restaurant recently reported to be clear of Americans, to find that Americans have now raided the place. 

This is basically what Hemingway and his crew did when they came to Paris. Hemingway was mostly socializing with other Americans who had come to Paris either to escape, get away, but nonetheless who were American. Sure he lived in Paris, but he was living in a Paris in which him and his American friends created, not a Paris true to its own culture. 

Jake tries to deny the fact that he is a tourist, speaking rather demeaningly about these people, but by presenting certain colors and places in this rather ‘tourist-broucher’-y way, we again gain insight into his own perspective, which is that he is seeing everything as though he is different; everything is new; he is a tourist. Ironically, Hemingway warns us against viewing ‘fiction as life’ through the ‘unfortunate fledging novelist’ Cohn, who himself “has “read and reread” The Purple Land as a “guidebook to what life holds.” Through this, Hemingway is essentially providing us with a guidebook through The Sun Also Rises, but warns us (through Cohn’s character) not to take it too seriously.

Jake is an expat. He is out of his homeland, but he still remains in a security net (similar to Hemingway in this way). He’s surrounding himself with Americans, speaking primarily english. Atherton points out Jake's interaction with the road. When Jake travels, the road is not ‘open,’ rather there’s always a destination in sight-an “itinerary.” Atherton states, “Jake only follows a road laid out.” This itinerary acts as a barrier between Jake being a wanderer, and Jake merely being an American abroad. 

Atherton states that, “Reciting an itinerary serves here as a form of sharing.” And the characters often do share their itineraries. It’s almost a bit showy, like ‘Look what I did! Look how integrated I’m becoming in this culture.’ Again this is similar to the expats of Hemingway’s crew. They almost seem like posers-inventing their own community within Paris and then pretending like that is Paris. This theme reoccurs throughout An Immovable Feast, The Sun Also Rises, and Stein’s writing. 

Their group stuck together, working to create new styles and improve their craft. “The resistance to metaphor that the text exhibits can also be seen as a denial of the responsibility for narrating, a desire to shift it elsewhere.” Hemingway and Stein were very focused on changing styles. This is what their community in Paris was trying to do essentially: create new style; create a new world; create a new reality.

And we see a lot of elements of Hemingway and other expats in The Sun Also Rises, such as the war, but also poverty and excess. Harvey stating, “I hadn’t eaten for five days.” Then further Hemingway mentions that Cohn, “Playing for higher stakes than he could afford in some rather steep bridge games with his New York connections, he had held cards and won several hundred dollars.” We’re presented excess, Hemingway describing characters going out and drinking/dining frequently, in an almost eerily similar manner to Bateman and his friends in American Psycho. The Count states to Bret, “You’re always drinking my dear.” Poverty, the war, and excess tied these expats together. 

“There is not an inch of the novel’s terrain that has not been previously reconnoitered, so that the narrating appears as on uninterrupted recognition of sites visited before, places reseen and refitted into some preexisting scheme of things.” This is similar to the way memory works. Hemingway’s choices and essentially style leads to a very realistic mentality. Jake states, “I suppose it is some association of ideas that makes those dead places in a journey…Perhaps I had read something about it once.” The memory works in layers, building upon itself to create a person; an individual; a Jake. Hemingway’s minimalist narrative is ultimately able to re-create reality in an extremely realistic and subtle manner. 

Rousseau's Solitude

Walking to get away; walking to escape. Before taking this class I never saw walking as anything but the means to an end. I used to drive a lot in high school and this provided me with what all these writers and philosophers find through walking. While driving, I was distanced from everyone else; I was safe in my Volkswagen Beetle. I could blast whatever newest and most degrading pop song I wanted with not even the faintest thought of being judged. I could sing as loud as I wanted, as off key as I wanted. I could even dance however I wanted. 

One time while I was driving, thinking both sides of the street had a red light, I began rapping gin and juice, which (I am confidant to say) I know every word to. Not only was I rapping-painfully-but I was dancing. Not just any dance either. I was doing a disco arm sweep, but instead of one finger, I chose a thumbs up. 

Regardless I was out of reality and, finally, free from everything. Free from “the memory of company.” Even when I looked over to find that the other side of the street did not have a red light, and was in traffic; even when the guys in the car next to me were pointing, laughing and filming me, I still felt safe; separated. At that moment, nothing affected me besides myself. I was able to live “detached” from the world. 

Rousseau speaks of this detachment, but acknowledges that it took time; that originally “the memory of the company (he) kept followed (him) into solitude.” 

When walking, I’m never able to fully escape the agenda of day to day life. “My goal, everyday is to get out of myself, but something always brings me back in.” When reading this I thought of agendas: assignments, deadlines, expenses. And not the fun, gooey side to any of those things either. Not the actual interesting material of the assignments, but rather the pressure to read, process, produce; the formulas of life. 

This agenda, so deeply engraved, surfacing itself whenever it likes, conquering my consciousness and any bliss. I become a prisoner to the responsibilities and markups of day to day life. 

Once I acknowledge that I’m thinking, or stressing rather, about these things it starts a routine spiral. A spiral that brings with it stress, not about the actual assignments or deadlines, but rather stress stemming from the fact that I’m stressing. That would be fine if it was just stress. That’s easy, I can just, rationally, shake it off as stress and put it away. But when this occurs with happiness, or fulfillment, the spiral buries deep.

“As these feelings continue we worry and make ourselves unhappy. As for me, it matters little that I know I will suffer tomorrow; to be at peace, it is sufficient that I not suffer today. I am not affected by the evil I foresee, but only by the one I feel and that limits it considerably.” 

To live in the moment! To shake off the future, and focus on the present. To savor unhappiness and un-fulfillment. To appreciate it for what it is. No one really does that. No one is whole heartedly merely an observer to the world around them. They constantly have agendas on their minds. Or, maybe they’ve fooled themselves and choose distractions: romance, work, whatever, they’re still inside themselves. 

In one of my classes we read Madame Bovary and in this book the only characters who prove truly superior in the end are L’hereux and Homais, one of which distracts himself with the pursuit of money, and the other distracting himself with medicine. It’s not coincidental that the two people in this novel who are not somehow crushed at the end, have chosen distractions that don’t directly rely directly on the opinions of people. Choosing distractions that stay constant, such as flowers, dress, food seems like the safest bet; living devoid others approval. Building your identity for you and only you-a recipe to escape unhappiness. 

Maybe looking back brings a sense of romance in unhappiness. But that becomes sentimentality. Rosseau is full of it. There’s no way he could truly have been unaffected by ‘the evil (he) foresees.’ In theory this is great, but the actual practice of it is hard. 

When I was a kid I don’t remember every thinking if I was happy. I don’t remember even thinking if a day was good or bad. I just lived. Every moment was its own TV episode. If I was sad, there was always a direct reason. Something to point to; something to blame it on. And I’d feel the sadness, but then move on from it. It never lingered; never made its way into my psyche. 

Now it seems that, “half the day is passed in anguish before I have reached the refuge I am seeking.” With more education, more rational, reason, came a higher level of awareness. An awareness that my surroundings affect me, but that I can also affect my surroundings. And with that, came the pressure to affect and manipulate everything to the best of my abilities. To manipulate a world in which I could be happiest in. But even on days when I feel like I’ve done everything in my power to set myself up well-taken care of all responsibilities, resolved anything that was bothering me, anything that was still on my conscience-and I achieve this ‘refuge’ I don’t know what to do with it. It becomes empty space; space that’s content, but space nonetheless. And space needs to be filled. 

Programmed to look for productivity, this refuge scares me. And although comforting and freeing for a moment, that moment passes, my brain looking for anything within itself to occupy itself, for it knows it can rely on itself. Observing its surroundings, sure it could do that, but that’s reliant on me, and my conscious decision to avert my focus to my surroundings, simply observing a flower, “laugh at the incredible torments my persecutors constantly give themselves in vain, while I remain at peace, busied with flowers, stamens, and childish things and do not even think of them.” Filling empty space; the empty space in which happiness (at its core) resides in. 

I walked home from school for this walk. I live in the sixteenth, so I walk through basically every possible tourist attraction. But I like this, there’s something nice in seeing places where people are experiencing something, but, not really being a full tourist, not feeling the pressure to experience anything. 

As I walk, I stop, suddenly. It’s not even really my own decision, but rather something deeper, warning me to stop or I might miss something. I look over Paris. The Eiffel Tower, the ferris wheel, the Egyptian obelisk. I see it all. The sun setting behind it, calming off the frantic tourist-ensued chaos and letting the city just be. The sun carries with it this calm; a calm I suddenly feel a pressure to intake. Breathing in deeply, I hope that some of this calm will lodge itself deeply within myself and stay. I want to trap it. It’s beautiful, too beautiful for me to fully appreciate, fully comprehend; too massive for me at this moment.

Walking is never an escape for me. It’s not somewhere I can merely be with myself. It’s time to be reminded of the pressures around me. Maybe it’s that I’m usually walking in a city, maybe walking in nature would be different. But so far, walking doesn’t bring me this same detachment as it does for Rosseau. 

Being alone does. Even being on the metro provides me with some perverse pleasure, knowing that I’m separated from everyone around me. That I’m alone, free to judge or observe outfits, hairstyles, reading material.

Walking does, I guess, bring back memories sometimes. Smelling a familiar perfume or seeing a familiar wind. And this provides a momentary, “tender, touching, delightful sentiment.” A sentiment that I cherish. It’s these sentiments, as disorienting as they may be, that together build up who I’ve become; who I am. And there’s comfort in them. But more than that, there’s a comfort in knowing that I am the only one who can experience that memory and the sentiment that comes with it.

Walking as a means of solitude; using walking to remind yourself of your independence is therefore, easy. Rousseau found that, “All I am capable of in such a case is very quickly forgetting and fleeing. The disturbance in my heart disappears with the object which has caused it, and I return to calm as soon as I am alone.” Being alone is comforting. You can trust yourself, and to an extent you know what to expect from yourself. 

Rousseau states, “My ardent natural temperament irritates me; my indolent natural temperament pacifies me.” 

This goes back to Cain and Abel. Cain was the “sedentary soul.” He was “the man who works and tames nature to materially construct a new universe.” Abel was the “nomadic soul.” The “man who plays and constructs an ephemeral system of relations between nature and life.” Everyone has a Cain and an Abel. A side to himself which is ‘indolent’ and one which is ‘ardent.’ Maybe the city brings out the later. 

Regardless, Rosseau clearly found a comfortable solitude in walking, eventually collapsing and later dying on a walk. Whether he took such pride (slightly egotistical at that) in this enjoyment of solitude because he truly was that independent, or rather because he was too afraid to face humanity; too afraid to put any reliance on something so unreliable, we’ll never know.