I Have a Seat in the Abandoned Theater

by Mahmoud Darwish, trans. Fady Joudah

Last week, I attended a lecture by Shahzia Sikander. I've been a huge admirer of her work--for at least a decade, I think. And even though I've been updating this blog more frequently this year (probably brought upon by my quarter-life crisis), I've been so busy lately that I forgot about the artistic things that I enjoy. I forgot that I, too, wanted to be an artist when I was a child.

I've spent a lot of time in recent months creating financial models to forecast the impact of different career choices on my net worth as I age. And it's kind of ridiculous because I know (or have heard, from many people older than me) that life is unpredictable, and that the circumstances I've included in my models that contribute to high incomes and personal profitability right now may not even exist in forty years. There are, you know, wars and other things that could impact my life in a million different ways. It's also been very difficult for me to disentangle myself from the expectations I grew up with; I'm embarrassed and a little upset that it's taken so long for me to realize them. I worry so much about entering a lower income bracket and having too worry about money, because it is so nice to have the immensely wonderful privilege of not having that worry right now.

A few months ago I had my annual eye appointment, and my optometrist recommended LASIK to me. I then asked him a really stupid question--something to do with what would happen when I turned sixty and my eyesight started deteriorating again due to age. He looked at me funnily and replied that the chances of developing cataracts increased around sixty, but that I shouldn't ignore the likely reality that I could still have thirty seven years of not having to worry about glasses--thirty seven years!

You know, as I grow older I do realize that my parents were right all along about how some things are just enriched by experience, and many things I didn't understand or found unfathomable when I was fifteen now make sense to me. I think the value of thirty seven years (well, thirty six because a birthday has passed since my appointment) will become apparent to me later. And, since we're talking about age, another thing I have trouble grappling with is that I save a size-able % of my income for retirement, but it's just so hard to think of even being sixty, or seventy. I wonder if I'll even live that long and be able to avail that money. It's difficult see in the future (and also, I realize as I am typing this, technically unfeasible). I suppose even five years ago I wouldn't have dreamed of being where I currently am--I mean, if you told me even three years ago I'd be in Texas .I might have had a fit.

I worry a lot about if I'm I living up to my own expectations, if I'm spending time on things I enjoy, and if I'm happy with my life. About two months ago, I was talking to a friend about certain career moves and how uncertain I was, and she asked me why I didn't just stay where I am for now, since I'm not unhappy. And in hindsight that was pretty useful advice that I should have taken, because I've spent so much time in ruminating and searching during the past few months and I'm not even ready to make significant changes now that I'm faced with the opportunity. I'm exhausted, and I could have spent this time in reading, calligraphy, with friends, and on all the other things I truly do enjoy.

Anyway, at Shahzia Sikander's talk she mentioned how when she was working on one of her pieces (during a visit to an abandoned theater built by a Pakistani migrant in the UAE) she was reminded of the poem by Mahmoud Darwish, "I Have a Seat in the Abandoned Theater." Two years ago, when my biweekly paycheck was still new to me, I bought every book of Mahmoud Darwish's poetry that was available on Amazon. Until last Saturday, I forgot that I loved reading his poems.