We’re Sitting at a Table and the Table Is Round - ALINE WOIWODE '27

“‘Pain is productive. I look back at the things I wrote in the deepest valleys of my life and marvel. I doubt I could replicate that now, and I grieve this perceived loss of skill. I know my pain has changed. But it is still imminent. I still isolate. I still feel the urge to die, but have not yet taken action, like so many others. The stigma that comes with an idea or a belief is far more potent than the reality itself.’” I pause at the close of the passage then ask, “What do you all think? How would you classify experience?”

The bodies at my gaze and at my will wonder how to respond. Some slumber. Some panic and wonder what will please me most. 

Upon silence, I wonder. “What are some other perspectives we could bring to the table?” Like sheep, they flock and congregate around the pressing nature of uncomfortable silence, and my discomfort swells at their balking. I wait. Finally, someone begins and relief washes over the room, though bittered with tangible disappointment. Everybody wants to emerge as necessary. 

“I think that we could look at this from a more philosophical lens and ask ourselves how the characters are assigning meaning here, and how their different perspectives have them see the events in a different light,” the speaker declares. “If we take a close look at our own behaviour, I think that we would often believe that we are in the right, while others may condemn us for actions that we thought were justifiable. That is the curse of individuality, I believe.”

There is a shifting in the space. Voices interlock. The weaker one prevails, and I do nothing.

“I feel like we are all fallible. We can all make mistakes, and it lies in communication to reconcile the differences we perceive through our limited perspective. Do you all agree?”

How I would’ve blushed in the same prideful way as the most recent speaker is now had I voiced this commentary years ago during my education, but the comment is peripheral.

“I believe that we juggle authenticity and desire to be one of many every day. I think that is the human struggle. We all ask ourselves: do we mask, and attain a certain level of safety, or do we act in a way that is impulsive in its logiclessness and risk a chance at real happiness?” This novel speaker has an edge of sincerity that entices and erases questions of ego. The enigma of their words feels inviting.

A soft speaker smiles. “I really enjoy hearing your thoughts on the subject, and I think your questioning was really eloquent. I agree with what you expressed, and would like to add nuance to your claim: I want to know when we stop asking ourselves questions about our existence to which we will never find answers unless we succumb to the experience itself. We need to let go of the reins of understanding and let ourselves be thrown into a journey of life that is not explainable, only livable. What are your thoughts? Isn’t there value in letting go of conscious thought?”

The rebuked speaker takes the question with dignity. “I think you bring up a good point,” they say with respect, “and I would be curious as to if you would consider your revelations to be as paradoxical as I see them. If the inherent value of living without thought, or contemplation, were clear, we would not be engaging in this conversation, don’t you think?”

The soft speaker dons an edge of self-confidence. “Perhaps we feel suffering on account of having the value of life without pushing its boundaries of conscious knowledge in opposition with our human nature to explore. Perhaps the root of peace is abandoning the defaults of our creation. Or perhaps it is the defaults of our creation we must return to for happiness and authenticity, and rather the conditioning of being raised in a predictable and polite society that…”

I sit in silence as the voices continue. Do I have the right to be ambiguously passive?