Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again. – Homer, The Iliad
Have I read the Iliad? Oh, maybe? Ages ago? Maybe not. I have certainly read numerous different fictionalized versions of the story, of the whole Greeks vs. the Trojans nightmare, including seeing at last three Hollywood films on the same theme; one of them, featuring a very young Bridget Bardot as a serving woman to Helen of Troy – also the name of the film, Helen of Troy – is so campy it’s almost good; it’s so bad, in other words, that it’s fun, like watching a fictional train-wreck in which you know for sure that no one gets hurt.
Why so many iterations in prose and celluloid form? Who doesn’t want to write about the Greeks, twisting the plot for every drop of content available (a lot), or who doesn’t want to play Achilles, Hector, Helen of Troy, or beautiful Paris but of course, play the wise psychic Cassandra who’s tossed into a cage for being a Debbie Downer? Noooooo, not so much.
Reading the Greek and Roman myths in various iterations is also a lifelong joy, a number of them creatively strung into wonderful books by Mary Renault, Madeline Miller (no relation), Natalie Haynes, Jennifer Saint, Pat Barker, and others. It’s rich, rich material, and as the daughter of a Latin teacher, I would be attracted to the genre, now wouldn’t I? Could be.
But. That quote. The Iliad quote – which I love – reminded me of my all too common state of dread. Dread. When in truth what the quote is celebrating is the FACT that all we have is this moment, right now, the present one, in all its glory, or – not so much. All we have is now and we won’t ever be any younger than we are now, any more beautiful – why worry? Why fret? Why dread? Be here now. Easier said than done, as with so many ‘things’ worth doing.
Dread. It’s one of my life-long – would we call it a character trait? Learned emotion/behavior? Habit? Bad habit. How I wish I could and would live in that glorious present moment, conquering this personal Achille’s heel: dread. I dread social events, reunions, weddings, funerals, the holidays and expectations re: same (make it stop, FFS, please!!), I even dread the phone ringing.
I don’t like talking on the phone. Not really. I was also taught – trained – to dread and even fear the phone ringing; this reaction was drummed into me by over twenty years of insane screaming calls I received from my older sister, and the weeping, draining follow-up calls I received for ten-plus of those years from my mom, who was also getting banshee calls from her fully fruit and nutty eldest child.
I could talk them both down. Usually. Mostly. But it, that skill in calming the waters of crazy-town, was a trap. And still, twenty years on, seventeen years since my mother’s death, whenever the phone rings, before I see who it is (ah! my darling friend, thank GAWD) my shoulders rise, I freeze – who is it? What TF shit storm am I facing now?!! Deep breaths. The last and I mean final time my older sister screamed at me on the phone I told her to fuck all the way off, that she was blood sucking vampire who was ruining my life. She continued to scream unintelligible bullshit; I finished her and the call off by telling her I would never speak to her again, carefully placing a cherry on top vis-a’-vis calling her the ‘c’ word, which caused her to hang up. Buh-bye, beatch.
Dread. It has ruined many of my days, as I spend them in that unnecessary, foolish state all because I made a commitment to attending a party, a wedding, a public festival – gack! Only to then enjoy myself mightily; not always, but often. Nah. That’s a lie. Not often, but rather, TBH, sometimes. Oh what fools we mortals be. I certainly am.
Worry. Guilt. Other states of being like dread that are kinda a waste of time. Aging introvert that I am, I am thankful to have less dread in my life than previously because I know what I can take, or not, and I have less trouble saying ‘no’, because if I have more than two social engagements in a week, I can get very grouchy, drained, enervated, played out. Dread(ful).
I am working on it, on gratitude and patience, on letting go of dread. Life-long work. I keep coming back to Anne Lamott’s prayer, which suits me to the ground: Thank You, Thank You, Thank You, Thank You. Help Me, Help Me, Help Me, Help Me.
Once more for the cheap seats: Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again. – Homer, The Iliad