Novel and Psychotherapy

“Instead of ‘I will always stay here,’ it’s enough to write ‘I will stay here’ and don’t take yourself captive with ‘always.’ ‘Always’ doesn’t exist forever. Soon you’ll see that you haven’t always stayed there. Then, perhaps, you’ll regret it.”

” Shab-Yek, Shab-Do “

Bahman Forsi

Always, never, definitely, must, surely, and all words that carry a color of certainty entrap us. Trapped by a judgment, a mood, a situation, a behavior, a word, an assumption, an illusion, a job, a relationship, a place, a method, and ….

Until today, I’ve realized that existence inherently lacks certainty[1], while we as humans bind ourselves with the rules arising from our small mental worlds. We show no mercy to anything. We are afraid of freedom. We limit whatever we fear with rules, regulations, and laws. And we name it ‘law’ in respect of freedom. We haven’t learned to respect freedom in its utmost freedom. We sacrifice freedom in the name of freedom.

I wrote the lines above while reading those two lines from the Bahman Forsi’s novel. I didn’t realize how deeply the emphasis on removing ‘always’ had permeated my psyche. Now, I understand as if somewhere in the corners of my mind, it was lurking. Until the day, amidst the turmoil of my thoughts, I suddenly rose and straight to the mirror in the bedroom, I went and removed the handwritten note from Nasrin (a friend from adolescence until today) that I had stuck to the mirror next to our photos, and placed it in the drawer. The burden on my shoulders felt as heavy as the chains of the Alborz Mountains, perhaps even the Himalayas, was lifted off.

The handwritten note from Nasrin is the same sentence in the picture.[2] I do not doubt that Nasrin, my lifelong companion throughout all these years, had written it with goodwill and for my well-being.  For almost two years, I had stuck it on the mirror as a motivational and energizing sentence, and proudly passed by it several times a day.

That day, as I was grappling with hours of confusion and ambiguity after the fifth session of psychotherapy, and as usual, with a magnifying glass in hand, searching for a solution, I realized the heavy burden and pressure of this sentence on my soul throughout almost forty years of my life. Although removing Nasrin’s handwritten note was considered a symbolic action, it helped me to lift off the burden of ‘the necessity of always succeeding,’ which I had carried with me in all aspects of my personal and social life throughout these years and had paid hefty costs for. I didn’t allow my playful mind to hinder me with feelings of guilt for taking the handwritten note of my dear friend and companion. Because I know it is this mutual understanding, deep and rich comprehension of our inner thoughts, words, and feelings that has been the main bond between Nasrin and me throughout our journey from adolescence to today.

I no longer wanted to be successful. At least, I didn’t want to be successful in the conventional sense of Iranian society. I decided to remove words like successful, impressive, progressive, strong, responsible, and similar terms from the vocabulary used to describe myself for an indefinite period. Words that had placed an ironclad, heavy lock on the gates of my being for years, imprisoning the zest for life, creativity, and the passion for creation deep within me. These jailers had such a powerful and prominent presence in the realm of my being that I was completely oblivious to the existence of such treasures within me. The price I paid for this oblivion was the paltry reward of others’ approval and praise. Others who are imagined in our minds as significant and monstrous figures, yet who care the least about our pains and sufferings.

But my problem wasn’t just “being successful.” This phrase had another major issue. “Always” was another heavy burden that had paralyzed me. I owe this realization to Bahman Forsi’s novel “Shab-Yek, Shab-Do.” This phrase, which has been the essence of my approach throughout these years, repeatedly and incessantly reminded me that if I’m not “always successful,” I am nothing and have no worth. I saw my whole self encapsulated in this sentence, so any slight dent in it (whether “always” or “being successful”) dealt a heavy blow to my existence and integrity. The Adverb of “always” limits a person. A limited person is not creative, not alive, not happy, not innovative. In short, a limited person does not live life. As long as I choose freedom and autonomy for myself, I am alive, creative, warm, and flowing.

Whenever the indefinite period of removing success-focused words comes to an end, I will redefine it for myself. A definition that resonates with the essence of my being, even if it holds no value or meaning in the alien world of others.

[1] . I don’t know how true or false this statement is, to be honest. My understanding until today has been this. Perhaps fundamentally, the imperfection of human knowledge guides us to embrace uncertainty to bring us peace of mind.

[2] . Fruity! Wherever you are, may you be successful as always. (When heading to the airport)