About 8 years ago — I was still in high school — I read The Angle Maker, by Stefan Brijs. Although I heard the translation is awful, I really liked the story line (about a man with both triplets and secrets).

My favourite part of the story was this thought, this idea that returned every once in a while: ‘Sometimes that which appears to be impossible is merely difficult’. It resonated with me for at least the past 8 years.

When my teachers told me I’d never make it in to university at all, it became my mantra: it may seem impossible, but if I work really hard, it’s only difficult.

And so I succeeded: I got up at 5 in the morning, worked from 5.30 till 7.30 to make some money, went to school till 3 in the afternoon, studied till 5, went home, had dinner with my family and went to bed around 8.30–9'ish. It didn’t seem like a perfect living, but I loved it: I had a (student) job, a nicely scheduled life, and amazing grades which made sure I got into the university of my choice.

At university, everything changed and it took me a year to get back my motivation and work ethic. I re-read Brijs’s book and found enough motivation to make a bold move: I wanted to take up more courses during my second year. That would mean I could get a double master’s degree in less time.

So I told a friend.

Instead of telling me that wouldn’t be such a good move, because it would be difficult, she said: I don’t only think you can do it, I think you should do it.

Feeling encouraged, I convinced the study counselor — telling her that sometimes what seems impossible, is merely difficult.

‘That is the mistake a great many researchers tend to make. They impose limits on themselves. They decide before they even start what can and what can’t be done. And if something is deemed impossible, they simply accept it as such. But sometimes that which appears to be impossible is merely difficult. It’s just a matter of persevering, isn’t it?’

Stefan Brijs — The Angel Maker

Although I wasn’t a researcher at that time, I didn’t impose limits. After all, it was just a matter of persevering, right? So I worked harder and harder and in the end, I not only had two master’s degrees, but also a position as a PhD student. Life was good.

As a researcher, I vowed I would never ever impose limits on me or my research. After all, I had already proven two times that it indeed was just a matter of persevering.

When the first disappointment came, I told myself: you just have to try a bit more, a bit harder. After the first panic attack, I said it was nothing. I simply had to keep on going and all the panic and anxiety would go away.

I couldn’t imagine back then how wrong I was.

I pushed myself so hard to do the impossible, that I wanted to quit. I couldn’t persevere anymore.

I just re-read the book for maybe the fourth or fifth time. And I think I’m finally getting it: it is about not accepting limits that others set for you, but at the same time, you have to be honest to yourself. If I honestly think I can do something, I should go for it. And I should not give up, if things don’t seem to work out the first time.

Before, I did things because they were said to be impossible — whether it be me going to a university or obtaining two master’s degrees — but also because I believed I could do them and they meant a lot to me. Nonetheless, I became the girl who did the impossible things. So that’s what I searched for in life: what’s the next nearly-impossible to accomplish?

I want to stop thinking that way. I want to think freely of what I want to do and I want to go for it, regardless of the fact it’s an impossibility or not.

It was easier when I was still in high school or studying. Those (im)possibilities were like sprinting races: short, fast runs with me ending out of breath at the finish line — but at the same time happy and proud.

Now, almost halfway through my PhD track, I finally understand that this is a race for long distance runners. And that is a matter of persevering.

‘It’s just a matter of persevering, isn’t it?’
‘And that, happily, is what you have done.’

Mental health: the fine line between sprinting and long distance running was originally published in hypomnemata on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

‘Era siempre yo y mi vida, yo con mi vida frente a la vida de los otros.’

Julio Cortázar — Rayuela

The past few years, I developed the terrible, terrible tendency to compare my own life to that of others. It’s something I never did before and it’s making me feel horrible. So I want to change it. My first step was to get rid of social media, but unfortunately, that doesn’t prevent me from thinking about that one extremely successful colleague — who’s been working here for 5 more years than I am, but I can’t seem to rationally include that tiny little detail in my stream of thoughts.

Lately, I started to believe in the ability to shape your own life. As Pascal Mercier put it: ‘Life is not what we live, it’s what we imagine we are living’. By imagining our life, by drawing thin lines and later coloring them in, we have the freedom to shape our lives.

‘Das Leben ist nicht das, was wir leben; es ist das, was wir uns vorstellen zu leben.’

Pascal Mercier — Nachtzug nach Lissabon

We can shape our lives by writing. I started this blog to get a grip on life, and to figure out at least a tiny bit of it, but at the same time, I’m shaping it. (For everyone who’s still on social media: shaping your life — at least the way you want people to see it — is exactly what’s happening on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and all the other new and hip things I’m not aware of.)

‘Todo es escritura, es decir fabula’
Julio Cortázar — Rayuela

Everything in life is ‘writing, that is to say, a fable’. My life used to be a fable too. And fables are adjustable. Although rationally I know no-one from my friends is living the perfect life, they (unintentionally) made me think they were. I quit social media because it made me feel uncomfortable. After being a part of the big charade for six or maybe seven years, I couldn’t keep it up anymore. I’m not always a happy person, and that’s fine. (On the other hand, I mustn’t dwell on these things — life is good and life is bad. That’s what life is, so let’s just accept that.)

Instead of my fable, I’m focusing on the facts now. I’m figuring out my story as I go. I know my history and my past and I’ve decided to just let the present be, to see how it makes me feel. I want to be a fly on the wall, the one who’s observing. What suits me and what doesn’t.

I know what I am because I know exactly what I am not (what I thereupon ignore astutely).
[…]
Another way of trying to say it : When it’s that, I’m no longer looking towards the world, from me towards the other thing, but for a second I am the world, the outside plane, the rest looking at me. I see myself as the others can see me.

Julio Cortázar — Rayuela

My goal is to get to know myself the best I can, and as honestly as I can. I will be observing and documenting. Just writing down my story. Along the way, I might be able to tell what direction I want to take on with my life. Based on those experiences, I’ll take things in my own hands, set a goal and go after it. Instead of comparing myself to that one colleague, I hope to see what it is exactly that makes me envious and I’ll try to act upon it.

I’ll still be there, with my life, face to face to other people’s lives, but at least I have a story and not a fable. For now, I’m as honestly as possible documenting my life to find out who I am and who I am not. As soon as I have the least bit of a clue, I’ll know what goals to set for my future and I’ll work as much as I need to, to come near these goals.

I’m writing my own life.

‘ There was I with my life face to face with other people’s lives’ was originally published in hypomnemata on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I am a champion when it comes to complaining. About a week ago it hit me in the face: I couldn’t even tell about my weekend anymore, without ending in a very very long rant about all the stuff that’s going on and going wrong in my life. Whether it be my job, my boss, my parents, my partner, my friends, my bus, my shoes, my books, my (lack of) free time, my food or just my own mood — I couldn’t speak one sentence, without complaining.
It made me feel terrible — and in the end, I was complaining about the fact that I was complaining all the time.

After I realized what I did to myself, I really wanted to change it — though nothing worked. I tried questioning everything (’know thyself’) instead of complaining, but it just didn’t come natural enough to hold on. I know it works for some people, but it didn’t work for me.
I tried to see the good side of everything: I should be happy to have a job, when lots of my friends are still looking for one. I should be happy to have someone to share my life with, since one of my friends is going through a terrible break-up. But the thing is: I wasn’t happy.

Since I really wasn’t feeling at ease with my own behavior, I just wanted some time off. I brewed a pot of tea and took a book from the shelve.

‘Don’t take yourself so seriously,’ you used to say when somebody complained.
 — Night train to Lisbon (Pascal Mercier)

I was reading Mercier’s novel about the classical languages teacher who suddenly leaves his classroom to go and find a Portuguese woman he only met a couple of moments earlier. He comes across a Portuguese book and starts reading. It’s the memoirs of Amadeu de Prado, who was told by his father not to take himself so seriously.

Why wasn’t my apprehension about the gloomy schoolrooms and the joyless cramming to be taken seriously? Why shouldn’t I take it seriously that Maria João treated me like air, when I could think of hardly anything else? Why were your pains and the judiciousness they had bestowed on your the measure of all things?

In the German version of the book, it reads ‘Nimm dich nicht so wichtig’ — ‘wichtig’ meaning ‘important’ or ‘significant’. So that’s what I’m going to do. Instead of comparing myself to people who got it worse — which wasn’t very helpful for me — I try to see things more in retrospect for myself. Does it really matter if there’s a day at which I’m not as happy? Does it really matter if there’s a dinner made for me that I don’t particularly like?

It’s not about day to day life, because day to day life sometimes simply sucks. No matter what job we have, no matter which relationship we are in: life has its ups and its downs. And of course: if you really do feel bad about something, change it. But be realistic and try to see it in perspective.

‘Considered from the standpoint of eternity,’ you sometimes added, ‘that does lose significance.’

— Night train to Lisbon (Pascal Mercier)

‘Don’t take yourself as important…’ was originally published in hypomnemata on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I love knowledge. I love art. I love knowing stuff about art.
I love interpretations, ideas, poetics. I love finding the bigger picture…

When I got the opportunity to do a PhD programme, I was very keen to start. As usual with big projects, after a while your enthusiasm fades away and you’re left with just enough motivation to help you get to the finish line. Some people even fall flat along the way or decide to take a completely different route in life. Not me… ‘I do not quit’, I told myself. — Instead: I got completely lost.

I had the road to a successful PhD planned out quite nicely. I could finally do what I always wanted to do: help fill knowledge/research gaps on a topic that I liked a lot. So I started diving into the theories, the artworks, the artists… Of course, I was new to it, but it wasn’t a bad start at all.
I worked together with very nice colleagues, who helped me a lot and gave some suggestions to make my work better. Needless to say, I was happy with those comments, because they made me learn a lot of things in a very short period of time. Nonetheless, the people I worked with kept helping me but at the same time they were protecting me against failure. After a while, I didn’t seem to contribute valuable things to the project.
First, I just had a bad, restless feeling during the meeting. Then the feeling stayed a bit longer. Then it came back at night, and after a short period of time, anxiety was my 24/7 travel companion.

I only realized I was anxious and uncertain when I had lost a big, self-assured part of me. Before I had questioned things because I wanted new points of view and new insights; now I questioned things because I was certain I was a failure and couldn’t come up with good ideas. Instead of questioning my work, I started questioning myself.
Realizing the cause of it all were the artworks and my disability to come up with a coherent and inspiring interpretation, I started not only hating my job, but art in general and myself as well. I felt as if I made the wrong choice. As if it just wasn’t meant to be and after a while I really wanted to quit.
I hated meaning making and interpretation and even thought about switching my PhD topic to something completely evidence based. So at least, I wouldn’t have to rely on myself and my subjective interpretations.

But then I realized: meaning is more than just an interpretation that’s coherent with earlier claims. An artwork can also mean something to me as a person and I can reflect on its meaning thinking what I want to take from it personally — be it something philosophical or just something that I think is beautiful. It can help me to reflect on what I value in life and on what it means to be human.
Of course I cannot put all these personal reflections in my dissertation, but I can save them for myself and share my thoughts with the world on this blog. This post isn’t only about how I lost my way or how I lost myself, but also a poetics on my blog posts: a reflection on what I think is important in life.
Since there’s no right or wrong there, I feel empowered and reassured; I dare to think again, I dare to speak again. And since a couple of weeks, I even dare to write again.

There’s been quite a long time in which I hated the arts and their subjectivity. I hated the facts that there were many possible interpretations and that none of them seemed good enough. I just hated all of it.
But it’s changed. By putting myself first for what seems to be the first time in my life, I can slowly get back to my original travel plans to see what still fits me. Instead of finding the bigger picture of the arts, I’m on my way to find out the bigger picture of my life. It’s still a long road, but I’ll get there… Artwork after artwork after artwork.

What it means to be human was originally published in hypomnemata on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I recently came across this lovely Swiss bookstore. The door was wide open and inside were a lot of great, second handed books. I found some I liked and headed for the cash deck — only to find this sign.

As someone who’s living in a big European city, it made me smile :)

Dear costumers,

You might have found one or more books of your liking while I was away. You can take them.To pay for them, you can enclose the money in an envelop and put it in the mailbox of the bookstore. It’s on your right side when you’re heading for the exit. You can also write down your address, the titles and the price of the book(s).

Thank you for your understanding and see you soon.

The store owner.

This made me smile was originally published in hypomnemata on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

This is me: a twenty something who graduated only two years ago and who already seems to have it all: a good job; a nice apartment filled with books, food and pleasant company; and the most supporting friends and family. After graduating in two master’s programmes, I had the chance to choose either one of two PhD programmes — something I’ve been wanting for a very long time. So I tossed and turned and made a decision. Instead of the educational sciences I chose for the arts, simply because the conditions were better and it would give me better options for the future.

I have made rational choices almost all my life and this one was no different. Looking back it really was the best choice, since the programme for the educational science was cancelled in the end. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help feeling (or: fearing) that I made the wrong choice…

When I started the PhD, I was completely certain of having chosen the best option — especially after someone broke the news to me that the other PhD programme didn’t go on. So I put all my effort and energy in setting up a good research plan and I was quite happy: after all, I was doing what I — and my friends, family and acquaintances — always said I would: pursuing a PhD.

After a while my initial enthusiasm drained away and I started asking myself what I was doing and especially why I was doing it. As said, I was always a quite rational person and I’ve always known really well what I was working (which sometimes felt like fighting) for and why — but this time I wasn’t so sure. In fact: I wasn’t sure about anything at all.

From that moment on, many days were filled with feelings of restlessness and anxiety. It took me a while before I knew why… In a conversation with a friend it became clear to me: I felt that my research was useless, since it wasn’t really contributing to society. I was stuck in an ivory — well, concrete — tower in the land of Academia.

In the beginning I hated myself for it. Which rational person would lock herself up — that’s what it felt like to me — for four years to do something she apparently didn’t like in the first place? I was disappointed in myself and didn’t really see a way out — I was never someone to quit or give up, so that didn’t seem like a rational(!) option to me.

It took me a while (and a lot of overthinking things) before I could see clearly again: the fact that my life choices made me feel so miserable actually taught me that I valued ‘contributing to society’ a lot more than I had always thought. I never knew this was so important for me, and it were my feelings of fear and anxiety that taught me that lesson.

Instead of rationally fighting those feelings, I decided to accept them. Instead of battling the fact that I was in fact stuck at the highest floor of some big concrete university building day after day after day, I decided to learn something from it.

The first lesson: fear and anxiety are valid and legitimate. That doesn’t make them nice or pleasant, but by accepting the way I was feeling, I was able to go on. Instead of worrying about not finding my way around in my field of research, I focused op things I could do to make it better. It turns out that I actually do like the research, and I just had to accept that for now, it doesn’t relate to society as much as I maybe wanted it to.

That wasn’t an easy at all — and sometimes it still haunts me. What helps me through it, for now, is knowing that I can always do something different after this PhD. If I really want to go on in the Educational Sciences, there’s no one who’s telling me I can’t. I’m not saying I will do it for sure, because there’s still two more years to go and I’ll probably change my mind, but for now, it calms me down knowing that the rest of my life will not be based on this one choice.

I thought that would be the end of my restlessness, but accepting that I made a choice that wasn’t what I want to do the rest of my life only took a part of my anxiety away. At the same time I kept worrying about having made the wrong choice in the first place and about being stuck with myself and my research. I expected to be really unhappy the next couple of years, knowing that I might be wasting time in the ivory tower.

That’s when I learned lesson two: I should take this as an opportunity to learn and to get to know myself. Especially since my PhD is not about others, but about art and my interpretation of that art, it’s a very subjective theme. It can be extremely confronting, but at the same time I think I need it. I never really took time for myself and was always working and studying. Everything needed to be perfect and I transformed in some rational robot; I thought about my work and how it could be better, about my friends and how I could manage to see them and get some work done. Everything was related to completing the tasks university asked of me in the best way possible. It wasn’t even that difficult, it just took a lot of time and dedication.

Now, for the first time in what seems forever, I’m more or less on my own. I need to work out my own plan, set my own goals and give my own interpretations of things. It’s difficult and scary, exactly because I get to know myself. I can’t hide behind fixed lesson plans and paper subjects chosen by others anymore and I have to do it all myself.

Looking back I’d still make the same choice; of course, my PhD is about the visual arts, but at the same time it’s about the art of getting to know myself: who I am, what I want and what’s important to me. I will not be easy, but I will try — maybe fail — and learn. It’s confronting but it’s also about time.

Turns out, that in the end, I don’t have it all…

Why making the wrong choice isn’t necessarily a bad thing was originally published in hypomnemata on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.