tsvetoslav shalev

The day was darkening; a beaming vestige of sunlight lingered in a western strip of the overcast sky: we have all seen the person who after gaily greeting a friend crosses the street with that smile still fresh on his face – to be eclipsed by the stare of the stranger who might have missed the cause and mistaken the effect for the bright leer of madness.

– Vladimir Nabokov, Ada or Ardor: a family chronicle

While I use social media platforms primarily as a means to express thoughts and ideas, as well as leave traces of myself (blog posts, tweets, occasional YouTube or Twitch content) that should (technically speaking) outlive me, millions of others navigate these digital scapes in search of meaning. If you, or someone you know is doing so and you worry for their mental health, please ask them to read (or listen to) Max Fisher’s “The Chaos Machine: The Inside Story of How Social Media Rewired Our Minds and Our World”. Engrossing and deeply disturbing, largely anecdotal and often dismissive of the fact that violence courses in our blood, it is nevertheless an eye-opener and a cautionary tale on the subject matter of algorithmic influence & the pathology of ill intent disguised as ‘free speech’ (especially when money is involved). The account below, however, has nothing to do with this topic.

I’m going to be blunt with you – there is no point to living, should we stop learning. For in my head, things make sense by default; but, as soon as said thoughts leave the confines of my weary mind, they melt like cotton candy in the rain. Few can make sense of the slush, fewer still can see the proverbial woods for the trees. Allow me to illustrate with the following anecdote. I am paying for physiotherapy. A monthly visit to a lissom Hungarian therapist, one I asked out not long ago and was swiftly turned down. Afterwards, I made up my mind to stick to our routine, as if nothing had happened. The following appointment felt awkward, but 10 minutes in and we were laughing heartily, our conversation flowing like a winding rivulet, gliding and curving with gentle ease (or a relative one, given my poor diction and her command of the English language). Days before each session, I’d have conversations with her in my head. Clever conversations, thought-provoking conversations, typically portraying me as a well-read, cultured yet easy-going gentleman. The outcome during our sessions, much to my overthinking self’s chagrin, was a funhouse mirror distortion in comparison. This past Saturday was my last time visiting her clinic. I’d planned to bring her a box of chocolates or a voucher for Tony’s Chocolonely confectionery (her favorite, she admitted during one of our chats). Yet, as the hour of my visit drew nearer, I began questioning my own motives. What was I trying to accomplish? What did I want from this stranger? What difference would it make in the long run? I am about to leave the country for a good few months, then London entirely and go North. She is a young, independent woman content with her chosen career and personal life. And so, we started exactly the same way we always have – she, pressing her cold, slender fingers (the coldness caused by anxiety, rather than arousal, I suspect) against a trigger point between my shoulder and chest, apologizing shyly, while I just lie there, pretending to be strong. An hour later – “Oh, sands of time be still!” – standing in the small lobby she asked if I had any questions for her. No, I replied. She wished me a pleasant time in Singapore (an upcoming business trip; more on that some other time), and I – a lovely weekend to her. Just now I wanted to say that we parted ways so very unceremoniously, and that it was a shame it had to end this way. Yet the reality is we never walked in the same lane to begin with. I was (am) a paying client, she was (is) the medical professional tasked with helping me. All for a fee, made over a few presses with the right thumb and an upbeat chime, confirming the success of each transaction.

So, what did I learn? Ageing hurts, so I am going to have to make sports/deep tissue/Swedish massages an indelible part of my life going forward (saunas and cold dips are next on the list). Two, although I might have things in common with someone, my age and physical appearance are also taken into account. Three, as I grow older, my interest in other people’s stories deepens and I hope I can utilize that in future stories (yes, I know, I haven’t written one in a while). Tom Cruise’s words to Ken Watanabe in what is easily The Last Samurai’s most touching moment late in the movie still reverberate – “I’ll miss our conversations”. I too find myself missing them. Always missing. And that is the toughest personal lesson yet.