A Very Candid(e) Moment

acollectionofantiquebooks

By Kristen Toretta Lee

“Il faut cultiver notre jardin.” – Voltaire

Les Classiques. I used to cynically wonder how the curricula for various “classic” literature courses were selected. The texts never changed, year over year. Were these books actually intellectually invaluable, or did they just earn their spot through social reputation – and then establish staying power through a lack of academic ingenuity? I remember a moment, trying to force my way through another chapter of either the “Iliad” or the “Odyssey,” when I wondered if something was wrong with me…what was I missing? Was this a life-changing piece of literature for everyone else in high school English? Would my life be appreciably better for having tried to fight through these (epically boring) pages?

One book that I particularly detested when I was first forced to digest it was Voltaire’s “Candide.” The story was dumb, the adventures were basically disgusting, and the satire was painfully drawn out. Was it truly one of the best 18th century pieces? A stalwart of satire? A contemporary adventure? A sophisticated social reflection? Did the chaos in its pages truly affect whole canons of philosophy? My first foray, with an English translation, was abominable. Years later, I decided to try again as a master’s student in France, in its native language, but still, nothing.

Les Malheurs. But like the pilgrimage of Candide as a character, and the chaotic episodes within its pages as a book: misfortune has forced me to drastically change my tune. I have found that in my COVID existence, struck with the intensity of a world that seems to be perpetually in stages of doom around me, I am constantly reminded of a haunting quote: “il faut cultiver notre jardin.” Merriam-Webster has two translations for this phrase: “we must cultivate our garden,” and “we must tend to our own affairs.”

There has been no more fitting moment in history to be reminded of such a heavy philosophy!

The global pandemic quite literally forced us all home. From all the places in the world; from the wild optimism of adventure, travel, intrigue, and exploring the unknown…we have found ourselves back in our most intimate habitats. Coinciding with the various experiences of loss, we’ve all gone through quite a bit of adjustment. When I try to pull the lens back and think about a timeline that’s much larger than my own, I reflect on the fact that this “moment” is so stark, so unfortunate, and so monumental. And what can we do about it? Cultivate our gardens!

Les bonheurs. There have undoubtedly been silver-linings to living more “simply,” as many have put it. We’re paying more attention to our down time, to our families, to our homes, to the outdoors. We are taking a moment of bittersweet reflection and learning to be mindful with our time and our relationships. We’re embracing our local communities. We’re exploring nature and the serenity that accompanies it. We are resetting our values and thinking through those that we want to instill on our children. In many ways it’s a beautiful moment, a moment to tend to our own affairs.

With the misfortune of the pandemic, it’s hard not to appreciate the good fortune of the technology that can keep us connected. Recognizing an irony that I could imagine in a contemporary version of “Candide,” we’ve been watching one another cultivate our gardens, grow plants, and create flower beds – through social media. I too got inspired, despite knowing that generally I can’t keep anything alive (don’t tell my children) and committed to attempting some hanging baskets. No fewer than three online orders, two trips to a Home Depot, and the help of a good neighbor, and I had my first-ever flower baskets up on the porch. I felt an enormous sense of accomplishment. I finally understood the gratification of getting my hands dirty and “creating something” (which, in another recognition of irony, is really just taking something already alive, tearing it out, and putting it elsewhere.). I was briefly addicted and thought I could grow a vegetable garden with my four-year-old son, as a bonding exercise, now that we had so much “together-time.”

I started to research, and picked a small section of lawn I was going to commit to our cause. To give it a trial run on the bonding front, I asked my neighbor to tell me the most to resilient flowers that I could plant along the street-front. My son was thrilled; he helped me weed, dig holes, move the dirt around, and water them. It was surprising, wholesome, and cathartic. These flowers were part of my literal garden, and my son was part of my figurative garden – I was cultivating both.

I thought about that simple joy a lot; and about how prior to this point in time, when I had read Voltaire’s novel that conclusion seemed abrupt and crass. In a reflection on my own path, I think I had been living the optimism that “Candide” set out to question: I believed that my existence had a higher purpose, that constantly striving to learn more would earn me some enlightened clarity, that my sacrifices to grind through my career would eventually payoff through positively impacting others, and that expanding my horizons through more experiences would create a more plentiful life.

The thought that my efforts and time would be satisfied within the confines of my home and community seemed too simple, too small. But after the sheer bad luck of a pandemic and the associated volatility, I finally began to understand that life may not only force us into the cultivation of our own gardens, but that it also might be the most gratifying chapter. It was somewhat sad, it was somewhat true, and it was somewhat fulfilling, just realizing that it is “enough” to work on improving what is directly in front of you.

Well, true to my own character – and lack of commitment to climbing a ladder to water them every day – my hanging baskets lasted about a week and died…I resorted back to fake-plants. My son’s begonias were no match for the neighborhood dogs on the street-front, and like most four-year-old’s, he lost interest in the activity as soon as it was done. I apologized to my neighbor. “You tried,” she said. I did try, and I didn’t lose sight of what I had learned.

This prolonged pandemic moment has been a sordid one, full of ups and downs, and it’s resulted in new perspectives. It’s helping me to focus closer to home, to more simple joys, to learning what “enough” really is, and what I really need to cultivate to bring meaning to my own life. I will work on my literal garden (with the help of others), but more importantly, I will tend to my own affairs, and I will cultivate the garden of my life – the relationships and activities that I most value and that provide me the most value.

Conclusion. Whether the chapters of our life reflect coincidence, optimism, divine intervention, or anything in between, it may all boil down to the fact that we end, most nobly, in a search for a fruitful life. With that reflection, I think Voltaire’s “Candide” has earned its stripes in my literary list of classics. And whereas I may not be growing my own fruit anytime soon, I am hoping to learn from this great text; to take stock, pause, and cultivate the garden of my life.

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