I have not posted here for a while. First, I was busy with an exciting - but very time consuming - project for Oxford University Press. Then my mom was visiting, and I took a well-deserved break from work to enjoy Chicago during the precious weeks before the heat wave. (Although the cicada madness made that a tad difficult. If you are in Illinois, you know what I am talking about!)

My plan and hope was that I would be then able to do some writing and video-making before new paid tasks knock on my door. For better or worse, I have not had much time to focus on my personal projects - copyediting gigs are already piling up. Before I got sucked back into the vortex of work, I was able to make this short video based on an old (probably, from about fifteen years ago) poem that I wrote while still living in Russia.

I had no plans to leave Russia back then, yet now it is evident that this poem predicted my future. Back then, it seemed impossible. I even wrote it from a perspective of some male narrator - I was probably imagining an immigrant writer like Nabokov. You can hear that only in Russian, where verbs in the past tense are gendered. 

See the video or read the text in Russian (original) and English (translation) underneath. Special thanks go to Slava Korolev, who kindly allowed me to use his photos, and to Maarten Schellekens, whose beautiful music always fits perfectly the mood of my poems. 

My next newsletter won't be out for a while as I am busy with a big editing project for Oxford University Press. In the meantime, I am going to share here a recent podcast interview. A few month ago, I had a conversation with Zach Elwood, host of the podcast People Who Read People. We talked about social power, the oppressed/oppressor framework, free will, and empathy. It's my second time chatting with Zach on his podcast, and it is always a pleasure! 

You can listen to our conversation here.

As for my next newsletter, it will be coming out in June. Stay tuned!

Am I truly known -
To myself and to others?
I don’t think I am.
I don’t think I will ever be.
But I am not alone.
I am a part of a club that spans continents and generations,
Starting from the first person who was a person and not an ape anymore,
Whose mind opened its wings, so strange and new.
From then on, throughout history,
How many people do we really know?
First, we wrote books about some.
Then we realized that so many important others had been left out.
Now we are hastily adding them.
But can this task of remembering ever be completed?
Like the wings of a butterfly,
Smallest actions can cause big effects,
Connections no one will know about.
Imagine how many people have lived on the Earth:
Laughed and loved,
Healed and hurt,
Hoped and despaired,
Tried and failed,
And sometimes succeeded.
They all have mattered,
In ways beyond good and bad
That nobody will ever fully grasp,
Because a hurricane cannot be traced back
To the butterfly that caused it.
We will sing songs about heroes and villains.
We will disagree on who our heroes and villains should be.
That’s okay.
Disagreeing is human.
But I hope that we can also agree on something:
You, and I, and the infinity of souls
Will remain unknown
To ourselves and to others,
Yet we all matter.
Beyond good and bad,
We are forever tied together in the fabric of humanity.
I hope that once in a while,
You can light a candle, or plant a flower,
Or just sit for a few minutes in silence,
Quietly wondering
About all the butterflies
That have ever danced in the wind.

*If you liked the poem, you might also want to watch the video below, where I where I read the poem to the beautiful music by Maarten Schellekens. 
​

**You can also check out my other poems here! 

Louis XIV is probably one of the most famous kings associated with the idea of absolute monarchy. Many people probably believe that he had absolute (or at least almost absolute) power. Among scholars, however, it's not uncommon to point out that the power of absolute monarchs (in fact, of any kings) was limited. In my own scholarship, I explore the idea that power always coexists with powerlessness. I decided to take Louis XIV as an example to show what this might look like. I figured that some people might be intrigued by the idea that this famous king could be described as being powerless in some ways. 

I carefully read a very detailed account of Louis XIV's life and reign by a historian Philip Mansel. His account is based on thorough research of numerous sources. Then I wrote an essay using quotes from Mansel's book to support my claims. This essay turned out to be the longest one I have written so far. It is still not entirely finished. I feel that my argument could be further improved, but I feel that I need to step away from this project for a while. So I am going to share with you what I have so far. 

As I write in the introduction of the essay: "I must clarify that any historic account can only be a work of interpretation... I acknowledge that it is my choice not to see Louis XIV merely as a haughty and heartless lover of exquisite entertainments. Instead, I choose to see him as a person who, like all of us, was born into the world of meanings and relationships that he did not fully comprehend. He tried to navigate this world the best could, in the process making many mistakes and hurting numerous people, which he was able to do due to the meanings of absolute monarchy instilled in his mind and reinforced by those around him."

You can click here to see the whole essay. Below I am am going to share the part that I titled "King's Childhood".

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When his father died in 1643, four-year-old Louis XIV was proclaimed King. Of course, he did not start managing France right away. Upon the death of her husband, Queen Anne became the regent, ruling with the help of Cardinal Mazarin until Louis reached the age of majority (13 years old) in 1651. After that, although his mother was not a regent anymore, the young King did not fully take state matters in his hands for another ten years, until Mazarin passed away in 1661. 

Let us first take a look at the formative years of the future self-proclaimed Sun King. We could hardly claim that Louis XIV came anywhere close to absolute power as a child. But as King by law, perhaps he enjoyed a life of exceptional happiness and freedom? 

Chapter I of Mansel's volume dispels this myth starting from the first sentence: "Even by royal standards, the family into which the future Louis XIV was born on 5 September 1638 was a nest of vipers." In this family (not atypical for a royal household of the time), closest relatives often could not trust or even stand each other. Intrigues flourished and rebellions were common. Queen Anne herself, being of Spanish origin, conspired against her husband (Louis XIII) and helped her home country during the conflict between Spain and France that was ongoing at the time. 

Driving this point home, Mansel writes in the Introduction: "Thus antiquity, heredity, coronation and the widely proclaimed belief that the kings of France were representatives and images of God himself did not protect them from rebellion or assassination. France was a monarchy on a knife-edge... Both Henri IV’s son Louis XIII and his grandson Louis XIV would be threatened by repeated revolts and haunted by fears of new religious wars and acts of regicide." 

All in all, Louis XIV's family could hardly be called a healthy environment for a young child trying to make sense of the world. Consider that, as Mansel argues, "[e]ven at the age of two, Louis was a pawn in his parents’ marriage. His feelings and manners were used as political weapons" (Chapter 1). The French court where this family was embedded was no better. "[A]t the French court every nuance of human relationships, and every inch of the royal apartments, could have political consequences. The court was a zone of negotiation, and a school of psychology, as well as a battlefield" (Chapter 1). Louis XIV had to navigate this battlefield, or rather minefield, of a court from a very young age while attending a variety of required events. As he was growing, his public life was quickly turning into "an unending sequence of ceremonies" (Chapter 2), which he soon came to detest but could not avoid.

One can only wonder how becoming a king at the age of four can affect a child. No psychological studies that would help us better understand what it really means to grow us as an absolute monarch can ever be conducted. But it is clear that, before Louis XIV could start exercising his power as a king, he received many lessons in powerlessness.

​On the positive side, he had a close and tender relationship with his mother, something that few (if any) contemporary kings could boast. Unlike many royal parents of the epoch, Queen Anne spent a lot of time with her beloved first-born son and played an active role in his education. 

In particular, she worked hard to instill in Louis  the belief in the divine rights of the King of France. Queen Anne, who had experienced her own share of powerlessness, wanted absolute power for her son, probably because she believed that power could protect him and make him happy (these wishes are natural for any caring mother). We can assume that her lessons sank deep and determined how Louis XIV wanted to see himself and to be seen by others. Over the years, the conviction in his divine rights coupled with life's stresses, heartbreaks, and very human biases led Louis XIV to commit mistakes that hurt numerous people. One of these heartbreaks was his mother's painful death at the age of 64 (Louis himself was only 28 at the time) of breast cancer in a Parisian convent, where she had retired after her regency was over. Louis XIV was so shaken by her death that he barely visited the city since then, preferring to enhance his beloved Versailles and surrounding smaller residences. 

There is another reason why Louis XIV hated Paris, and this reason further illustrates why his childhood was far from carefree. Mansel describes France's capital as "a cauldron of combustible institutions, at once the support and rival of the monarchy" (Chapter 2). Indeed, support and rivalry were often tied so close that this combination could easily become confusing, frustrating, and scary. The King would be glorified when riding through the street of Paris one day, but booed and threatened on another occasion. He was alternatively treated as god and as the worst person on the Earth. For instance, "On 18 May 1643, three days after his state entry into Paris, Louis proceeded from the Louvre through the streets caked in mud and excrement, for which Paris would remain notorious until the mid-nineteenth century, to the Parlement on the Île de la Cité" (Chapter 2, my emphasis).

​Before Louis XIV reached the age of majority, Paris became a hotbed of dissent known as the Fronde. It was essentially a civil war. The Fronde was not a bottom-up rebellion; instead, it was led by aristocracy dissatisfied with their rights and privileges. The noblemen exploited popular discontent among Parisians who were not happy about growing taxes and diminishing authority of the Parlement. Notably, when Louis XIV was 12, an angry mob broke into the capital's palace and demanded to see the King.
Upon seeing the boy sleeping in his room, the rioters left the palace. Soon thereafter, the Queen and her son fled Paris accompanied by the court. On another occasion, Louis XIV and his mother were held in the same palace under virtual arrest. 

This is not to say that Parisians did not have reasons to be concerned about the actions of the government trying to centralize its authority (something that absolutist monarchies were known for). Without excusing the French government's actions, my goal is to have my readers wonder how confusing messages and events of the time could affect the King's maturing mind. (And remember that, at that point, he was not the one making decisions about how France was supposed to be ruled.) We can assume that the idea of the King's divine rights was attractive for the growing Louis XIV as it promised certainty in a life full of conflicts and contradictions. In addition, the idea of the King's absolute power matched what Louis XIV often observed, since "[f]or most Frenchmen in the reigns of Louis XIII and Louis XIV, Christianity and monarchy were similar cults of hierarchy and obedience" (Chapter 1). Any rebellions and riots (even as extensive ones as the Fronde) could be written off as unpleasant aberrations. Inspired by his beloved mother, Louis XIV was growing up with the conviction that he was destined to become the King of the World. He was learning about his rights and responsibilities. But nobody could explain to him how the power he had been given was going to change him over time.

Click here to keep reading. Thank you for your interest!

*This post is a part of my project ​​Me, Looking for Meaning.

The phrase "give somebody credit for" has two meanings. First, it can mean believing that somebody has a good quality. Second, it can mean praising this somebody for an achievement. And praising can also implicitly mean comparing one(self) to others who supposedly did not do as well.
So, the title of this essay has two interpretations:
(1) Am I empathic?
and if the answer is "yes",
(2) Can I, metaphorically speaking, pat myself on the back for being empathic AND compare myself to somebody else who seems to be less empathic than me?

I think and write about empathy a lot. Usually, I believe that empathy is my strength, a skill that I can develop in myself and, indeed, keep developing. But I also have plenty of doubts in my ability to be truly empathic. I want to think of myself as being fairly good at using empathy. However, I often catch myself focusing on my own emotions and experiences instead of feeling more with others or trying to understand what they are going through. (Side note: in this essay, I describe empathy as a useful skill, which is itself an assumption that not everybody agrees on, although in some cases this might be just a semantic disagreement after all.)

I see empathy as consisting of two aspects: cognitive and emotional. It's a way to connect with others on an emotional and/or intellectual level, to peek into the window of their world, so to say. I think that I can be a fairly empathic person because I do my best to remind myself that my perspective is only mine, to remain attentive to and curious about other people's worldviews, even if I do not quite like them (these worldviews or even the people who have them) for some reason. I believe that my empathy (when I manage to do it right) helps me stay connected to others, avoid blame by remaining curious about other people's actions, and keep an open mind, which allows me to learn and grow. Even if I am overwhelmed with an emotion, I am working on staying in touch with what's going on in another person's head and heart. 

Thinking about the past, I notice that developing this level of empathy has been a journey. My memory offers some painful reminders of situations when I did not sufficiently care about how other people were feeling. The more I go back, the more painful these memories become, but then I remind myself that empathy is a skill that requires honing. And as with any skill, having trained yourself in empathy does not mean not making mistakes when using it. If anything, awareness about my mistakes in the past, and even in the present, helps me to keep learning. But even if we decide that I am an empathic person after all, the second interpretation of the title question remains: Can I praise myself for my achievements?

To remind you, what makes this question controversial (in my mind) is the implied comparison with some others who are supposedly less empathic than me. Does striving to be empathic and actually being empathic make me a good person, better than those less preoccupied with honing this skill? If you know me a bit, you won't be surprised when I say that I don't think that I am any better than someone who does not use empathy that often, someone who does not think that empathy could be improved and is, indeed, worth improving. Yes, I work hard on being more empathic, but in a way I just happen to be more preoccupied with it than some other people are.

If I observe somebody who does not seem to use empathy as much as I do, I have two main options: (A) I can say to myself, "This person is just not sensitive, they just don't care, they don't want to help, they are just making it worse, etc." (B) Or I can say to myself, "Empathy is hard. I struggle with it all the time. They must be overwhelmed with emotions, and I know how it feels. There must be something going on in their lives, or something from their past, that would explain why empathy is so hard for them or why they don't see its value." (Admittedly, I would be making an assumption that the other person in this situation is not using empathy, which is my interpretation entirely. They might be using it but in a way that makes sense to them.)

...I see this complexity as part of a much bigger conversation about free will. In general, when other people behave in ways that (we think) are not ideal, we can either explain this behavior by claiming that these people are inferior: "they are mean", "they are just stupid", "they are not normal." Or we can explain their behavior by taking into consideration a combination of (1) circumstances outside of these people's control combined with (2) some element of choice, and by admitting that the ratio of these elements is unknown to us. I believe that people do make choices, and that's why I am personally striving to be more empathic: I believe that empathy is a choice I can make, a sort of power that I can develop. But I also think that our actions, thoughts, worldviews, and even desires are shaped by our environment. So if I value empathy or find it easier than others to be empathic (ok, not always), there must be something about my genetic makeup, my upbringing, my experiences, rather than a fully controlled decision that I made (or make)--a decision that which would put me on some kind of pedestal compared to others who might not be as good (arguably) at empathy as me. 

And really, can I give myself credit for anything good about me, for any of my achievements? For example, I am fairly organized in my work. Does it make me better than someone who often procrastinates and leaves projects unfinished? Or how about my ability to focus on and enjoy all the little things I see? I believe that this ability greatly helped me when I started learning about mindfulness. I probably made some choices along the way that helped me develop my ability to be mindful and self-aware. But I can assume that there has been something in me (e.g., the way my brain can focus on these details and enjoy them) that determined my openness to the idea of mindfulness. We can assume that there is some element of choice present in our actions, but the exact scope of this choice is hard to identify. There is, on the other hand, a great deal of determinism, including individual nuances of how every person's mind works, values we were taught growing up, coping mechanisms we were able to develop based on our experiences, etc. Even choices we made are often determined by circumstances that we would not be able to fully wrap our minds around. 

So, I do not think that I can take full credit for my ability to be empathic, or for any other good qualities I might have. I might be able to take partial credit, though, but the vagueness of free will does not allow me to be more specific about the praise I might deserve. Just as I cannot be sure how much I can praise myself for my good qualities, I cannot ever be sure how much somebody else could be criticized for not having these traits. It is very possible that this somebody could not be rebuked at all. (Again, I am not even getting here into the thorny conversation about what makes a quality "good". I might think that I have good qualities, but somebody else would disagree. And who's to judge?)

Since I cannot take full credit for what I can do, I should also avoid looking condescendingly at people who do things differently. It is true that these people did make some choices in their lives, but many of their choices were constrained (so were mine). And if free will had been involved, I will never know when this freedom began and when it ended. Keeping this complexity in mind gives me further reasons to be more humble and curious about other people. I might not fully understand their circumstances, but I can give it a try; at the very least, I can acknowledge how little I know. To make a full circle: acknowledging that I cannot give myself full credit for being empathic is, in my mind, an essential aspect of developing my empathy.

I am kind of obsessed with power. I think about it every day. Not because I am bent on achieving world domination! My interest is scholarly, and it is connected with very practical concerns about the world we all share. However, this connection is probably not what you might think.

“Power” is an incredibly rich concept. We can talk about it in the context of military dictatorships — or of an individual’s (potential) ability to escape the claws of anxiety. We can consider the importance of power balance in intimate relationships — or the popularity of superpowers in modern media fairytales (and also the power of media companies that produce them). There is power of speech and power of hope; power of mind (e.g., intelligence) and physical power (e.g., weight-lifting). While some of these things seem to be similar, others — not so much.

Perhaps “power” is just a word that has numerous meanings, many of them unrelated? After all, it is also used to talk about electricity, an order of angels in Christianity, and the process of washing cars with highly pressurized steam (the list goes on).

Setting aside the meanings that do not directly describe people and their relationships, I believe that all the aspects of power — ranging from political to personal — should be explored together.

So, yes, military dictatorships cannot be tackled if we don’t consider the power of mindfulness. The goal of this exploration is not to forcefully connect some random dots that just happen to have the same label. The goal is to better understand each other for the purpose of living better lives in a healthier society.

To keep reading on Medium, click here.
Or listen to me reading this essay out on Spotify!

Where are you now?
The sand of years has slipped through our fingers somehow.
The words we tried to use as bridges between us--
They don’t mean what they meant before.
The stars we thought were guiding us aren’t there anymore.

We were once friends.
Or were we? I don’t know.
Time can be just like sand or it can be like snow.
It covers quietly our memories, our dreams.
We were once friends. Or so it seems.

The world has changed.
The world has rearranged itself.
The paths you used to walk, lead somewhere else.
And if I wanted to find you, 
I wouldn’t know where to start. 

But I don’t want to look for you.
You are someone new. 
I’m someone new.

And still, I don’t know why, I don’t know how,
The thought comes back:
Where are you now?

As time goes, relationships change. Connections that once seemed special and strong slowly dissipate. You reach a certain age and start wondering, "Where are all these people I once knew?" You might even have a sudden urge to find them and talk to them again, see if those friendships and feelings can be rekindled. And sometimes it works, sometimes it's worth doing. But often you just have to let it be. Focus on the connections you have right now. And still, once in a while, you will think about some person that was once important to you and wonder, "Where are you now?" In this poem, I wanted to capture this feeling of wondering mixed with bittersweet sadness of letting go of a relationship that was once special. ​

It is mind-boggling to think that I have lived in the United States for 12 years now. It is equally strange to tell myself (and other people) that since then, I have been back to Russia, my home country, only once. It was 10 years ago. And it is sad to admit that I am not even sure when I will be there next time.

Do I want to go back? If I really really wanted to, I would find a way. It would be a lie to say that I do not care about the country where I spent the first 27 years of my life. I do not want to live there right now. But if I had a magical teleportation machine, I would certainly love to revisit places when I once was so happy and so sad. I only I could...

But wait! There is a way. I can teleport myself to all those places in my nightdreams. These visions have a strange relationship with my memory. Over the years, I discovered that dreams took over. Now I am not even sure whether I remember correctly all the streets where I used to walk. Perhaps what I "remember" is just a figment of my imagination? When I first came to the United States, for the first few weeks I had a lingering feeling that I was in a movie. When (if) one day I go back to Russia, it will probably seem that I found myself in a very very long dream.

This poem is about the impossibility of returning to the past of a place and of the self. All of us have experienced a version of this feeling, no matter whether we are immigrants or just moved to a different part of the same country. One day we all discover that it is impossible to stop the clock, to go back to where and who we once were. This realization does not have to be painful. There are always memories to treasure and things to look forward to.


*Watch the video above to hear me read this poem to the beautiful music created by Maarten Schellekens.

One day, I will return…
No, this is not the right word.
“Returning”
Means coming to a place where I once was.
But it does not exist because
My memory has turned it into rain...

Let’s try again:
One morning, when I walk 
Along the streets that bear deceptively familiar names,
Some even hiding echos of my childhood games,
I’ll look into the eyes of buildings that will seem
So real yet hard to grasp,
Like an unfinished dream.

Let’s try again:
One evening, when I step
Onto the floating island of my past,
So infinite and yet confined, 
Packed tightly in the nutshell of my head.
Will I be home at last?
Will I be whole at last?

Let’s try again:
If I could choose
Of all the places that my memory holds,
Where would I go?
I know:
The sprawl
Of the old park where I once learned
To find birds’ nests and mushrooms under trees 
And where, on a hidden path,
A sculpture of a giant’s head 
Teased me with mysteries.

I think this time I got it right:
When I am old and when my head is light,
I’ll dream myself next to the giant’s face
Half-buried in the middle of the path. 
Once there,
I will remove, as one takes off a robe,
The layers of years and skin 
And will emerge 
Among soft shades of leaves, a child again,
Ready to soak in the gentle sun,
Forgetting what my older self has done.
The journey’s over. I’ll stay there
Alone,
Letting warm breeze play with my hair. 

I have two updates: 
1) about the contents
2) about the newsletter

I have had a few weeks free from work (I am a freelance editor, and sometimes I have time between projects). During these weeks, I have focused on writing for my project POWER of meanings // MEANINGS of power. In fact, I realized that this is a project that I want to focus on for a while. My second hypertext project Me, Looking for Meaning (chronologically, it was actually first) will take a back seat. It has been tremendously important for me, especially since it helped my project about power to take off. But, for the sake of efficiency, I want to focus on one thing for now. 

This change means that many of the new blog posts will be related to POWER of meanings // MEANINGS of power. I hope you share my interest in this topic and will be excited about new pages of the power project. I will occasionally post other things. For example, I have finally been able to organize my Russian poems, so I plan to translate more of them and even turn some into videos. I also plan on creating and sharing some videos based on my English poems, of which I still have only a few.

If you would like to be notified about new blog posts, I have great news! This change was inspired by my friend Jiwon, who is working on an important hypertext project about life and experiences of a North Korean defector Kumhee. After browsing their website, I realized that I need a newsletter! Now I have one.

You can sign up by scrolling to the bottom of the main blog page (or my About page) and entering your email. This way, I will let you know about new blog posts. I will send out the newsletter no more than once per week, probably much less often than that. And you will be able to unsubscribe at any point.

I hope that you will join me on my intellectual journey! I appreciate you support :)