Whistling for Hope
Volume 23, Chapter II, Number 009
Hello!
This Week’s One Great Thing: Whistling for Hope
When I was a young boy of six or seven years old, my dad taught me how to make a kite. He first taught me how to make what looked like a crossbow out of walis tingting (it’s similar to the stick broom that Harry Potter uses), cover it with glue and attach plastic over it. Then he taught me how to tie the ends of the walis tingting with thread. He also taught me how to put plastic weights on the two ends of the kite for balance. The secret was attaching the thread and/or nylon string: it has to be attached strongly enough to withstand the winds but flexibly enough to allow for movement. He then gave me a used can of Alpine evaporated milk to wind the long thread.
And then, he taught me to whistle.
Whistling was magic for me at that age. It was magic because for some reason it brought the winds. On hot Saturday afternoons, my dad would whistle and I would wait with bated breath for the inevitable cold winds to come and carry the kite into the vast skies.
The most important lesson was the whistle. I had a hard time learning it. I didn’t know how to pucker my lips and produce sound with it. Or if I produced sound at all, it was usually hoarse and not loud enough to bring in the winds.
After a few weeks of practicing, I finally learned to whistle. I also learned to wait with bated breath. And to wait for the winds to come. And to wait for the kite to be carried into the skies.
It probably is a psychological exercise more than a scientific one. I’m not sure now if whistling really brought wind. But whistling—then and now that I’m teaching my own kids to do it— helped me focus my attention and become sensitive for the wind that eventually comes. The relationship is not causal but a mental exercise of sensitivity.
Ultimately, the lesson of the whistle is a lesson of hope. We make a kite and let it fly in the middle of the summer heat, to signal that all is not lost to the summer. We whistle, because we hope for winds to carry the kite we made. We whistle, because we hope. And somehow we have to find a way to make hope heard in real time to remind that all is not lost. There is hope, we just have to find a way to amplify it.
William Lynch once said that people in depression and hopeless situations suffer an “impoverishment of imagination”. People are hopeless because they simply cannot imagine a world better than the one they are in now. So maybe if we can find a way to make our hopes sound like a strong, tangible thing – like a whistle – then it will help people imagine a different world and bring about real change.
Hugh Kenner, in his book The Pound Era, wrote: “Whoever can give his people better stories than the ones they live by is like the priest in whose hands common bread and wine become capable of feeding the very soul.”
We tell stories of hope not because we are blind to the events around us, and we are in denial. We tell stories of hope because we have what is called a negative bias — we naturally tend towards bad news than good. And we have to find a way to tip the balance in our lives. If bad news is naturally amplified, then we have to amplify hope.
We continue to tell and look for stories of hope because we look at our lives, and we realise that we really have a better record than we care to admit. We tell stories of hope because we know that words, even if they seem lame to the one giving them, is hope for the hopeless. And words of comfort–said in full courage and empathy, along with constant presence–are oftentimes enough.
Bonum futurum arduum posibile. A good future that may be difficult but is possible. That is what we hope for. We work for it. We give it our best shot. We try our darndest. And when we have done all that, we wait with bated breath.
Because you can make a kite, and follow all the instructions your dad has given you, but if there is no wind, it won’t fly.
And so we whistle.
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More Great Stuff:
We Get the Journalism We Deserve
- In March 2018, the UK government tasked veteran journalist Frances Cairncross to explore ways of sustaining high-quality journalism in a fast-changing media landscape.
- If adopted in full, the recommendations should provide a means to shore up revenues and stop the bleeding of the news industry, especially that of local press and investigative journalism. But it may not be enough to ensure the industry’s long-term survival. For that, the industry needs a media-literate population that values and incentivizes good journalism.
- The problem is that our attention turns to media literacy only when there is a crisis of some sort. But proficiency in interpreting the news requires sustained effort and a long-term outlook.
You Might Not Actually Be Struggling With Depression
- This is an interesting discussion on Acedia — the lesser known twin cousin of Depression.
“Acedia (pronounced ah-SEED-e-uh) is an old term coined by monks who lived in the desert during the fourth century. Before the Seven Deadly Sins became known to the world, the early Desert Fathers had a list of “Eight Bad Thoughts.” One of the most severe thoughts was that of acedia, which the church eventually rolled up under the sin of “sloth” when the seven sins became commonplace.”
- Read this and learn why you might not be struggling from depression, but from acedia.
Ok! Now pause, get yourself to a window, look up to the sky, smile, and have a great day! Look forward to send you another letter next week!
☕ eric santillan