Slow Havamal: 23

[kylec]

In the 23rd verse, we are told that only a fool stays up all night worrying about his problems. When he wakes, he’s just tired and none of them are solved.

While I often dive into some metaphorical meaning of the verse, this one gave me the most value as a simple, practical reminder. Most of Havamal’s verses have obvious applications to life. Change your behavior, get a better result. Few are as straightforward as this one. It’s a common habit of mine to go to bed and immediate cozy up in all my worries like a soiled blanket. Some part of me actually enjoys it. There may be some good to naming the problems we face and planning a solution, but often that’s not what’s going on. And couldn’t it wait until morning? If the problem truly is so dire that it must be solved before dawn, I shouldn’t be in bed at all. And if it isn’t, tackling it on a good night’s rest is far wiser.

These problems are usually of a long-term, abstract nature. What will I do with my career? Should I buy a house? How can I have better interactions with that person going forward? Will the storm hit? What will politicians force me to do next? Some are downright intractable. I shouldn’t be thinking about them at all beyond a casual awareness of the possibility, because I have no control over them. Many will never arrive, and can be dealt with if they do—usually on some distant future day. This week, I took the advice to heart and made a strong effort to inhibit any such thoughts. It took a lot of repetition. They kept sneaking back in to be shooed away. But once I got into the groove, I actually fell asleep much faster and woke up a little more refreshed. The simple act of analyzing how urgent a worry is, and dealing with it only when appropriate freed up a lot of mental energy and no doubt caused me less anguish. Fewer hours per day spent wallowing in negativity has to have some beneficial effect, I imagine.

Why is fretting yourself to sleep the domain of the fool? And why do people do it? I can only speak for myself, but to some extent, I feel that by looking at a concern and imagining it playing out in detail, it gives me some sense of control over something that really isn’t within my control. Other times, it’s an act of self-flagellation. I’m not trying to solve the problem, just beat myself with it so I can feel sorry for myself, or give myself an excuse to give up on something hard. It may also be a habit of growing up with adults who always postulated doom to explain why I shouldn’t do some trivial thing. While sleep is lost, there’s a lot of energy saved in avoiding things. And to some degree, I’ve always liked imagining things turning out awful because when they actually turn out so-so, I’m not disappointed. Maybe even relieved. Pessimism spares me the agony of disappointment, while ensuring that I subconsciously shape the situation to turn out the way I “want”.

The fool doesn’t know what’s in his control, and when he does, he still manages to waste energy on things that should be chalked up to “weather”. While the wise learn from experience, a fool repeats the same mistakes, and fails to integrate events into a growing system of context that supports intelligent decisions. He also doesn’t see that his fears shape his attitude, which shape his actions. He will bring bad things to bear on himself by expecting to see them everywhere. If I think the interview will go badly, I’ll take any innocuous sign to mean that it’s indeed unraveling as expected, maybe overcompensate, or maybe give up. Maybe even not apply to similar jobs because of how unpleasant that one interview was. If I were wise and well-rested, I would go in with the attitude of entering a situation of hospitality—discussed at length in these essays—in which I need to listen and observe what’s actually going on, and contribute my share. Wandering through a new, exciting land, as opposed to slogging a familiar marsh.

On a larger scale, this applies equally well to our waking hours. Of course, problems need to be brought to light and planned for. But only as they become relevant, and to the extent that we can do anything at all. We don’t know the future. Most of what runs through our head is a fiction. A story from an oracle that we never get around to noticing is mostly wrong. Do we worry about work when eating supper, or going for a walk? Do we replay an argument while driving? Does the awful economy haunt our thoughts while laughing with friends? Havamal suggests that each thing has its time. There is a time to worry and plan. A time to explore openly. And a time to rest.