BOOK NOTE - The Pillars of Hercules: A Grand Tour of the Mediterranean - Paul Theroux

 

A good travelogue is always a good companion, especially when you are not travelling. Paul Theroux's The Pillars of Hercules: A Grand Tour of the Mediterranean is a book about a journey that is a journey in itself. I started reading it in December 2021, and while I usually finish books fast, this one has been a slow read. I completed it in October 2024. The reason is as follows: I have been distracted and have a mild case of reading too many books at the same time.

It is a typical Theroux book, but at the same time, a bit of a pessimistic ramble. I read it with the same love-hate relationship Theroux seems to have with the places he is visiting. Theroux starts in Gibraltar and, instead of crossing the Straits to hop over to Morocco, takes the long route along the interior of the Mediterranean by road and by boat, making an epic journey to the two pillars of Hercules. He does this in the 1990s, when the whole region is going through a lot of transition but is also the Mediterranean of the romantic era, unspoiled by Instagram and travel apps.

In typical Theroux fashion, he documents the idiosyncrasies of the coastal towns and villages through the interactions he has with people there. The best among them are the meetings he has with other authors based in the region—some local, some expat, and some long dead. Along the way, he encounters Salvador Dalí's estate in Figueres, Spain, and reminisces about Hemingway's love of fiestas. In Antibes, he visits Graham Greene's home and has many such encounters with the literati of the past, all of whom found themselves and their writing inspired by the Mediterranean.

Some of the best parts of the book come when he visits notable living authors. He visits Naguib Mahfouz in Egypt and Paul Bowles in Morocco. But why I struggled with this book, only able to read it in bursts and in between finishing many other books, is because Theroux is rather caustic and utterly shreds the romantic experience one has of places like the French Riviera and the Adriatic Coast, revealing their true grunginess. I was reminded of the time I was in Naples back in 2009 and was left uninspired by it.

What kept me going was the Theroux magic of weaving history, anthropology, tragedy, and humour in his writing about the place. On reflection, this is a great book, which feels like an ugly piece of graffiti on an ancient Greek marble column.

BOOK NOTE - Why We Sleep - Matthew Walker

 

Every so often, a book changes your life. Matthew Walker’s Why We Sleep is one such book. Reading about sleep and Walker’s passionate advocacy for a good night’s rest was, ironically, the wake-up call I needed.

Society is deeply misguided when it puts hustle culture on a pedestal, and burning the midnight oil is seen as an achievement, when in fact, it endangers our lives. Walker eloquently explains how modern life has lost the essential wisdom that guided humanity long before we became Homo sapiens. Sleep, the essential ingredient of life, has unfortunately been twisted into something grotesque. By discussing the science of sleep and its importance for our physical, mental, emotional, and behavioral health, Walker hopes to reconnect us with this life-giving force.

I’ve been fortunate to have mentors who stressed not burning the midnight oil. I vividly recall April 2015, during a client workshop I was leading as a market research consultant. I was unable to clearly present data and insights to senior clients who had paid me to do so. Like many consultants, I had stayed up late perfecting the slides, only to struggle the next day. Thanks to my boss, we managed to get through it. Later, a senior colleague shared how avoiding all-nighters had made him more successful. Not everyone is as lucky as I was. I write this at a time when glorified busy lives have claimed young consultants and bankers.

Walker’s book could offer these type-A personalities a pause, reshaping their views on the life-enhancing power of sleep.

Despite knowing the dangers, this book was a wake-up call. Lack of sleep makes us hypersensitive to experience-seeking, which leads to addiction. In today’s world, where phones feed us a constant stream of junk content, addiction is easy, making our minds obese. No wonder people doom-scroll their lives away. Sleep breaks this cycle and is the antidote to anhedonia—losing pleasure in life.

As E. Joseph Cossman said,

"The best bridge between despair and hope is a good night’s sleep."

Should to could; trading one burden with another

I have a hypothesis: The fundamental schism that has emerged in society over the last 30 years, driving both hypergrowth and hyperpolarization, is the shift from the “burden of shoulds” to the “burden of coulds.”

We once lived in a world largely bound by the “burden of shoulds” – we should pray to God, we should obey our parents, we should respect our elders, we should be kind, we should set limits. While there were pockets where these rules were relaxed, society as a whole was still deeply rooted in what one should do. There was change, but it was superficial, leaving the foundational "burden of shoulds" intact.

Somewhere in the last 30 years, this has tipped. Now, society is beholden to a different burden: the “burden of coulds.” I could do whatever I want. Previously, for the last couple of centuries, this agency of “what I could do” peaked during adolescence and middle age, as autonomy and financial independence grew. But after this hype of autonomy wore off, individuals reverted to the societal norm of the “burden of shoulds”. Some were trailblazers, but most were not. And this was normal.

If we go back further into history, the possibilities for defining one’s life were extremely limited. Most people didn’t have the capability or context to pursue a life defined by “coulds.” Inter- and intra-generational sameness was common. Most people followed their fathers’ and grandfathers’ professions. For generations, people adhered to the same philosophical and spiritual beliefs, doing what they should do to remain relevant.

Challenges to the “burden of shoulds” existed, of course. When Nietzsche, for instance, ponders the source of one's habits, he was challenging the dominance of the “burden of shoulds,” but this was not mainstream thought

“Is the source of one's habits coming from innumerable cowardice and laziness, or courage and inventive reasons?”

Recently, the scales have tipped, and the majority now operate within the realm of what could be – the Art of the Possible. This, to me, explains many of the happenings in society. The hypergrowth of Silicon Valley is driven by this burden of “could” – how could we make things faster and frictionless? How could we enable endless buying on credit? How could we replace traditional currency with digital assets? How could we make overconsumption sustainable?

The entire consulting industry, in my view, peddles these possibilities – constantly advocating for change and transformation, fueled by the “coulds.” As a sidebar, Ashley Goodall, a former consulting veteran, writes in his book The Problem with Change about how the cult of disruption has taken hold among executives. He notes:

While we were all busily disrupting ourselves hither and yon, we somehow lost sight of the fact that change and improvement are two different things. In the beginning, executives thought, ‘We need to fix this problem; therefore, we need to change.’ Now, too many believe, ‘We need to change, because then all the problems will be fixed.’

Earlier, I suggested that part of the work malaise we’re seeing today is due to this burden shift. The modern professional, especially in the last 30 years, is constantly navigating between the "burden of shoulds" (what is expected of us, what we believe we must do) and the "burden of coulds" (what we can do, what seems possible). This frequent switching between the two creates a mental tax, contributing to anxiety.

On a societal level, the hyperpolarization and the widening gap between rich and poor are also products of this schism. Political hyperpolarization is a manifestation of this desire for change and the exploration of possibilities. For example, the increasingly negative rhetoric in elections, and the abandonment of common decency, are acceptable to large segments of society because it could be okay to some group of hyperpolarized people. The same can be said for cancel culture and wokeism – extreme manifestations of the “burden of coulds,” where everyone could identify with any gender they choose, disregarding biological norms.

Nietzsche, while advocating for a challenge to certain "shoulds," also warned of the dangers of abandoning them. When he said “God is dead,” he wasn’t celebrating the demise of God, but rather warning of the consequences of a society that abandons universal moral truths. He wrote this in 1882, when the long arc of this change had already started.

Many modern philosophers in the 20th century argued for the benefits of “coulds” and accelerated this change. In the world of shoulds, saving oneself was seen as something external, requiring one to follow specific rules – religious or societal. In the modern world, salvation is often considered internal – you could do whatever you want to save yourself. This shift fully tipped into the “burden of coulds” in the early 21st century.

It’s crucial to note that “could” is considered to be better than “should” in the modern world. And while there is no denying that we are better off today than anytime in history, there are some problems with this schism. “Could”  is only better than “should” if it’s not a burden. But as a society, we’ve simply replaced one burden with another.

This replacement of the certainty of “shoulds” with the uncertainty of “coulds” presents the latest challenge. We have traded one authority figure for a new one. Psychologically, humans need authority figures. So now we idolize those who appear to live freely, doing whatever they could do. 

But it binds us to this new shallow, narcissistic authority figure – the mediocre self which is eternally trapped in the burden of what could be – instead of ever being content or feeling contentment. This is why we spend hours doom-scrolling on Instagram for example, living vicariously through others' curated lives, burdened by thoughts like, “I could travel there,” “I could be perfectly healthy,” “I could be perfectly productive,” etc.

In Book of Longing (2007), Leonard Cohen offers a timeless observation:

“We are moving into a period of bewilderment, a curious moment in which people find light in the midst of despair, and vertigo at the summit of their hopes. It is a religious moment also, and here is the danger. People will want to obey the voice of Authority, and many strange constructs of just what Authority is will arise in every mind… The public yearning for Order will invite many stubborn uncompromising persons to impose it. The sadness of the zoo will fall upon society.”

The sadness of the zoo has fallen upon society.

Trapped inside the cage, burdened by what could be, we are all looking out with longing eyes.

BOOK NOTE - What I talk about when I talk about running - Haruki Murakami

 

An excellent book to pick up and read, especially since I’ve signed up for a marathon in December 2024! Well, a half marathon actually, but still. I’m running the Standard Chartered Singapore Marathon, so when my wife Aditi picked up this book during her recent travels, I was delighted.

This is the first Murakami book I’ve read. Though it’s not one of his famous novels, it didn’t disappoint. Murakami has a unique way with words—simple yet speaking to the reader as an equal. I had heard about his passion for running and even knew how competitive he is. This memoir shows just how deeply running is a part of him.

Murakami treats running as a muse for his writing—both as a source of ideas and as an essential part of his life, which in turn fuels his success as a writer.

A few points really resonated with me:

One. Murakami writes about running to clear discontent. He says he runs to "acquire a void," and I could relate to this. Like him, I thrive in solitude, and physical activities like running, hiking, and walking help me process and transform discontent into something more mundane and manageable.

Two. I finally found the source of the quote: "Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional." Murakami attributes this wisdom to his brother, who taught him that while pain is part of life, one can choose not to suffer.

Three. The prose is simple but enriched with incredible metaphors. For example, when he describes working on his essays about running, he compares himself to a "silent village blacksmith, tinkering away." It’s a beautiful metaphor for quietly getting the work done.

I’m so glad I discovered this book while training for a half marathon. It has helped me refocus on my jogging routine. In some ways, I’m happy this was my first Murakami book—it makes me look forward even more eagerly to reading his famous novels.

In the embrace of the unknown courage can be found

In my recent readings, I have come across four inspirations that, at first glance, seem unrelated. Yet, in the crucible of my mind, they have lingered and coalesced into a single thought.

Let me start with the four inspirations.

First, from Susan Sontag in her essay Unguided Tour, which explores the discomfort of unfamiliar spaces that are foreign to us. I actually encountered this quote in Christopher Hitchens’ poignant work about the remnants of the British Raj in places like India and Hong Kong:

“That’s why I went. To say goodbye. Whenever I travel, it’s always to say goodbye.” — Susan Sontag.

Second, while reading Robin Sharma’s book The Everyday Hero Manifesto, I came across a discussion on how being faithful to one’s ideals can be a force multiplier. He talks about the joy of following one’s enthusiasm wherever it leads. In this context, he mentions a powerful quote from Anaïs Nin. Though I tried to find the exact source of this quote in Nin’s work, I was unsuccessful, but it remains evocative nonetheless:

“People living deeply have no fear of dying.” — Anaïs Nin.

Third, I discovered a quote about courage from Cormac McCarthy’s All the Pretty Horses on X. Although I haven’t read the book yet, this quote immediately resonated with me, and I made a note of it:

“All courage is a form of constancy. It is always himself that the coward abandons first. After this, all other betrayals come easily.” — Cormac McCarthy.

Finally, I came across the concept of Fernweh during my podcast listening, likely from Dr. Laurie Santos’ The Happiness Lab, though I’m not entirely certain.

Fernweh is defined as a longing for the unfamiliar, the opposite of homesickness—literally, a 'farsickness'. It’s a yearning for travel and getting lost.

I found that these four inspirations share a common thread: the theme of confronting the unknown—whether through travel, mortality, or other experiences—and doing so with courage.

But the deeper meaning, to me, is as follows:

People who often find themselves lost are not losers, as the world might perceive them. They may seem lost in the eyes of others, but they are not cowards who have abandoned themselves; rather, they are looking deeply within. They are likely living deeply and are unafraid of dying. They are seeking something they have not yet found. I will admit that they might be afraid of saying goodbye, which is why they feel a sense of Fernweh, longing to travel and keep the journey going.

Afterall, to live deeply is to embrace the unknown, for in leaving the familiar behind, we can discover our courage.