This Is Not a Book About Benedict Cumberbatch: The Joy of Loving Something--Anything--Like Your Life Depends On It

by Tabitha Carvan

Does it matter what it is that moves us, so long as we are moved? If it’s a grasshopper, or The Canterbury Tales, or Star Trek, or Benedict Cumberbatch? Mary Oliver probably wasn’t a big fan of Benedict Cumberbatch, but she clearly didn’t believe in beating yourself up over what gets you excited. And I know it’s a bad idea to reduce poetry to inspirational quotes, but if you look at another of her most famous poems, “Wild Geese,” you’ll find that Mary Oliver helpfully offers an answer to the vexing question of what could actually be worth our one wild and precious life: “You only have to let the soft animal of your body / love what it loves.” It sounds so easy. Tell me, do you know what it is that you love? Not who—I already know you love the most important people in your life—but what. And if you didn’t have to explain or defend it, would that change anything for you? I’m not implying you’re harboring an unspoken passion for something deeply embarrassing, although if you are, then you’re in the right place. But have you made yourself available to love the full suite of things that might move you? Or has the soft animal of your body been cut off at the pass, diverted toward things that seem more important? If, like the nurse in Elizabeth Caplice’s blog post, I told you it was okay, that not everything needs to be about making meaning, that not everything has to be justifiable as a good use of your time or mind, could you then let the soft animal of your body find its way t...