Susan Cain föredrar att peta runt de mindre undersökta hörnen av kan-göra-Amerika. 2012 publicerade hon "Quiet:The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking", som blev ett fenomen och gjorde de medfödda mindre pratsamma bland oss ​​fashionabla och till och med coola. 1993 års Harvard Law School-kandidats nya bok, "Bittersweet:How Sorrow and Longing Can Make Us Whole", har blivit en New York Times bästsäljare. The Gazette talade med Cain om hur att omfamna livets gripande kan leda till kreativitet och anslutning. Intervjun redigerades för klarhet och längd.

GAZETTE:Vad betyder det att ha ett "bitterljuvt" sinnestillstånd?

CAIN:Det har att göra med medvetenheten om att livet är en blandning av glädje och sorg, ljus och mörker, och att allt och alla du älskar är förgängliga. Jag upplevde det här sinnestillståndet för första gången när jag lyssnade på sorglig musik. Hela mitt liv hade jag denna mystiska reaktion på sorglig musik; det skulle få mig att känna en känsla av anknytning till människorna som hade känt till den sorg som musikern försökte uttrycka. Först trodde jag att det bara var jag, men när jag började min forskning insåg jag att många musikforskare har studerat detta eftersom många människor under lång tid har haft denna reaktion inte bara på musik, utan på andra aspekter av den mänskliga upplevelsen. . Det finns en djup tradition över hela världen och genom århundraden av människor som upplever detta högre sinnestillstånd som kommer från en medvetenhet om bräcklighet och förgänglighet.

GAZETTE:Du skapar en koppling mellan detta sinnestillstånd och religion. Kan du prata lite om det?

CAIN:Vi lyssnar på sorglig musik av samma anledning som vi går till kyrkan eller synagogan eller moskén. Vi längtar efter Edens lustgård, vi längtar till Mecka, vi längtar till Sion eftersom vi kommer in i den här världen med känslan av att det finns en mer perfekt och vackrare värld som vi tillhör, där vi inte längre är. Vi känner det intensivt, men vi är inte riktigt uppmuntrade att uttrycka det. Ändå gör våra religioner det åt oss. Konsten gör det också. I "Trollkarlen från Oz" längtar Dorothy efter en plats "någonstans över regnbågen", och Harry Potter längtar efter att få träffa sina föräldrar igen. Detta är en grundläggande byggsten i varje mänsklig erfarenhet. Det är vad musiken uttrycker, och det är därför vi lyssnar på den, och det är därför vi känner oss så kopplade till varandra när vi gör det eftersom det här är vårt mest primära tillstånd. Men eftersom vi alla måste försörja oss, uppfostra våra barn och leva våra liv, är vi inte så mycket i kontakt med dessa djupare tillstånd. Konst och musik har ett sätt att föra oss tillbaka.

GAZETTE:Många skulle tycka att det är bra att ha en positiv syn på livet. Vad är det för fel med det?

CAIN:Det är två saker fel med det. Nummer ett är att det bara inte säger sanningen om någon mänsklig erfarenhet eftersom det inte finns någon människa som inte upplever både glädje och sorg, och ljus och mörker. Det är bara en del av mänskligt liv. Att berätta för varandra att vi inte borde berätta sanningen om våra erfarenheter är i sig ogiltigt. But the deeper reason is that there is something about the melancholic side of our experience that is intimately connected to creativity and to transcendence. We shouldn't want to be robbing ourselves of this experience.

In the book, I developed a bittersweet quiz, with psychologists Dr. Scott Barry Kaufman and Dr. David Yaden, that people can take to measure how likely they are to experience bittersweet states of being. Dr. Kaufman and Dr. Yaden ran some preliminary studies and found that people who score high on the quiz, meaning that they tend to experience bittersweet states of mind, are also more inclined to states that predispose them to creativity, awe, wonder, spirituality, and transcendence. These are some of the most sublime aspects of being human, and they happen to be connected to our appreciation of how fragile life can be, and the impermanence of life.

GAZETTE:Why does sadness get a bad rap in American culture?

CAIN:The U.S. culture since the 19th century has been organized around the idea of winners and losers. This way of thinking originated in the economic sphere, where we started asking, "If somebody succeeded or failed in business, was that a question of good luck or bad luck?" Or "Was it something inside the person that made them have that outcome?" Increasingly, the answer that people arrived at was that it was driven by something within the person, and we started having this dichotomy of seeing each other as winners and losers. The more you have that kind of dichotomy, the more you want to behave in a way that indicates that you're a winner and not a loser. Anything that would be associated with loss, like sorrow, longing, sadness, or melancholia, would be seen as being part of the loser side of the ledger.

Being a winner was associated with being successful and cheerful. Even back in the 19th century, the psychologist William James commented on how it was becoming unfashionable for people to complain about the weather because it was seen as being too negative. During the Great Depression, a common view was to see those who lost everything as losers. In my research, I found a news article with the headline:"Loser Committed Suicide in the Streets." That is astonishing if you think about it, but the use of the word loser has only increased over time.

I would also say that religion has played a role. The U.S. was originally a Calvinist country, and in the Calvinist religion, you were predestined for heaven or hell. There was nothing you could do about it, but you could show that you were one of the people who was going to heaven. The way to do it was by working hard, and then that thinking got transferred later in the 19th century into:"Are you a winner or a loser?"

GAZETTE:Why should people embrace the bittersweet aspects of life? What's in for them?

CAIN:The first thing I would say is to look at the data, which is quite overwhelming. Psychologist Laura Carstensen at Stanford University did some fascinating studies where she showed that people who are attuned to what she calls life's fragility—the fact that our days are numbered—also tend to find a sense of meaning in their lives and have a greater sense of gratitude; they are more focused on their deeper relationships, and they're less likely to feel angry and irritable.

There's also the work by David Yaden, who found that people who are in transitional states of life, including divorce and approaching the end of their lives, also tend to reach those states of mind that Laura Carstensen was talking about. We saw it collectively in the United States after 9/11, when many people turned in the direction of meaning. We saw a huge increase in applications for Teach For America and to take jobs as firefighters, nurses, or teachers. We're seeing that now in the wake of the pandemic, with more applications to medical and nursing schools and people wanting more meaning from their work and personal lives.

GAZETTE:You wrote about the power of introverts in "Quiet." This book is about the strength of embracing a bittersweet outlook on life. Why are you drawn to these underrated aspects of humanity?

CAIN:I think that both these aspects of humanity are connected. I also think there's something about writing books that gives us the permission to discuss things that aren't as easy to talk about in everyday life. To me, the whole point of writing books is to look at the unexamined, the unspeakable, and the unarticulated. I'm just most interested in talking about that which can't be said when we're just chatting at the grocery store.

GAZETTE:What do you hope people will take away from this book?

CAIN:I would like people to be less afraid of experiencing melancholy, sorrow, and longing, and to embrace the powers that bittersweetness has to offer:the powers of creativity, connection, and transcendence. It has been very interesting for me to see the response from readers of "Bittersweet," which is a very different book from "Quiet." But the letters I'm getting from readers of "Bittersweet" are very similar to the ones that I got from those who read "Quiet" in that what people say over and over is, "I feel understood," "I had never been able to give voice to it," "I feel validated." A lot of people write me saying that after reading the book they're realizing that they have suppressed the melancholic side of their nature all their lives, and they're also realizing how valuable that side of their nature is. There has been this curious echo with "Quiet," which I didn't set out to do, but it ended up happening.