Susan Cain prefere bisbilhotar os cantos menos examinados da América próspera. Em 2012, ela publicou "Quiet:The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking", que se tornou um fenômeno e tornou os menos falantes congênitos entre nós na moda e até descolados. O novo livro do graduado da Harvard Law School de 1993, "Bittersweet:How Sorrow and Longing Can Make Us Whole", tornou-se um New York Times mais vendidos. The Gazette conversou com Cain sobre como abraçar a pungência da vida pode levar à criatividade e à conexão. A entrevista foi editada para maior clareza e duração.
GAZETTE:O que significa ter um estado de espírito 'agridoce'?

CAIN:Tem a ver com a consciência de que a vida é uma mistura de alegria e tristeza, luz e escuridão, e que tudo e todos que você ama são impermanentes. Eu experimentei esse estado de espírito pela primeira vez quando ouvia música triste. Durante toda a minha vida tive essa reação misteriosa à música triste; isso me faria sentir uma conexão com as pessoas que conheceram a tristeza que o músico estava tentando expressar. No começo, pensei que era só eu, mas quando comecei minha pesquisa, percebi que muitos musicólogos estudam isso porque há muito tempo muitas pessoas têm essa reação não só à música, mas a outros aspectos da experiência humana. . Há uma tradição profunda em todo o mundo e ao longo dos séculos de pessoas que experimentam esse estado de espírito superior que vem de uma consciência de fragilidade e impermanência.

GAZETTE:Você faz uma conexão entre esse estado de espírito e a religião. Você pode falar um pouco sobre isso?

CAIN:Ouvimos música triste pela mesma razão que vamos à igreja, sinagoga ou mesquita. Ansiamos pelo Jardim do Éden, ansiamos por Meca, ansiamos por Sião porque viemos a este mundo com a sensação de que existe um mundo mais perfeito e belo ao qual pertencemos, onde não estamos mais. Sentimos isso intensamente, mas não somos realmente encorajados a articular isso. No entanto, nossas religiões fazem isso por nós. A arte também faz isso. Em "O Mágico de Oz", Dorothy anseia por um lugar "algum lugar além do arco-íris", e Harry Potter anseia por ver seus pais novamente. Este é um bloco de construção fundamental de toda experiência humana. É isso que a música está expressando, e é por isso que a ouvimos, e é por isso que nos sentimos tão conectados uns com os outros quando fazemos isso, porque esse é o nosso estado mais primário de ser. Mas porque todos nós temos que ganhar a vida, criar nossos filhos e viver nossas vidas, não estamos muito em contato com esses estados mais profundos. As artes e a música têm uma maneira de nos trazer de volta.

GAZETTE:Muitas pessoas achariam que ter uma visão positiva da vida é bom. O que há de errado com isso?

CAIN:Há duas coisas erradas com isso. O número um é que não está dizendo a verdade de qualquer experiência humana porque não há ser humano que não experimente alegria e tristeza, luz e escuridão. Isso é apenas parte da vida humana. Dizer uns aos outros que não devemos dizer a verdade de nossas experiências é inerentemente invalidante. Mas a razão mais profunda é que há algo no lado melancólico de nossa experiência que está intimamente ligado à criatividade e à transcendência. Não devemos querer estar nos roubando dessa experiência.

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.