Susan Cain prefiere hurgar en los rincones menos examinados de la América positiva. En 2012 publicó "Silencio:el poder de los introvertidos en un mundo que no puede dejar de hablar", que se convirtió en un fenómeno y puso de moda e incluso genial a los menos habladores por naturaleza entre nosotros. El nuevo libro del graduado de la Facultad de Derecho de Harvard en 1993, "Agridulce:cómo el dolor y la añoranza pueden hacernos completos", se ha convertido en un New York Times Mejor vendido. The Gazette habló con Cain sobre cómo aceptar la conmoción de la vida puede conducir a la creatividad y la conexión. La entrevista fue editada para mayor claridad y duración.

GAZETTE:¿Qué significa tener un estado de ánimo 'agridulce'?

CAIN:Tiene que ver con la conciencia de que la vida es una mezcla de alegría y tristeza, luz y oscuridad, y que todo y todos los que amas son impermanentes. Experimenté este estado mental por primera vez cuando escuchaba música triste. Toda mi vida tuve esta misteriosa reacción a la música triste; me haría sentir una sensación de conexión con las personas que habían conocido el dolor que el músico estaba tratando de expresar. Al principio, pensé que era solo yo, pero cuando comencé mi investigación, me di cuenta de que muchos musicólogos han estado estudiando esto porque durante mucho tiempo muchas personas han tenido esta reacción no solo a la música, sino a otros aspectos de la experiencia humana. . Existe una profunda tradición en todo el mundo y a lo largo de los siglos de personas que experimentan este estado mental superior que proviene de la conciencia de la fragilidad y la impermanencia.

GAZETTE:Haces una conexión entre este estado de ánimo y la religión. ¿Puedes hablar un poco de eso?

CAÍN:Escuchamos música triste por la misma razón que vamos a la iglesia, la sinagoga o la mezquita. Anhelamos el Jardín del Edén, anhelamos La Meca, anhelamos Sion porque venimos a este mundo con la sensación de que hay un mundo más perfecto y hermoso al que pertenecemos, donde ya no estamos. Lo sentimos intensamente, pero no estamos realmente animados a articular eso. Sin embargo, nuestras religiones lo hacen por nosotros. El arte también lo hace. En "El mago de Oz", Dorothy anhela un lugar "en algún lugar sobre el arcoíris", y Harry Potter anhela volver a ver a sus padres. Este es un componente fundamental de toda experiencia humana. Eso es lo que expresa la música, y es por eso que la escuchamos, y es por eso que nos sentimos tan conectados entre nosotros cuando lo hacemos porque este es nuestro estado de ser más primario. Pero debido a que todos tenemos que ganarnos la vida, criar a nuestros hijos y vivir nuestras vidas, no estamos tan en contacto con esos estados más profundos. Las artes y la música tienen una forma de traernos de vuelta.

GAZETTE:A muchas personas les parece bien tener una perspectiva positiva de la vida. ¿Qué hay de malo en eso?

CAIN:Hay dos cosas malas con eso. Número uno es que simplemente no está diciendo la verdad de ninguna experiencia humana porque no hay ser humano que no experimente alegría y tristeza, luz y oscuridad. Eso es sólo parte de la vida humana. Decirnos unos a otros que no deberíamos decir la verdad de nuestras experiencias es inherentemente invalidante. 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.