21 Dec Choosing Hope
Franz Kafka (1883-1924), widely regarded as one of the major figures of 20th century literature, was a well-known pessimist. He lived with debilitating chronic physical and mental health problems, faced crushing self-doubt about his worth as a writer, and had a tumultuous relationship with his domineering father who harshly criticized his creative pursuits. The isolated and powerless characters of his works bear the marks of a man who was suffering and had accepted a hopeless existence.
And yet…
There’s a beautiful story that you might have come across about Franz Kafka and a little girl who lost her doll. The story, shared after Kafka’s death by his love for the last year of his life, Dora Diamant, is a story of optimism and possibility. I read the story and loved the message of connection and humanity in it, and think that it becomes even more beautiful against the backdrop of Kafka’s personal struggles and existential writings.
The story goes something like this:
During the last year of his life, Franz Kafka took daily walks through Steglitz Park, in Berlin.
One day Kafka met a little girl who was heartbroken and sobbing because she had lost her favorite doll.
Kafka said he would help her search. They looked together for a long time. Eventually, realizing the doll was nowhere to be found, Kafka told the little girl that the doll had probably gone away on a trip. He comforted her, telling her not to worry, as he was a postman and the doll would certainly have sent a letter. He asked the little girl to meet him at the park again tomorrow so that he could deliver the letter.
Kafka went straight home to write the letter. He sat down at his desk, and as Dora watched him write, she noticed the same focus and seriousness he displayed when composing his written works.
The next day when they met, Kafka read the little girl the letter from the doll. It said,
Please do not mourn me.
I have gone on a trip to see the world.
I will write you of my adventures.
That was the beginning of many letters. During their daily meetings at the park, Kafka would read letters detailing the imagined adventures of the beloved doll. The little girl would listen to the doll’s stories with delight.
One day, Kafka presented the little girl with a doll. It didn’t look anything like the doll the girl had lost and she looked up at Kafka, confused.
Kafka handed the little girl another letter from the doll. It said,
My travels have changed me.
A year later Kafka died.
Many years later, the now-adult girl found a small folded letter inside of the doll’s pocket. In this final letter, signed by Kafka himself, it was written,
Everything you love will probably be lost,
but in the end,
love will return in another way.
Carefully tucked in the pocket of the gifted replacement doll was a message of hope Kafka sent into the future.
When Dora recounted this story, she shared Kafka’s profound struggles in coming up with an ending that would offer a satisfactory conclusion for the little girl. Perhaps, somehow, Kafka knew that this hopeful message would unfold beyond his lifetime.
In spite of all of the struggles Kafka had faced personally and the themes of despair he explored in much of his writings, in the final days of his real life, Kafka did the most hopeful thing any of us can do—he chose hope and lent it to a little girl who was short on it herself.
This holiday season, it’s a good reminder that the gift of hope is perhaps the greatest gift we can give.
Wishing you a happy and hopeful holiday.