It’s Been Awhile

Some announcements and changes

The last time we met here, I was sitting on a rusted filigreed bench at the back of my shed, admitting to being in a state of emotional and physical disrepair. I had grand plans to address it, myself, independent spirit I am. It somehow involved green tea and some other doomed exercise plan.

I help others, I proclaim, that’s my job to lift them up, never thinking that perhaps it is I who needed some help with the heavy lifting that would soon come my way in the form of a potential loss. This possibility triggered every other loss in my life, drowning me in a tidal wave that left me crying for days and brought me to my knees. This overwhelming grief made me realize that underneath all these characters I’ve played, all these expectations I lived up to, all that institutional roles have called me to be, and my self-induced relentless striving to be more than I actually am, I truly do not know who I am or what makes me happy.

In 1926, another woman named Marion Milner had that same epiphany and undertook a serious investigation of the question. A writer, she began a practice of journaling and noting what made her happy, what she noticed about what she wanted from life. Her analysis expanded into what worried her in her day-to-day, noticing and writing fleeting thoughts (she called them “butterfly” thoughts). She challenged her assumptions about what she thought made her happy with critical thinking and she opened herself up to mystical and sensory experiences, something she called “wide awareness”, often occurring in the natural world. She journaled this way for 7 years, reading nothing she wrote. After reflecting on and analyzing what she had written, she discovered she was profoundly different from what she had thought herself to be, that what we pursue are things that are least likely to bring us happiness and a sense of fulfillment. She offers this revelation, “perhaps my purpose is simply to explore and discover.”, the answer to my question, “What does a stimulating, manageable, fulfilling life look like in the absence of striving?” That and Marion’s other insights can be found in the book she later wrote about her process, A Life of One’s Own.

Inspired by this woman and driven by my need to discover who I am, where I’ve been is in my shed, or sitting behind it, every morning since we last met, journaling, noticing, observing, challenging, exploring, and discovering. I’ve discovered many devices that help my rational mind default to intuition and higher wisdom, such as watching over the marsh and researching the creatures that come before me to understand the messages they carry, or pulling a tarot card to gain insights. I light a candle for hope in the dark time we are facing here in the U.S. and other places in the world. After this I study writing and experiment with all its forms. No goal, no outcome just because I love it. I allow myself to be helped. A woman who helped me before, has come to my life again, guiding me to better care for my emotional self and another who is showing me how to stretch my tight, armored muscles and body to open up and to become stronger.

I really have no business telling anyone how to be old, since I, at the ripe old age of 71, am simply learning how to be. To stay right here. So I am going to give this Substack a new name, now that I am in a better place to return to it regularly. From now on, your emails will let you know that something is coming your way, and it’s called Dispatches from the Shed. My mind now has permission to roam as freely and as wild as it cares to. Curiosity is the order of the day and serendipity is my muse. I might write fiction, nonfiction and I’ll experiment with writing in the third person (thanks to Alexander Chee for this suggestion and the tarot).

Again, thank you to all who have made pledges to support my writing, all of you who have subscribed. That kind of commitment creates wonder. More next week.

Here is a link to find the book and a wonderful synopsis by Maria Popova, The Marginalian, A Life of One’s Own