Alexandersmap

    Tag: Joan Didion

    • Measuring Growth

      “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.” — Joan Didion

      “You do not need to know precisely what is happening, or exactly where it is all going. What you need is to recognize the possibilities and challenges offered by the present moment, and to embrace them with courage, faith and hope.” ― Thomas Merton

      The gift of writing is not as much about putting all that you want to say on paper or on a screen for the world to read, although that is a motivation of sorts. No, the gift is in the sorting out of what you encounter in the world and finding a way to articulate it better than we might have yesterday. One doesn’t place a Didion or Merton quote just ahead of one’s own thoughts, let alone both, without recognizing that measuring up becomes ridiculous. But this is how we grow.

      Growth is measured against whatever it is we’re reaching for. Slowly chipping away at the French language for years now, I’ve picked up enough to know I’ve made measurable progress, but not enough that I’m not lost when a rapid-fire conversation amongst native speakers surrounds me. But at least I can tell them my name and ask where the toilettes are. Progress, and a clear indicator that more immersion is in order to grow into the language I too casually aspire to master.

      The meaning in the moment is derived from accumulated experience. If our experience is limited, we might not pick up the nuance in a conversation, know the double entendre, the obscure reference or an inside joke that is derived from being out there in the world and just knowing. The trick in living is to put ourselves out there in the mix, and sort things out as best we can. Writing is active processing, documented. Hopefully edited well enough to make it interesting.

      The thing is, we learn to recognize the darkness in the world, but also the light. The tenuous line between the two is where active living takes place. We become more resilient, more informed, more street-smart as we grow, and bring that to new places where we quickly discover how we measure up. The alternative to growth is stasis and atrophy. It’s more fun to grow. Plus we finally get the jokes we missed when we were someone else.

    • Identity and Place

      “You have to pick the places you don’t walk away from.” — Joan Didion

      Life is change. Those of us afflicted with wanderlust amplify our lives with travel and exploration. But eventually, perhaps even relentlessly, we come home again. Whatever that means to us.

      In a few weeks I’ll have been anchored to the same plot of land for 24 years. I’ve replaced everything from the appliances to the light fixtures to the front door. Two babies became adults and, as it should be with nests, moved on when they learned how to use their wings. Everything but the two residents who hold the mortgage have changed. But haven’t we changed too?

      Having a sense of place is essential to our identity, but it isn’t the land or the house or even the collection of books on the shelves that define who we are. Identity lies in the gap between who we were and who we’re becoming. Likewise, place is in the gap between what feels most familiar and what eventually comes after. Identity, and place, aren’t the gap—they fill it.

      So as we look for that which we won’t walk away from in this ever-changing world, we ought to begin by asking ourselves—what fills that gap?

    • Our Best Work

      “I want to see your best work. I’m not interested in your new work.” — Jerry Seinfeld

      A couple of days ago I read a newsletter that contradicted Seinfeld’s quote about. The writer premise was that one should accumulate readers, and the best way to do that was to always have the newest and freshest content up top. There’s merit in this, I suppose, if your newest and freshest content is your best work. In a perfect world where we continue to evolve and grow as artists, this might be true. I don’t live in a perfect world, do you?

      Based on average likes per day, my greatest hits collection plays far better than most of my current work. I’m not exactly Joan Didion or The Beatles, we surely agree, but they too had work after their greatest hits that didn’t peak as high. It’s natural for us to have peaks and valleys in our creative work, while climbing ever higher. Some peaks we’ve previously attained rise above where we currently are. This is either an albatross or a simply a milestone. I haven’t broken 6 minutes on a 2000 meter erg piece since my early 20’s, but that doesn’t stop me from rowing. It should be the same for our creative work, don’t you think?

      The thing is, we all want to see our best work emerge from whatever it is we’re working on. We aren’t here to waste time, we’re here to do something with our time. That something ought to measure up to the greatness we aspire to. When it does, it tells some small percentage of the world, but mostly ourselves that we’ve done something bigger than we previously thought possible. That becomes something to build on, whether we reach it again or not.

      When we accumulate a body of work, some of it will naturally rise to the top. The aspiration, it seems, is to reach a higher plane, where consistent greatness resides. But don’t trust me on this one, for I’m merely a work in progress. Best to find out for yourself and let me know.

    • Not Just to Pass Through It

      “I’m not telling you to make the world better, because I don’t think that progress is necessarily part of the package. I’m just telling you to live in it. Not just to endure it, not just to suffer it, not just to pass through it, but to live in it. To look at it. To try to get the picture. To live recklessly. To take chances. To make your own work and take pride in it. To seize the moment. And if you ask me why you should bother to do that, I could tell you that the grave’s a fine and private place, but none I think do there embrace. Nor do they sing there, or write, or argue, or see the tidal bore on the Amazon, or touch their children. And that’s what there is to do and get it while you can and good luck at it.” — Joan Didion

      The thing about beginning a blog post with a Joan Didion quote is that she’s a tough act to follow. How do we not just let her words stand on their own and call it a day? But that’s not what a blog is, is it? We must press on, inspired thusly, awed slightly, and make a go of it.

      We ought to get out there and live in the world while we can. Embrace these moments together and sprinkle something memorable on top. We ought to play the songs that bring us joy and turn off the noise that drags us down. We forget sometimes that this is our moment in the sun. Choose to remember.

      Didion passed away earlier this year, honored appropriately, and shifted from active participant at the adult table to somewhere else, just out of reach. But her voice still echoes in the room even as she vacates it. My quoting her is yet another echo. See how this works? We live on through others, whether we know them in our lifetime or not. We just need to live a life large enough that we reverberate ever so slightly in our absence.

      So how do we reverberate? It’s simple, really: Choose to make a small splash. Speak up in the moment. Get up on the dance floor first. Tickle someone’s fancy. Seek adventure and live to tell about it. Serve others. Make a difference in someone’s life just when they need it the most. Be bold. Be humble. Live.

    • If We Are to Live Ourselves: Thoughts on Didion

      “I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends.”
      ― Joan Didion, Slouching Towards Bethlehem

      I feel the truth in Didion’s observation, seeping into to me like caffeine hitting the bloodstream. For who doesn’t look back on who they used be and shake their head? That’s no longer us, and in many ways, we might wish it never was. But that person helped carry us here.

      Joan Didion passed away yesterday. There are people far more familiar with her work—far more qualified—to write her obituary than me (See Parul Sehgal’s Joan Didion Chronicled American Disorder With Her Own Unmistakable Style”). If you want to glimpse the soul of a writer of consequence, read the words that they themselves offer to the world in their most personal moments. The words that bring you into their world in common bond. Such as this quote Sehgal highlighted:

      “I’m not telling you to make the world better, because I don’t think that progress is necessarily part of the package,” she once wrote. “I’m just telling you to live in it. Not just to endure it, not just to suffer it, not just to pass through it, but to live in it. To look at it. To try to get the picture. To live recklessly. To take chances. To make your own work and take pride in it. To seize the moment. And if you ask me why you should bother to do that, I could tell you that the grave’s a fine and private place, but none I think do there embrace. Nor do they sing there, or write, or argue, or see the tidal bore on the Amazon, or touch their children. And that’s what there is to do and get it while you can and good luck at it.”

      Can’t you see it? Didion placing her hands on your shoulders, looking you square in the eye and imploring you to listen. Get to it straightaway! Live a bit more recklessly. Sing and dance and live outside your comfort zone. Take more chances. Decide who to be, and go be it.

      Didion knew urgency and pain. She lost both her husband and adult daughter within a couple of devastating years of each other. She herself suffered from Parkinson’s Disease in her final years. She might have lived a glamorous life bouncing between Malibu and Manhattan early on, but she suffered losses that would floor any of us. And she shared her journey out of the abyss with her readers:

      “I know why we try to keep the dead alive: we try to keep them alive in order to keep them with us. I also know that if we are to live ourselves there comes a point at which we must relinquish the dead, let them go, keep them dead. — from The Year of Magical Thinking

      Ultimately we either shatter into pieces and fade away ourselves or climb back out to make something of our remaining time on this earth. Didion was a fighter. And her words that remain even as she passes betray her spirit and prompt those who remain to carry on the work:

      “Do not whine… Do not complain. Work harder. Spend more time alone.” — from Blue Nights

    • No World for the Penitent and Regretful

      When I was in college we used to hang out at The Old Worthen in Lowell, drinking pitchers of cheap beer and playing tunes on the juke box.  Inevitably we’d play My Way by Frank Sinatra (written by Paul Anka) and sing the lyrics together in the most world-weary, seasoned way you can muster up when you’re only 21 or so and haven’t been knocked down a few times.

      “Regrets, I’ve had a few
      But then again, too few to mention
      I did what I had to do
      And saw it through without exemption”

      Regrets come with living life.  You make trade-offs along the way, like getting married and raising children instead of crewing on some sailboat in the Greek Isles with nothing but a copy of The Odyssey with you.  I may have thought of doing that once or twice around the time I was singing that song in that bar, and I’d blame it on the ghost of Jack Kerouac whispering in my ear.  On the whole I’ll take the trade-off and don’t look back, unless prompted to.  This morning I was prompted when two quotes in succession resonated for me.  First up was a Joan Didion quote pulled from today’s entry in The Daily Stoic.  Inspired, I drew more of it from a Brain Pickings blog after a quick search and offer some of it here:

      “The dismal fact is that self-respect has nothing to do with the approval of others — who are, after all, deceived easily enough; has nothing to do with reputation, which, as Rhett Butler told Scarlett O’Hara, is something people with courage can do without…  To do without self-respect, on the other hand, is to be an unwilling audience of one to an interminable documentary that deals with one’s failings, both real and imagined, with fresh footage spliced in for every screening. There’s the glass you broke in anger, there’s the hurt on X’s face; watch now, this next scene, the night Y came back from Houston, see how you muff this one. To live without self-respect is to lie awake some night, beyond the reach of warm milk, the Phenobarbital, and the sleeping hand on the coverlet, counting up the sins of commissions and omission, the trusts betrayed, the promises subtly broken, the gifts irrevocably wasted through sloth or cowardice, or carelessness. However long we postpone it, we eventually lie down alone in that notoriously uncomfortable bed, the one we make ourselves. Whether or not we sleep in it depends, of course, on whether or not we respect ourselves…  Character – the willingness to accept responsibility for one’s own life – is the source from which self-respect springs.” – Joan Didion, Slouching Towards Bethlehem: Essays

      What jolted me was in Didion’s writing, besides the sheer brilliance of her prose, were two phrases in particular: counting up the sins of commissions and omission…  and …the gifts irrevocably wasted through sloth or cowardice, or carelessness.  Who of us, who’s lived a life of any tenure, not counted up the things we’ve done that we’d rather not have done, the things we didn’t do that we wish we had, and regret not taking the leap into some adventure out of laziness or fear?  The older I get the more I say to myself and anyone who asks, just do it.  If you aren’t betraying trust, breaking promises, or taking foolhardy risks, then just do it.  Live with self-respect, do the right thing, accept responsibility for [your] own life.

      And then minutes later I stumbled on this Thoreau quote, a portion of which I’d once posted in an old social media post from years ago, where he (not surprisingly) reminds himself similarly:

      “There is a season for everything, and we do not notice a given phenomenon except at that season, if, indeed, it can be called the same phenomenon at any other season. There is a time to watch the ripples on Ripple Lake, to look for arrowheads, to study the rocks and lichens, a time to walk on sandy deserts; and the observer of nature must improve these seasons as much as the farmer his. So boys fly kites and play ball or hawkie at particular times all over the State. A wise man will know what game to play to-day, and play it. We must not be governed by rigid rules, as by the almanac, but let the season rule us. The moods and thoughts of man are revolving just as steadily and incessantly as nature’s. Nothing must be postponed. Take time by the forelock. Now or never! You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land; there is no other life but this, or the like of this. Where the good husbandman is, there is the good soil. Take any other course, and life will be a succession of regrets. Let us see vessels sailing prosperously before the wind, and not simply stranded barks. There is no world for the penitent and regretful.” – Henry David Thoreau, from his journal on April 24, 1859

      “You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think.” – Marcus Aurelius

      Thoreau wrote that 160 years ago as a reminder to himself, just as Marcus Aurelius wrote his own reminder in Meditations. Didion weighs in with her own message.  By all means, live with character and self-respect, but do make the most of this opportunity you’ve been given. Living in the past is useless.  Living in the future is delusional.  There’s only now.  Today.