Out in the woods today, I came across a puddle of melting snow, and saw a tree reflected in it. Maria said you can see the future if you look into a puddle, and I looked into mine. And I saw stories and photos and walks and a sparkling cloud of the little things that make up a life. At first, I wanted to cry, for the lost and painful things I saw. But then I brightened at all the warmth and laughter and love in the world.
I saw a lot of things ahead of me, some of them strange and others wondrous, even enchanting. I saw the risks you have to take, the work you have to do. I saw the power and meaning of making your own story, hearing your own voice, walking in your own light. A great puddle. I’ll look for it again tomorrow, but it is likely to be gone.
I loved the animated show “Beavis and Butthead” mostly because I identified with the crude smart-asses who starred in it. I wrote a piece once about the show, whose theme seemed to me to be “Because You Are Stupid, You Are Free.” That is crudely put, and not to be literally taken.
But I knew what they meant. And I identified with them. They hated their teachers, and their teachers hated them. I never did well in any class of any school and was tossed from two colleges. I was not paying attention. I think I was too anxious and distracted to hear anything, a problem that sometimes plagues me still
But there are advantages to being unable to receive information. You are free. Since I knew knew what I was supposed to think – I was bounced out of two colleges – I had no choice but to think for myself. The results were not always pretty, yet I treasure on some level the fact that there was no dogma or canon for me to follow. If I had been paying attention, I would not in a million years have come up to this farm with cows, donkeys, sheep, chickens and goats. Nor written five books (and two children’s books) while living here.
My daughter went to Yale, and Yale always made me nervous, as a visceral outsider and educational ne’er do well. I never saw much evidence that the curriculum had much to do with the planet I was living on. But Emma disagrees. She loved it.
I have to be honest. I don’t think people who think freely would call themselves liberals or conservatives. Labels by definition suggest to me the absence of real thought because why would you want to tag yourself that way? In America, all other points of view are considered differing forms of heresy, and do not appear on the cable scream-a-thons.
When I started taking photographs, I had no idea what I was doing, and am still winging it. If I had taken some classes, I doubt I would have taken a fraction of the kinds of photos I take now. Because somebody would have told me what I was supposed to do – what makes a good photo, what settings to use. And since I didn’t know, I was able to form my own ideas.
There is definitely some Beavis & Butthead in me, a strange thing for a writer and novelist to admit. I am trying to learn now, and make up for lost time, and there are good and wise teachers in my life, but I hope a piece of them remains in my spirit and outlook. Because I am stupid, I am free. Because I don’t know what I’m supposed to think, I occasionally can.
For the past few years, I’ve recorded most of the important events of my life on the blog, a living record of my strange and curious trek. Today was an important day. I did something that was both frightening and painful, and it was necessary to do because it was part of being a grown-up. It is personal, not something to reveal here.
It meant a great deal to me, and took me a long time to do. It was a statement that my life is important, and I will not give pieces of it away, and I will protect it and do the things that adults do to take care of themselves.
On the surface, it seems obvious that people have to grow up, but for me, one of many people whose childhoods were interrupted by trauma and trouble, it has not been so simple. I remained a child long past childhood’s time passing my frights and responsibilities onto other people.
I was confused about money, lost perspective, was disconnected from reality. And when the mask came off, it scared the hell out of me. Enough to get me growing up, and quickly. I work hard at it, every day.
It has taken me a long time to grasp the idea of growing up, even longer to do it. And I am not quite there yet. I have come to see that it is frightening to remain a child, to not know the details of your life, or to be able to stand up for it. To know your life, to understand it, is to be unafraid, because it means you know you can take care of yourself. Many times in recent years, I’ve felt like a six-year-old kid with a farm and a book contract.
I felt often that I had given myself away, and there wasn’t much left. I had no idea who I was, and am still puzzling over it. Grown-ups know these things, I thing. I’ve had a lot of catching up to do, and it is enthralling, frightening, exhausting and exhilarating.
I’ve needed to grow up, and fast. The farm helped me do it. So does Maria. So did a therapist. And some good friends. So, curiously, did my photography which somehow, in ways I think I will never quite grasp, permitted me to see my life and the world more clearly as I live it now. Perhaps that is Zen photography. I am lucky to have the opportunity to grow up.
It is hard enough to do when you are supposed to do it, rougher later on. But essential. Life depends on it.
So I took a big and scary step towards growing up today. And it feels good.
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At 7 p.m. Thursday, Mary Kellogg and I will be at the Red Fox Bookstore in Glens Falls, N.Y. (518 793 5352). Mary will be reading from her new book “Whistling Woman,” which also includes some of my photographs. I will be available to sign books too. Mary is a treasure, and come and see her if you can.
March 2, 2010 – Intimations of Spring. Snow melting, sun higher, garden stirring. Lenore came with me yesterday to help me take photographs in the Carriage Barn, and ten, of course, she became the photograph. Like many Labs, she loves to come along and keep me company in life. Today, back to work on the short stories, which need some more work.
Tomorrow, somebody is coming to look at the farm. Don’t know whether they will buy it or not, but it focuses on some questions. Have to think about life – whether to stay, move on to the next Bedlam Farm. Dogs will remain a focus of my life, along with fiction, children’s books, photography. And Maria.
Got to have a place with room for these dogs. Rose needs space, so do the other dogs. And Maria has to have a studio. And I have to have a study. Sounds like Bedlam Farm. Does it make sense to stay in such a big place, however beautiful, with three empty barns and acres of fenced pasture that isn’t being used? I don’t know. I’ll be sharing the process though. I’ve always thought this Spring would be telling. We’ll see.
