In Des Moines, Iowa, Maria and I were invited to breakfast at Wesley Acres, an independent living community. We came into the dining room at 8 a.m. and sat down at a table for four, we both bypassed the tables for two, I am not sure why. We ordered our breakfast and in a few minutes a resident named Betty Haas came asked permission to sit with us, I had the feeling we had chosen her regular table.
She said her name was Betty Haas. She said she was 94 years old. We ate quietly for a few moments, and then Maria’s eyes widened and she asked Betty if she had made her earrings, they were beautiful and original. Betty nodded and said she practiced tatting a fine and rare kind of embroidery. I told her Maria was an artist also, and her eyes widened and her smile widened. “Oh, Maria,” she said, and then she got up walked to her walker, opened a bag and pulled out two handkerchiefs with tatting.
I could almost reach out and touch the powerful emotions these two strong women were evoking in one another, this very personal connection, this artistic connection. They just connected a couple of feet from me, they lit up at the recognition each saw in the other, they were not strangers meeting but old friends sharing a way of life.
I took out my Iphone and showed Betty some of Maria’s work on her blog, we asked Betty about her very difficult life. She grew up in a two room farmhouse in Iowa with six siblings, a weary mother and an alcoholic father with Emphysema.
Betty has had a hard life. Her husband returned from World War II damaged and changed, he died 15 years ago. She has worked on her tatting her whole life, ever since her mother taught it to her children so they wouldn’t drive her mad in the harsh Iowa winters.
Betty talked about the difficulties of aging, the struggle to get up in the morning, to remember things, the realization that one cannot take care of oneself alone any longer. When she fell and broke her arm, her two daughters brought her to Wesley Acres, she is happy and grateful to be there.
“There is no sense in whining,” she said, “it doesn’t get you anywhere, you just have to find the strength to keep doing.” And, clearly, it is difficult at times. Betty blushed when Maria told her she was an artist too, Betty couldn’t quite except it, but it was clear it meant the world to her. They just knew one another, instantly, even though they never met before and are unlikely to see one another again.
But it was one of the most powerful moments in recent memory for me, these two knew one another, they had reached across a vast divide of geography, time, space and circumstance to find one another, they are at opposite ends of the spectrum of life in so many ways, yet their come together in the powerful space of creativity and meaning.
We both loved Betty Haas, and her brave and cheerful soul, her creative spark and the gleam in her eye that never quite leaves. I imagine a potholder will arrive in Des Moines soon enough. Life does deal a lot of hard hands, but no one can ever take from us the choice we have about how to respond.
We had to get up and leave, I had an interview, an old friend of Betty’s joined her at the table, I felt the tide of life wash over us and close behind us. So this is why we sat at the table, we told one another, this is why she joined us. It was inevitable that we would find one another.
There was a medieval saint named Humility, he embraced the posture of lowering himself in relation to others (Wikipedia). Humility is about modesty, but more interesting to me, it is also about perspective, respecting one’s place in the context of the world around him or her.
Humility can mean a rejection of vanity, it is an ethical or moral position in relationship to the world. I see that many people in our culture reject humility, as I have often done, in favor of arrogance, cruelty and self-righteousness. Humility is not often seen on social media, it is not nearly as widespread as immodesty and self-inflation, the practice of telling others what to do and showing contempt for people with different ideas.
Humility is liberating, almost shockingly satisfying and spiritual.
I am not proud of my former self, but I am not ashamed of it either. I am human, just like everyone reading this.
Hemingway wrote that there is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man, true nobility is being superior to your former self. I do not believe I am superior to any man or woman, I do believe I am superior to my former self, and my goal is to say the same thing ten years from now, and for as long as I live.
That, I think, is the legacy of the first Bedlam Farm: humility. I remember telling a shrink after my crack-up that “I am better than this. This is not the way I want to end my life.” This was a prophecy, I am better, whatever else can be said of me, this was not the way I ended my life. No man who breaks down will ever see himself as superior again, or be so arrogant as to tell other people what to do.
I learned many things at Bedlam Farm, one of the most important was the great gift of humility, the doorway to a spiritual life. Humility has not come naturally to me, I always saw myself as powerful, well-known, successful, that was my destiny, as was arrogance and oblivion. It was natural that I had a lot of money; natural that I was interviewed, natural that I was a best-seller, natural that I fled from my own family without facing the consequences of what I was doing, and natural that a movie was made from one of my books.
I am never nervous in front of a large crowd standing on a stage, not for a second, it seems my destiny.
But life is the greatest teacher, and so is a farm. Bedlam Farm taught me that money does not bring security or peace of mind. I have never had less money or been happier. My sense of myself was delusional, it is not that hard to get on TV in America or be famous for a few minutes, it is very hard to do meaningful work day in and day out for any sustained period of time. Some people – people like me – need to be dragged through the streets, clawed by tigers and stomped by elephants to awaken and see themselves truthfully and understand who they are really are.
That is humbling.
Yet humility is an easy coat for me to wear, it also fits, and I can thank Bedlam Farm for it. There is something natural and beautiful about humility, I think it is the gateway to authenticity, accepting oneself is a magnificent gift, a true awakening. I learned humility the hard and lasting way, by having my illusions, grandiosity and pretensions shattered, dismantled one by one at the first Bedlam Farm to the point that I simple fell apart and was forced to start over again.
Madness and pain are themselves a humbling experience. So is divorce and recession and the changing world of the book writer. I never struggled over money until I came to Bedlam Farm, I always spent what I wanted and let other people sort out my messes. The first Bedlam Farm was a grand stage, a marquee kind of place, the kind of place they make movies about and send correspondents to report on from far away.
There was – is – something grandiose and sweeping about the place. It is a place of big dreams, dramatic dogs, riveting stories, a rich landscape.
The beautiful old farmhouse sits high up, overlooking a small town. If it were in Southeast Asia, it might be the colonial governor’s house, it sits atop the grandest hill, looking down. When I arrived at the farm, I had just signed a movie deal, and I sailed through those dreamy waters quickly and in a spectacular fashion, burning through many thousands of dollars in gifts, projects, stone walls, outbuildings, slate roofs, fresh paint, new wiring, classy antique furniture, renovation and design.
By the time I got there, a lifetime of fear and confusion came of age, I lost perspective, I lost any real sense of responsibility, to myself, my family, my friends, my life and work. And what a great experience it was, what a great time. I was like an adolescent given hundreds of thousands of dollars, living alone and without inhibition or restraint. Nobody came with me to the farm, there was nobody to stop me or challenge me or tell me the ugly truth about myself, which was that I had become someone I did not care for or wish to be. I was loveless and alone, and going to pieces. My sense of myself was so strong that almost no one knew, or perhaps no one cared.
I think it was my subconscious that brought me the world, it might have been my blog, I was soon enough wandering the big old house, weeping, talking to myself, wandering in the woods, followed only by a loyal border collie and a sweet Lab puppy.
It was a miracle I survived, I only did because of a good therapist and an angel who appeared – Maria. We were in a tiny hamlet with few people, the odds against our finding someone to love there were astoundingly high. She was in no better shape than I was, and the two of us clung to each other like rafts in a typhoon in seas that were stormy every day, we swore allegiance to one another, we were determined to see each other through to survival, and in so doing, we saved our selves.
This morning, I returned to Bedlam Farm for the second day in a row, and Red resumed his old position on the $20,000 stone wall I ordered built behind the farmhouse, it is a beautiful thing, and of course, a ridiculous and foolhardy thing to have done. I still love it though, and so does Red, he always kept an eye on the sheep from up there. I know what I did there was madness, but I am also grateful I will leave four barns standing for a good long time.
Humility is…well, humbling. I am not a big shot any longer, I do not see myself that way. I count my pennies and watch my expenses, I buy nothing without thinking about it. My delusions and impulses are gone. A Valium addict for decades, I am clean, the strongest drink I take is decaf coffee. I love being a writer, but I do not consider myself famous any longer, or central to that world. I believe that everyone has it worse than me, everyone has suffered and lost, laughed and danced.
I am building a new world, a different world, a humbler and more satisfying world. I don’t really need to be a big shot any longer, or live on a grand stage, or build stone walls like the Romans built their aqueducts and roads.
Our new farm is not a grand stage, it is simply a very good place for us to live. It is a humble place, small, charismatic, with no pretensions. I am learning perspective, understanding where I want to be and need to be. My photography has brought me literal perspective, and a new kind of spirituality. I have seen the world anew it is a beautiful place, every day.
We have turned to humble pleasures: reading, creativity, nature, community and connection. I have turned away from argument, rage and television. I am not on Facebook much chatting with strangers. We love our neighbors and friends, our town and our animals. I am a better man than I was, a work still in progress.
Everyone has it worse than me, I have rejected struggle stories, I do not write nasty messages to anyone online, I do not speak ill of my life or tell other people what to do, think or be. That seems arrogant to me.
I must say that as my first anniversary of my open heart surgery – July 1 – looms, high-fiving death. There is little more humbling that having one’s heart stopped and rebuilt and living on machines for awhile. So hats off to St. Humility, his birthday ought to be a holiday. Humility is good for me.
A beautiful and important day at the farm, we officially began our rotational grazing, stopped feeding hay and opened up the side pasture this morning so the donkeys and the sheep could eat there, the grass is rich and growing, Red brought the sheep in and watched them, the donkeys feasted on the grass, the animals were happy and excited, so was Maria, who soaked in the scene.
We love our farm, it is the perfect place for us. It is not as grand or grandiose a stage as the first Bedlam Farm, the views are not as spectacular, the pastures not as long or wide, but it is beautiful to us, a classic farmhouse with a lot of pride and history, just write for two middle-aged people in love with one another and with our lives. This was a beautiful sight for us. We closed off the pasture at noon, they can come back in this evening for a few more hours. Twice a day, we are managing our grass.
The Bedlam Farm Open House will be held on June 27-28, Red will do his demos in this field. Poetry readings, good art sold cheap and the draft horses of Blue Star Equiculture will be giving carriage rides. We are psyched. Details on Maria’s events page.
