Wow. George you are a sage and a kind one at that. While I'm still getting over my religious indoctrination, there is a concept in Jewish literature called mussar, which loosely translated is something like self-improvement or spiritual practice, and this newsletter is a wonderful example of that. (I felt so compelled to write, I haven't…
Wow. George you are a sage and a kind one at that. While I'm still getting over my religious indoctrination, there is a concept in Jewish literature called mussar, which loosely translated is something like self-improvement or spiritual practice, and this newsletter is a wonderful example of that. (I felt so compelled to write, I haven't finished it yet.)
This is actually super personal for me: A week-and-a-half ago my wife gave birth to our first child, a boy named David Julian--who is probably the youngest member of the Story Club. He's still in the nic-u right now, but I've been thinking about this question a lot. (He's doing great! Thankfully. It was a complicated pregnancy, but he's healthy and just a tad on the small side.) I survived religious life by believing that art could save me; that I was writing something, that writing was the special thing I and only I had. Needless to say, that perspective has eroded as did a lot of my dedication to writing. But I can say that holding my son in the nic-u has given me something in ways that I can't express. Tenderness as George writes, it is as if I've joined the human race. Even though I've been so disillusioned lately with my own writing (for years now), I think inevitably whatever writing I do will suffer a bit, but I think it's a worthwhile exchange for what I hope will be a deeper insight into this strange endeavor of life.
Welcome to the world, David Julian! May you and your loved ones find joy and peace on this crazy spinning orb. My little girl started out life on the tiny side as well, but that just meant she could move faster than the other kids. :)
When I became a father I felt for the first time that it didn't so much matter whether my life attained any objective glory, by which identifiably provably unarguably best-ness; I'd always strived to prove that this book was better, that film more meaningful, that purpose more lofty...
What I came to feel mattered for me was a small, specific subjective item of wonder: in this case love for child and partner. I didn't have to prove (to myself or the world) that it was the best or most profound experience, just had to feel it and recognise that it mattered to me and that was enough.
Perhaps I should have known this anyway. Perhaps it was just me growing up a bit, which I should have achieved long before.
And it brought with it harm... I was blinded by my own subjective specific experience of wonder to the pain and fear felt by my partner.
I hadn't finished growing (and never will, I guess). These events happened, and I am learning from them much slower than I should or could, but I hope it has brought some measure of humility and compassion.
If that filters bit by bit into my work, then I would gladly accept that over having more time and energy.
Of course, you or anyone may be able to learn without becoming a parent... that's not the thing. I guess it's just SOMETHING that can open you up to, let's call it humanity. Maybe you're already further down that path than you realise.
This post invites happy reflections…thank you for mentioning your partner’s pain and fear. I also completely missed that, in the beginning…it’s all very mysterious and captivating, even when we think we might be going mad.
Thank you so much for this. I totally understand and feel the need for the objective glory but I'm hoping that will change. Thanks for the mention of your partner's pain. That's something I'll keep in mind.
Wow. George you are a sage and a kind one at that. While I'm still getting over my religious indoctrination, there is a concept in Jewish literature called mussar, which loosely translated is something like self-improvement or spiritual practice, and this newsletter is a wonderful example of that. (I felt so compelled to write, I haven't finished it yet.)
This is actually super personal for me: A week-and-a-half ago my wife gave birth to our first child, a boy named David Julian--who is probably the youngest member of the Story Club. He's still in the nic-u right now, but I've been thinking about this question a lot. (He's doing great! Thankfully. It was a complicated pregnancy, but he's healthy and just a tad on the small side.) I survived religious life by believing that art could save me; that I was writing something, that writing was the special thing I and only I had. Needless to say, that perspective has eroded as did a lot of my dedication to writing. But I can say that holding my son in the nic-u has given me something in ways that I can't express. Tenderness as George writes, it is as if I've joined the human race. Even though I've been so disillusioned lately with my own writing (for years now), I think inevitably whatever writing I do will suffer a bit, but I think it's a worthwhile exchange for what I hope will be a deeper insight into this strange endeavor of life.
After reading A Swim in the Pond, I had that old warm feeling that George was my rabbi and I an eager disciple at his feet.
Welcome to the world, David Julian! May you and your loved ones find joy and peace on this crazy spinning orb. My little girl started out life on the tiny side as well, but that just meant she could move faster than the other kids. :)
Can I offer personal testimony...
When I became a father I felt for the first time that it didn't so much matter whether my life attained any objective glory, by which identifiably provably unarguably best-ness; I'd always strived to prove that this book was better, that film more meaningful, that purpose more lofty...
What I came to feel mattered for me was a small, specific subjective item of wonder: in this case love for child and partner. I didn't have to prove (to myself or the world) that it was the best or most profound experience, just had to feel it and recognise that it mattered to me and that was enough.
Perhaps I should have known this anyway. Perhaps it was just me growing up a bit, which I should have achieved long before.
And it brought with it harm... I was blinded by my own subjective specific experience of wonder to the pain and fear felt by my partner.
I hadn't finished growing (and never will, I guess). These events happened, and I am learning from them much slower than I should or could, but I hope it has brought some measure of humility and compassion.
If that filters bit by bit into my work, then I would gladly accept that over having more time and energy.
Of course, you or anyone may be able to learn without becoming a parent... that's not the thing. I guess it's just SOMETHING that can open you up to, let's call it humanity. Maybe you're already further down that path than you realise.
This post invites happy reflections…thank you for mentioning your partner’s pain and fear. I also completely missed that, in the beginning…it’s all very mysterious and captivating, even when we think we might be going mad.
Thank you so much for this. I totally understand and feel the need for the objective glory but I'm hoping that will change. Thanks for the mention of your partner's pain. That's something I'll keep in mind.
Writing and love have their ways of coming back around to you. Congratulations!!
Mazel tov on the newest member of your family!
Thanks! And thanks for your great question last time!