But at my back I always hear . . .
In which I contemplate "time's wingéd chariot hurrying near"
For all the good I have in my life - a roof over my head and food to eat, writing goals, nature to explore, water nearby, a loving partner, an entertaining dachshund - I will always feels as if my start at my life’s goals was too late, too delayed.
At one time, I had a map, a plan.
The best laid plans of mice and men . . .
My memoir is about what threw me off my plan, how life swept me up in its clutches, tried to chew me up and spit me out and discard me. My memoir is about fighting back against the overwhelming dysfunction that came my way. Of course, I had a part in that dysfunction, but I wasn’t the cause of it. That’s a far different thing. The cause and effect of one’s life isn’t always clear cut. The person whose life is irredeemably waylaid by a meteor conking him on the head didn’t cause that meteor. Just as someone who established roots in a town that some company defiled the water supply of isn’t responsible for the cancer they got and must suffer with or die from!
It’s difficult to pinpoint the causes of why my life was thrown off course. There were many and sundry. It’s even more difficult to ferret out my own responsibility in it all, given my knowledge at the time.
I can pinpoint one point in time when I wasn’t trying my best, during my first marriage, when I gave up, when I acted in ways contrary to my best behavior. I was lost, thinking the world was one way when it was another. That threw me for a loop and when that marriage imploded and I was left with nothing, alone, sitting on the floor with my back against the wall, struggling to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich just to keep going, watching my bills pile up as I didn’t open my mail, fearful of the debt I had accumulated that I couldn’t pay, aware deep inside of the emotional debt I had accumulated that I was paying every day just to wake up and try to get back on track — I learned.
I took responsibility for my part in the break-up of that first marriage because I learned. And I’ve learned that so many people in this world don’t learn the way I have.
Learning, learning to learn is what I’ve learned best in this life.
But the causes of my life’s derailment were often beyond my control:
family mental illness
spousal mental illness
psychiatrist/psychologist not tell us the diagnosis of my spouse’s serious mental illness
fired by bosses with an agenda - twice!
in effect, fired by an educational institution sued for fraud by the State of California
educational institution not having my back when a student became hostile - “they can return to class because they paid for it.” What?!
All of this led to incredible instability and lack of support (emotional, physical, financial, and institutional) for my life.
No one goes it alone in this world - and yet, here I was, putting one foot in front of the other as yet another incident, person, cause pulled the rug out from under me.
It took a monumental effort and many years to face the dysfunction of my own life head on and will it away. It’s like staring down a bully.
Asteroids have rained down on my head, and I have survived.
My memoir - My Own Private Waste Land - is the story of how I survived extreme dysfunction outside of myself that threw me off my life’s path and almost broke me. Through a ritual that matched physical pain to combat emotional pain, I was able to summons T.S. Eliot’s three-part catechism - Give, Sympathize, Control - to regain control of my life and move beyond the dysfunction.
With your help, I can get my story published, a story that will help others who experience the difficulties life can bring when loved ones have serious mental illness. The more readers I have, the more chance I have to attract an agent.
Our recent move to the Pacific Northwest has been amazing so far. We’ve met some great people, reconnected with old friends and family, made new friends, explored these majestic, sacred lands, and settled in to our new apartment. Our lives are about to get very busy, but we’re more settled in our hearts now than at any other time.
Thank you for reading. Thank you for taking the time to share this newsletter with others. Encourage them to subscribe and read and follow along with my story.
I’ll be back to regular posting about T.S. Eliot, the art of memoir, and my own life’s stories starting Friday.
Until then, be well, and love with all your heart. I’ll . . .
Just keep writing!
That’s a lot of openness and vulnerability, which, in my humble opinion, are seeds of strength.
It’s confusing, how much responsibility to take for one’s life experiences. I started out taking none, which did not serve me or anyone else well. I liked hearing that we are responsible for everything, including choosing our own parents (!), because that idea, however crazy it may be, gave me a sense of control, a notion that there might be some higher purpose when things go awry. The happy medium is probably to take as much responsibility as possible, realizing that everyone’s life goes to shit sooner or later, and that those are opportunities for learning something new.
(“Never take more than fifty percent of the responsibility for an interaction with another adult.” Someone told me this long ago, and it’s also quite helpful.)
Glad you are enjoying the Salish environment!!