Oh Susan! ‘I ache with a longing I have named and it is Becoming.’ You tapped right into this many-sided concept that guides me —both a spur to create, to become all I wish to become, and a yearning tinged with sadness, at 65, that this becoming may not be realized. This brought tears of recognition: “The felt-sense of a tremendous longing to be a real writer was the absence that lasted my whole life. “ I do not want this to be an absence that lasts my whole life. Can we decide here and now my friend that we are real writers, publishing world be damned? And I am glad for how your marriage story turned out— that wasn’t my path but I am happy it was yours, that you cane back to each other.
Yes. We can agree that because we write and are read, we are writers. Thank you for that. I’m glad to walk beside you. Turns out, I had more to say about the marriage.
I actually think we are writers even if we are not read 😀it is the act of writing if only for myself which defines and sustains me. But it is absolutely wonderful to have readers!
Susan, I loved the flow between suffering and joy in this piece. They felt like ocean waves, ebbing and flowing, but in constant motion. I feel the liminal here too. These seemingly opposing forces coming together and sparking new life. And when you said that, joy was the container, I know that deeply in my being. For me joy is what holds my grief and pain. And I sensed that here, running through your writing as this delicious percolating spring of life.
Exactly right, Julie! My suffering, even my anger arises in joy, is held by joy, and sometimes, I can choose to behold it from there as the watcher. Honestly, I don’t always choose it, but now I’m capable of choosing to zoom in or zoom out. Even if I’m in the details, I know I only need to surrender my PoV. I suspect this is true of you also.
I read this the other day, and came back to reread it. I'll probably be back for another read! It's such a full piece; I still don't know how to state my feelings about it adequately. But know this, it did stir up feelings, and that, is a sign of good writing.
The longing to be a writer, a good one, not just 'another' writer. I so relate to that. The hanging in there. Ambition is winning. And yet, on our deathbeds, winning won't be the point of anything.
"Sometimes, I can rest in the knowledge that we are working out our collective story. Countries do what families do, what individuals do." For me, that sums up the essense of your piece.
There's a lot of comfort in that. As you alluded to, I think, presence is what matters most. Our presence, not what we do, accomplished or never accomplish. And yet, at the same time, we keep longing...
A terrific, thought-provoking essay, Susan. Thank you for writing it. Oh, and I have always thought of myself as a misfit. I wonder if most of us feel that we are. Hmm, more food for thought, right?
I save your posts to read first thing in the morning when I have a fresh brain. Beautiful and brilliant work. “I’d eat my own shadow until there was nothing left but light. It was a lot of work.” hooked me. And winning is pointless in the end. Off to watch the misfit talk.
Thanks, Eileen. Oh, that desire to be only light. Now, I'm glad it's impossible. It turns out there's nothing to win in the end and no way to be good. Too bad we can't see that sooner.
I love this joy/suffering form, and your deep reflections. I can't quite name what it is you do here. I guess Kind of this...this is what I think. This is what I do. This is what I left. This is how I stayed. So brave and lyrical. (I love that Lydia Y. misfit video too!) I also enjoy learning about your life, like all the writing, on top of being a teacher.
I love the structure of this, the heart of this, the beauty of this, all the truth in it. You may be my wise teacher right now. I can relate to every word.
P.S. I've also chosen to stay in a marriage when almost everything in me seemed to say "go, save yourself." Sometimes, the thing we need to learn is how to stay and finally know -- truly know -- that we're already safe, inside.
That’s right. I like to say that no one knows but you. Truthfully, though, even I didn’t know. It could have gone either way. My ego really wanted that divorce. How simple to make it all his fault and wash my hands. The desire to punish was huge, too. And I could play the victim. All things my soul wanted no part of. I may tell the rest of the story next time.
Ah, yes…I felt the same. And still do. I told myself it was a freedom I deserved, had earned, desperately needed. The “washing hands” and victimhood…? Ah, yes, me too. Thank you, as always, for the mirror and the companionship on the page. And the beautiful writing, of course.
Dear Susan, you did it again. You blew my socks off with your brilliance. The joy of hanging in there is exactly what this piece is about. I expected a different ending with your relationship and you showed me something that I don’t know if I would’ve been able to do.
Thank you for being such a wise teacher.
I love that you are an ambitious writer. One of the best.
Thanks so much. I’m so grateful for you. You know, my practice could have just as easily lead the other way. The tension is in the not-knowing. I was willing to do either. My commitment was to the highest good.
I love the meanderings of your mythological mind. I look forward to reading them every week. This one's a doozy. Beautiful. I saw myself in all the suffering/joy examples.
"It’s possible to allow the shadow to arise inside the container of joy. And joy is not moved."
Holding contrast, instead of fighting to control an outcome (because it's rare to achieve) is a place of rest, of peace.
And Lidia Yuknavitch's Misfit talk was mind-blowing. The night I watched it for the first time, I stayed up and watched it 3 times. She's very special genius. And so are you. xo
Every move is a choice, and sometimes the choice causes stress, and that is not fun. But we have to remember that it is always a choice. Even the dumb stuff we do.
Gorgeous, Susan. We each walk our own path, obviously, and at crossroads moments some of us will go one way, some another. What I love about this essay is the invitation to go deep into our own inner guidance and trust it. To be gentle and patient with ourselves, and to listen. I value your reminder that at the end of "the game," there are no winners or losers. And why think of life as a game in the first place? I choose to believe that expressions such as your beautiful reflection are part of the collective healing taking place on the planet now. As more of us pierce through old cultural layers, perhaps we really are finding better stories to live by. I hope so.
The receiving of love depends on the giving of it. And then you're well on your way. (But you know this already, you don't need me to tell you this.) The love that you gave your father, in that stunning piece you wrote about him, still bowls me over. And I recently wrote to a dear friend of ours, to remind her that as long as she has a place (on her farm) to give love to even one child, she'll be fine. Love hurts. That's how you know it's real. Best ...
Oh Susan! ‘I ache with a longing I have named and it is Becoming.’ You tapped right into this many-sided concept that guides me —both a spur to create, to become all I wish to become, and a yearning tinged with sadness, at 65, that this becoming may not be realized. This brought tears of recognition: “The felt-sense of a tremendous longing to be a real writer was the absence that lasted my whole life. “ I do not want this to be an absence that lasts my whole life. Can we decide here and now my friend that we are real writers, publishing world be damned? And I am glad for how your marriage story turned out— that wasn’t my path but I am happy it was yours, that you cane back to each other.
True, for sure. When I had no readers I was still a writer. I just didn’t say it out loud yet.
Yes. We can agree that because we write and are read, we are writers. Thank you for that. I’m glad to walk beside you. Turns out, I had more to say about the marriage.
I actually think we are writers even if we are not read 😀it is the act of writing if only for myself which defines and sustains me. But it is absolutely wonderful to have readers!
Susan, I loved the flow between suffering and joy in this piece. They felt like ocean waves, ebbing and flowing, but in constant motion. I feel the liminal here too. These seemingly opposing forces coming together and sparking new life. And when you said that, joy was the container, I know that deeply in my being. For me joy is what holds my grief and pain. And I sensed that here, running through your writing as this delicious percolating spring of life.
Exactly right, Julie! My suffering, even my anger arises in joy, is held by joy, and sometimes, I can choose to behold it from there as the watcher. Honestly, I don’t always choose it, but now I’m capable of choosing to zoom in or zoom out. Even if I’m in the details, I know I only need to surrender my PoV. I suspect this is true of you also.
YES - I feel the same. And I don't always choose it either!
Ahhh, that's why it's called a practice, I guess.
Okay so this is where all the smart people hang out.. honored to read this.
That’s why we all love our corner of Substack. Thanks so much. I love that you said that
Hi Susan,
I read this the other day, and came back to reread it. I'll probably be back for another read! It's such a full piece; I still don't know how to state my feelings about it adequately. But know this, it did stir up feelings, and that, is a sign of good writing.
The longing to be a writer, a good one, not just 'another' writer. I so relate to that. The hanging in there. Ambition is winning. And yet, on our deathbeds, winning won't be the point of anything.
"Sometimes, I can rest in the knowledge that we are working out our collective story. Countries do what families do, what individuals do." For me, that sums up the essense of your piece.
There's a lot of comfort in that. As you alluded to, I think, presence is what matters most. Our presence, not what we do, accomplished or never accomplish. And yet, at the same time, we keep longing...
A terrific, thought-provoking essay, Susan. Thank you for writing it. Oh, and I have always thought of myself as a misfit. I wonder if most of us feel that we are. Hmm, more food for thought, right?
I save your posts to read first thing in the morning when I have a fresh brain. Beautiful and brilliant work. “I’d eat my own shadow until there was nothing left but light. It was a lot of work.” hooked me. And winning is pointless in the end. Off to watch the misfit talk.
Thanks, Eileen. Oh, that desire to be only light. Now, I'm glad it's impossible. It turns out there's nothing to win in the end and no way to be good. Too bad we can't see that sooner.
Oh Susan,
I love this joy/suffering form, and your deep reflections. I can't quite name what it is you do here. I guess Kind of this...this is what I think. This is what I do. This is what I left. This is how I stayed. So brave and lyrical. (I love that Lydia Y. misfit video too!) I also enjoy learning about your life, like all the writing, on top of being a teacher.
I’m so glad. I don’t know what I do either. I’m glad to have you back in my life again. I know that.
I love the structure of this, the heart of this, the beauty of this, all the truth in it. You may be my wise teacher right now. I can relate to every word.
P.S. I've also chosen to stay in a marriage when almost everything in me seemed to say "go, save yourself." Sometimes, the thing we need to learn is how to stay and finally know -- truly know -- that we're already safe, inside.
That’s right. I like to say that no one knows but you. Truthfully, though, even I didn’t know. It could have gone either way. My ego really wanted that divorce. How simple to make it all his fault and wash my hands. The desire to punish was huge, too. And I could play the victim. All things my soul wanted no part of. I may tell the rest of the story next time.
Ah, yes…I felt the same. And still do. I told myself it was a freedom I deserved, had earned, desperately needed. The “washing hands” and victimhood…? Ah, yes, me too. Thank you, as always, for the mirror and the companionship on the page. And the beautiful writing, of course.
I'm so glad to have met you.
Dear Susan, you did it again. You blew my socks off with your brilliance. The joy of hanging in there is exactly what this piece is about. I expected a different ending with your relationship and you showed me something that I don’t know if I would’ve been able to do.
Thank you for being such a wise teacher.
I love that you are an ambitious writer. One of the best.
Love to you, sister, well done!
Thanks so much. I’m so grateful for you. You know, my practice could have just as easily lead the other way. The tension is in the not-knowing. I was willing to do either. My commitment was to the highest good.
That is the beauty of you and your willingness to hang in the unknown — that is wisdom walking.
I love the meanderings of your mythological mind. I look forward to reading them every week. This one's a doozy. Beautiful. I saw myself in all the suffering/joy examples.
"It’s possible to allow the shadow to arise inside the container of joy. And joy is not moved."
Holding contrast, instead of fighting to control an outcome (because it's rare to achieve) is a place of rest, of peace.
And Lidia Yuknavitch's Misfit talk was mind-blowing. The night I watched it for the first time, I stayed up and watched it 3 times. She's very special genius. And so are you. xo
Every move is a choice, and sometimes the choice causes stress, and that is not fun. But we have to remember that it is always a choice. Even the dumb stuff we do.
Right? Everything.
Gorgeous, Susan. We each walk our own path, obviously, and at crossroads moments some of us will go one way, some another. What I love about this essay is the invitation to go deep into our own inner guidance and trust it. To be gentle and patient with ourselves, and to listen. I value your reminder that at the end of "the game," there are no winners or losers. And why think of life as a game in the first place? I choose to believe that expressions such as your beautiful reflection are part of the collective healing taking place on the planet now. As more of us pierce through old cultural layers, perhaps we really are finding better stories to live by. I hope so.
Thanks Robin. That is my hope, and a good reason for writing right there. We are, I think, in a much needed cultural healing.
Oh we have so MUCH in common. 💜
Exactly
We do. I’d love to meet IRL some day.
So would I! I have a staying or leaving story too. The answer was neither. And guess what? I’m still here. 😉
It’s amazing. So hard to be in the tension. The moment after I shout to the stars that I can’t do it, it happens without me.
It was a total release from duality. ❤️🔥
The receiving of love depends on the giving of it. And then you're well on your way. (But you know this already, you don't need me to tell you this.) The love that you gave your father, in that stunning piece you wrote about him, still bowls me over. And I recently wrote to a dear friend of ours, to remind her that as long as she has a place (on her farm) to give love to even one child, she'll be fine. Love hurts. That's how you know it's real. Best ...