Archive for November, 2018

What About Long Spells of Silence?

Posted: November 29, 2018 in book; books, communication, epistolary, meaning, Musing, Musings, opinion, relationships
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Wise Friend,

I was just wondering what is going on with you and these long silent spells of yours. I received your picture. You look so well as if years haven’t gone by.

Sensitive Friend,

I’m thinking, not writing, “How come? What do you mean by ‘as if years haven’t gone by?’ Did I look like this when I was twenty?”
I’m writing, “Thank you.”

Wise Friend,

Don’t be slick. This is a provocation.
You’re welcome, in the strict sense of the word “welcome”.

How is your family?

Sensitive Friend,

They are well. My cousin lost a lot of weight, and he looks well. The children are cute. Maya is Maya, much to admire about her, though any discussion requires to be beyond delicate.

Mum is quite well though unhappy about not being in the centre of attention and cannot find anything interesting to focus on. This is a huge shift. She refuses to go out by herself. Therefore, she and her husband play a game of interdependence and power, for which I have no patience.

Unfortunately, I visit them only for two days at a time. I would like to visit them more, even monthly, had it been cheaper. Not out of pleasure, but out of obligation. I hope no longer for emotional and intellectual communication with my family. In their eyes, I’m the black sheep and basta.

It’s not fair to write these details to you. You asked. Would I write they are lovely, I would feel uncomfortable with you and dishonest. Better not to ask me again. What’s the point? I end up pulling you into a “litany”.

I owe respect to my mum. Thank God, I go there in peace, and I return in peace. The emotional tumult has been over years ago. I watch them, and I learn a lot, and I try to apply what I learn to my relationship with my children. Maybe I’m wrong, but I want to let them take the freedom to take risks and to lead their lives the way they want. Ouuf! This subject is out of the way–let’s move on.

Wise Friend,

I don’t always have words to answer. While I read, I feel like sending a smile, to show surprise, a nod without words. No emojis, though.

Sensitive Friend,

Hundreds of things I must do have flooded me. During such times, writing to you falls by the wayside. I sacrifice you. Your answers, help me though. They are funny and make me laugh, and they come from a space of a bond with a male who happens to be both solid and sensitive, a different kind of friendship, though significant for me.

I hope you don’t confuse me with my cousin. My relationship with my cousin during our youth helped me learn how to bond with males. He invited me over when he had male friends or acquaintances coming to visit. They were from such diverse ways of life: some well-read, others rough and never read a book, and those in between, rough and first generation to read and enjoy art and literature. My cousin let me be there in the room, asking me to stay quiet. I learnt how to relate to anybody with fun and ease, irrespective of their background. He also taught me how to befriend women as friends.

Wise Friend,

I’m not sure if I should respond to your letter. It’s beautiful, sincere, well felt, personal and human. I only want to tell you it surprised me your ”hope” that I don’t see you as being like your cousin.

What you wrote about “the black sheep” I can’t comprehend and basta. I suspect that there is more in your head and maybe there are Freudian explanations. I have no cousins or siblings, and I can’t know better. However, I saw my daughter’s influence on my son, and it led to similar problems.

It is what it is, and it doesn’t merit your preoccupation.

You know what you know. Anybody who knows you knows with what to deal.
I don’t know why I chose this subject out of everything you wrote.

I want you to believe me (I hope I don’t disappoint you!) I don’t feel you sacrifice me.
When you feel like writing, write; when not, don’t. It’s elementary and unnatural otherwise.

Wasn’t Nature Mad Today?

Posted: November 28, 2018 in book; books, epistolary, Fiction, meaning, Musing, Musings, opinion, philosophy, relationships
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Wise Friend,

Nature was mad today. It poured with fury. It will continue during the night and tomorrow.

Sensitive Friend,

Oh boy! Take care!

I was in Philadelphia during the Floyd hurricane, decades ago, attending a conference. The friends with whom I stayed begged me to come home by lunchtime before the water would have covered the train tracks.

At 10:00 am the conference people announced that the airport was closed.  After the sessions finished, 12,000 people had to stay there. It would have been an excellent opportunity for business.

While feeling guilty, I left hoping to catch a train. It worried me I would end up in a stormy city with no place to sleep and no way to get back home. As I entered the train station, I heard the announcement my route was suspended. I rushed out, and luckily I caught a cab. The driver told me the road I wanted him to use was not accessible. He took a long trip around. I couldn’t care less, I was in a dry cab and sure I’ll get back home.

When I arrived at my friends’ house, we went in the storm to look at the river. The river covered the streets, and we could see only the top of the traffic lights, popping out of the water.

A nearby, usually fickle, waterfall became a torrent. The water was hitting the bridge with all its might.

Suddenly, Floyd retreated, the night descended, and the stars showed up.

Next days were so sunny I had this feeling that this time the sun was angry.

Wise Friend,

Philadelphia has many nice spots, some beautiful, and a nice mixture of old architecture and small buildings.
A famous person once said, “I went last week to Philadelphia, and it was closed”.

Sensitive Friend,

Hmmm! Maybe!! However, I trust my friend and his passionate love for the city. They have a marvellous Rodin museum.

Words on Your Mind?

Posted: November 27, 2018 in book; books, communication, epistolary, Fiction, meaning, Musing, Musings, opinion, philosophy, relationships
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Wise Friend,

This time, let’s make no sense. Let’s throw thoughts to each other. Unrelated, maybe even illogical.

Sensitive Friend,

You start! Perhaps I can fall in line.

Wise Friend,

Here it is: What word would describe a state of mind when you have questions and thoughts about some events, and they are not real questions–like interrogatively or judgemental, and not worries either? They are on your mind.

Sensitive Friend

Ohhh! I don’t know.
Let me try as well, the throwing part: I’m not even sure if life is unfair, though it is a mystery.

Wise Friend,

I feel as we are already in full winter while people around me tell me they enjoy the Indian summer. I delight in the crispy air mornings and evenings and ask around how much crispier they will get. I get these mysterious smiling answers. They assure me it will get much crispier.

Sensitive Friend,

Driving now is a joy. The trees are in any shade of yellow, green, red-purple you can imagine. Not only the trees but the bushes, too. It is so strange. While still light with the sun practically gone, I go out of the building, and I feel as if the sun is shining, because of the colours of the leaves. Even when raining, I have the same sensations.

Wise Friend,

I’m so unwilling to miss any tree changing its colours, and I have to be extremely careful when I drive, as I look even inside the gardens I pass not to lose any autumn effect.

I imagine having a camera all around the car and being able to push a button on the steering wheel.

How Fast Are You at Discovering Outlier Places?

Posted: November 26, 2018 in book; books, Fiction, Musings, opinion, philosophy, relationships
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Sensitive Friend,

When visiting my aunt, I joined a community event. This was my second time there. The first time, everybody ignored me. This second time, women asked me questions, and one woman invited me to visit her next day and to see their private beach.

The wind was fierce, not beach weather. However, as I’m always willing to meet new people, I went. She wasn’t at home yet, and the husband took me to the private beach, with extensive dunes at the back, a hidden path along the dunes, where the privileged of the area, walk and greet each other like in a secret ploy. Everything is manicured, beautiful, rich, wild, and strange at the same time.

He told me they had adopted a child from Turkey. As we walked, we met a couple that wanted to adopt a child from one of the Eastern Europe countries. I admire people who adopt. They hugged me, just for saying that.

We walked back to their home–a huge house, in dire conditions. It had a beautiful Mediterranean architecture, but it needed, repairs and paint, I thought. We remained in the patio all the time. Just before my departure, she took me inside to take a peek inside. It was magnificent, like a Mediterranean castle with incredible woodwork, so unexpected for a house by an American shore. I noticed big holes in the walls, and it became even more evident the house needed serious repairs.

I had a great time with the lady of the house. In her thirties, in search of a God, she became religious well before her marriage. She grew up in a Catholic family, and something didn’t work in the spiritual department. This woman had studied Greek,  Latin, and was extremely well-read; I call that cultured. Her father had been an architecture professor (she whispered “emeritus”) at Princeton.

Something in the way she talked was so friendly, so subtle and so strange, so light, and so serious.

Wise Friend,

Will go back? Didn’t your aunt show those places before?

Sensitive Friend,

I would like to meet them again.

I went back to my aunt, asked her to get in the car and took her, 5 minutes away from her place, to show her the dunes, the private beaches, the ‘path of adoption’. At the time, my aunt had been living nearby for at least 15 years. She never knew about the place. She was so excited and looking forward to showing those places to her 80-year-old three other girlfriends.

I told her a story about a transient friend in California, Joy. It amazed Joy of how quickly I found outlier places despite a busy life. She used to joke “As you’ve been in Los Angeles for more than two weeks, could you give me directions to …?”

Travelling–Whatever Happened Was Always Good

Posted: November 25, 2018 in Musings
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Wise Friend,

I love your passion and interconnection with people and places–and the way you really get into where you are rather than skin-graft yourself onto it for the duration.

Travelling Friend,

What if I end up living there? There were so many twists and turns in my life I settle wherever I land. How was your long, long trip?

Wise Friend,

Well, the time of recounting has come again. I travelled, I’ve seen new places or places anew, I’ve met people, I’ve worked, and I’ve lost track of my life.

Traveling Friend,

I know you don’t like when people ask you whether you’re excited before your travels. So how was it?

Wise Friend,

Funny, I get annoyed when they ask me, “Are you excited?”

I told them numerous times I plan, I book tickets, hotels, and then I forget. I don’t like to get excited, to dream before my trips. I end up loving each trip as I travelled with no expectations. Whatever will happen will happen. Whatever happened was always good.

Traveling Friend,

But why annoyed?

Wise Friend,

I said the same things so many times, for so many years. A mad desire to have friends remember what I said.

At the end of my travels, I wrote to everybody I met no man. I wanted to reduce the level of anxiety for those friends, who tend to fantasise for me when I travel.

New friends introduced me to men, I had some dates, too few, too boring, the same as in London, Sydney or LA. I think God sent me to many cities in the world and transplanted these men for me to start again and again.

I’m probably supposed to learn something, and I just don’t get it. So this is a joke of life and jokes shouldn’t be taken seriously.

Off this subject, to other things that happened to you!

Traveling Friend,

A while ago I went back to Long Beach Long Island. Initially, I planned to go to Manhattan and see some galleries, too. I stayed in Long Beach.

I could not part from the beach. The weather wasn’t great, which made it perfect as the beach was empty and Proustian. It had incredible lights, all nuances of greys, no greens, no blues. It was misty all the time, and the thickness of the mist made me want to paint. As I never done before, I let myself imagine what would I have painted, how, and captured.

I “forced” my aunt, where I stayed, 80 years old, to walk a bit with me and she could not understand my happiness. To her the weather was awful, and she was feeling guilty that I came during such weather. In time, she realised that something is screwed enough in my mind and soul and I really enjoyed the beach and ocean.

How Clueless Am I?

Posted: November 24, 2018 in author, book; books, communication, editor, epistolary, Fiction, literature, Musing, Musings, Novel, opinion, philosophy, relationships, writing
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Wise Friend.

I have a highly educated friend working in garden maintenance. He asked me to join him for two weeks. I wanted to do some physical work and accepted.  We joke with quizzing customers about both us having masters, being avid readers, and somehow having become blue-collar workers.

Wow Friend,

How do you cope with the physical work?

Wise Friend,

Gosh! It is hot and hard! At the end of each day I’m tired and euphoric, intoxicated with feeling great. I love being outside, and I love hard physical work.

Wow Friend,

Shall I envy you?

Wise Friend,

Yes, please do!

We chitchat a lot. My friend mentioned that one little conversation back at home becomes an obsession for a man if he works alone and nobody distracts him. This is the risk of men doing manual work by themselves.

I attended my book club today. Mainly women. I repeated to them what he told me. You should have heard them! This is what they said:

“Women are extremely well at making an elephant out of a fly inside their heads.”

“They speak with girlfriends, and they expect full support for the ‘seriousness’ of the issue. If the friend tries to shake them up, to check their priorities, the anger would be endless.”

“She goes back home and lashes out emotionally.”

“It’s a myth that women don’t obsess.”

I was speechless. Did you know that? How clueless am I?

Wow Friend,

Somehow, yes. What’s happenning in your home?

Wise Friend,

We are human. Sometimes, we lash at the other. You don’t want to witness that. Thanks God we love each other!

Lunches. The Every Day

Posted: November 23, 2018 in book; books, epistolary, Fiction, Musing, Musings, opinion, philosophy, relationships
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Wise Friend,

When you have the time, and if I’m not indiscreet, please write about lunches to which people invite you.

Sensitive Friend,

I read your request to write about my lunches a few times. It surprised me.
Most of them are acceptable social encounters.
A fascinating and energetic guy from Boston University was at the first lunch.
Once a month he leads scholastic meetings about the social and historical events that took place close the transition to the previous millennium (sects, apocalyptic groups, and so on).

Today I’ll be there for my second time. The first time, I thought it was superficial. I learnt how such tiny groups within universities influence government “policy directly”. This is how they get approved ‘grants’. In reality, the world changes with the superficial thoughts of those who at least invest in these little discussions in contrast to those who do nothing.

Besides, that lunch, I joined another lunch more interesting and emotional. However, so much water passed under the bridge and I can’t return my thoughts to it.

Would mind letting me know what interests you?

Last week, I started asking people about their own stories. I promise to remember them and write them down. Why? I’m not so sure. I don’t write them down, and I forget them.

Wise Friend,

If it took you by surprise why did you respond with a description of such lunches? Shall I omit such questions in the future?

Let me be more explicit, about my request which surprised you. I’ve asked you because merely put (and in general) I like how you describe situations and people through a unique filter; comments about the every day. Did you suspect me of something else?

Sensitive Friend,

Your request surprised me as I remembered your reaction when I had described a lunch in the past. It had been somehow condescending.

It is not a taboo subject. I suspected nothing.

The second lunch I mentioned was unusual, and I wrote about it to two friends of mine, a long time ago.
In the future, I’ll write about lunches (I’ll censor where I need to).

Wise Friend,

Yes, Bravo!. Your reaction means you thought as I did. Meaning beyond the surface drollery, it loses itself in banality when worded effectively.

Wanting to Make a Good Impression

Posted: November 22, 2018 in book; books, epistolary, Fiction, Musing, Musings, opinion, philosophy, relationships
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Wise Friend,

I’m taking now the opportunity to tell you something I noticed about you.

Sensitive Friend,

Is that necessary? Would it help?

Wise Friend,

I hope that you won’t take what I have to say the wrong way. I want to refer to what you call your “audience”. I don’t think who is in your audience is by chance. On the contrary, it reflects a specific state of mind of yours, and the desire to have a “public” in front of which you can “act” in such a way they would end up appreciating you. Maybe you read too many books about “how to make a good impression, “what is the key to success?”, and other recipes that fill the American bookshelves (they belong to the sphere of “behaviourist” influence). Are you now somehow disappointed in the results?

Sensitive Friend,

Really? I’m sure you’ll continue clarifying this strange unsolicited feedback. Am I supposed to not want to make a good impression? Do I need books to teach me to desire otherwise? Are you socialising with the intent to be disliked? I wonder why you bring up these self-help books. I mentioned before I call them “vapourware”. I never mentioned having read them. Do you know what they say? Do you read them, even when despising them?  Like everybody else, I’ve read some of them as they represent current thoughts and life philosophy of the public. They don’t guide or shape me.

Wise Friend,

I don’t believe what these books advise, I’m sure of myself. Such ideas don’t affect me, and they don’t stick unto me. Therefore, I lose in life frequently, or I don’t get what I want, and I’m satisfied when I tell myself: “you all might believe you succeed in making me believe you’re are right, when in fact you’re not, but I know what I know..” I swear at them in my mind, and I mind my way.

Don’t tell me it’s more difficult for you. Is your “public” sometimes dubious? Ignore them, it’s not worthwhile. Be yourself, express yourself as you are and you’ll find a “public” to see you and see your qualities. I know, it’s easy to talk. I miss the direct dialogue to clarify nuances and details.

Though this the essence of what I wanted to share. I think you need to relax the self-control, to look more inside (narcissism?). Hey, I would have so much more to say.

Sensitive Friend,

You sound exactly like those books.
I’m not sure if you sense when I mention new friendships I don’t mean superficial friendships, even if there are times and places when the latter is acceptable as well.

Apart from friendships, I firmly believe there is nothing more important than a warm, kind and loving family.  I dream sweetly, about a year (too much to ask) when I could stay at home each night, mend whatever at home, having a loving person around me, sitting on a couch, back to back, reading quietly, and showing each other some paragraph one of use might like. It hasn’t been yet possible. Life decided differently, and we spend too few evenings together. Not asking too much! Am I?

Nothing is so incredibly wrong with me. Occasionally, a soul asks me what is wrong with me.  Once in a while a soul tells me that my problem is I’m too smart, other soul tells me I’m too lucid (sic!), another one would say to me that when I don’t smile my features are sad or angry, that I overthink, that I don’t drink wine, that…and it goes on and on.
What can I do? I smile and believe in my star. Oops! Do those books say the same?

Wise Friend,

On another occasion (oh! totally and entirely on another occasion), I’ll clarify.
I have nothing to add, either you or I covered all the facts. I’m thinking with an inefficient warmth of you. Believe in your star. Nothing is wrong with you. What made you come up with such nonsense?

Sensitive Friend,

You!

The Glass Half Full of a Specialist in Mediocrity

Posted: November 21, 2018 in book; books, epistolary, Fiction, Musing, Musings, opinion, philosophy, relationships
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Wise Friend,

Re hiatus. What’s new?

Sensitive Friend,

I went to visit my family. Days before that, I spent (wasted?) time on buying presents. I had zero time for my thoughts.
While my soul finds satisfaction, I neglect the side of it which wants to write.

I went to an evening talk about a book. I didn’t read it. However, by now, I’m such a specialist in mediocrity (I can’t call this guru, can I?) that I decided to go to talks about books, even when I hadn’t read the book beforehand because of lack of time.

This way I learn maybe a little and hope to retain what I hear. Yes, I feel slightly frustrated, as everybody else had read the book, and therefore they can comment or ask questions, while I stay silent and try to be invisible – I found both difficult.

Today, I went on a tour, “Boston on foot”. What a beautiful city! I thought a lot about how I spent my time. If I imagine I’m a tourist who needs to work in the cities to visit, then I feel suddenly that I experience luxury and I live in luxury. Talk about glass half full.

In reality, right now, I don’t know what to do with myself and on what to focus. Therefore, I read whatever I seem to choose first. I’ve started dance lessons – swing and samba–which balances the fact that lately, I’ve read about theological concepts.

From time to time, I think about studying for MBA which brings up a slight sense of nausea, as it’s so far from what my soul needs, though it would be wise.

I feel I need to learn about the stock market, which also brings up the mix between nausea and wisdom.

Rarely, I buy a lotto ticket. Maybe reading about theology, being overall a nice person, and actually buying the lotto ticket would bring forth the propitious energy for an instant win, though unbelievable. Then, I won’t need an MBA or knowledge about the stock market.

I had a beautiful day. I brought with me the LA weather for a few days, and I wander around aimlessly, though absorbing.

Wise Friend.

A week has passed since your last email. I didn’t answer immeditaly. It happened before though for different reasons. I’ve registered your current preoccupations: your flight to see your family, samba, theology, the “Boston on foot”, the pseudo-cultural settings and a lot, a lot of thoughts I assume given mainly your tone of sarcasm, self-irony and a pensive sadness transpiring between the lines. I’m not allowing myself to fall again into mt cheap two-cents considerations, though I can’t abstain not remarking “the life is hard, and not only life is hard”.

The glass is half full due to your somehow quasi-absolute freedom (we should avoid using absolute terms..) to do what you want, subject to your limits to the understanding of a “nice girl” that you seem to attach to yourself. Certainly, you are much more than just that, and probably this is it.

Let me walk you through some cultural events I attended.

We attended a movie festival with movies from the country where we both grew up. One of them was remarkable, let‘s call it royal. Two actors, originally from there though now living here, were fantastic. The audience knew each line, and everybody recited as the movie went on. It was mad, beautifully mad.

I attended an evening with Symphony number 2 of Mahler “Resurrection”. I’m an old person. This was the first time in my life I heard it in a concert hall (how else?) What a revelation. A MONUMENT!

Add to this a lot, a lot of work.

Sensitive Friend,

(Glasses, glasses, to drink and be drunk with water)

Right now I can’t call my life hard. I prefer to do what I do, as I do, as I prefer the glass half full to the half empty.

Part of me wanted to let you know I don’t really spend my time entirely to the level of my dreams, though others think what I do is top-top.

We both know it could be better. I’m at peace about adding water from time to time, even if only drops. I imagine it might be a beautiful wine (I don’t drink alcohol) and I take sip by sip. At the half of the glass, I’m drunk.

I envy you for the shows you mentioned and for the opportunity you have to share that pleasure with somebody so close to you.

Recently, I drove for the first time from Boston to NY and back. I was afraid and delighted. I couldn’t believe my elated emotions. Soon, this will become routine. Such I am, I get drunk on my own feelings.

I must go back to samba.

 

 

 

 

 

Is Writing to Friends About Yourself Narcissism?

Posted: November 20, 2018 in epistolary, Fiction, Musing, Musings, opinion, philosophy, relationships
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Wise Friend,

I haven’t written in a while (besides the good wishes around holidays and anniversaries).

The summer is almost over, and the days are much shorter, and perhaps they beckon one towards writing.

I received yesterday your public journal (sic!) and comments about the state of your life. As usual, its literature is of good quality.

Perhaps I told you before I have the impression there is some narcissism here, though I look at it with full, full, full understanding. We all suffer more or less of this syndrome, including the author of these very lines.

In other words, being your own heroine/protagonist, I suspect writing about yourself (to friends!) you look at yourself excessively from outside.

Sensitive Friend,

Narcissism? Interesting.
Ironically, I’m always surprised when somebody likes me. Most probably you don’t know I experienced such surprises (I mean getting compliments) only after I left my family back home.

For some reasons, I grew up hearing a refrain repeated on any occasion. This tiny family enjoyed pointing out my defects only. Among others, “I was born looking like my father (big mistake!), I was ugly, I needed to hide my legs (not perfectly shaped), my chest was too small, my bottom too low, I don’t know how to behave, I’ve been prone to gaffes, I never had a sense of humour, and overall too few people would like me.”

Since then, it seems, I’ve been in a continuous process of validation and evaluation to what extent these labels have been real or not.
I’m the only one initiating visits to the family.

I view being in touch with my small family as significant, and the sound and happy qualities of this family overwhelm such nonsense.
During these many years, they uttered only two compliments, one by mistake, followed by an immediate retraction. The former was back in the country of origin, and the other one was in a letter. It must have been a mistake as well.
Admittedly, I’ve been fighting this image. However, perhaps, I developed an odd model of reference.

Yes, you’re correct I watch myself from the outside.
Initially, I started writing to a group of friends, who usually like my news. They call me frequently and ask me how various people, in this country, welcome me. Therefore, I use such language. Meanwhile, other people entered my life, asked me to include them in the email list, and I adjusted my writing.
My life is not only about successes. Many of the failures are related to my personality. I don’t write about them, not wishing to focus on them.
Somehow, it is little of me in these emails, in which there is already too much.

Wise Friend,

This time, you were 100% you: without public, without literature. How beautiful you write: “it is little of me in these emails, in which it is already too much.”
You have no difficulty in understanding me. I’m the one with a confused way of explaining, maybe precisely because I weigh my words too much (out of fear!). Sometimes, I play with words, though not today.
You’ve told me at other times about your “inferiority complexes”. Those descriptions might be correct, though even you notice how foolish it was to become their slave.
You are the way you are. Features you describe them as “defects”, and which you list with the disregard they deserve, lack any significance to be even considered seriously. Let’s be serious! Your value and quality are not defined by what you see, but by what those receptive to you detect.

Sensitive Friend,

It would shock you that I believe I can be 100% myself when I acknowledge good and even beautiful features of mine, and it’s healthy that I see them, without narcissism. I don’t let such things go to my head, though.

Others, including you, would feel uncomfortable with me or anybody else doing that. Bringing up “inferiority complexes” and self-doubts seems to be perceived as authenticity, relaxes them. It‘s a dance people crave.

Yes, I’m my “own heroine/protagonist” in emails about myself. To what extent shall I limit that?

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