From St. Paul, Minnesota, an important and thoughtful letter in my Post Office Box (P.O. Box 202, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816)  for me from a man whose life was upended, and then restored. He sent a contribution to my blog, which was generous, and typed it carefully and neatly. It is rare to get a carefully typed letter any more.

It is his birthday this week. Six months ago, he became a discarded human being, let go after 30 years of work at the same non profit, he was told his staff was being assigned to a new manager and this position was no longer needed. He was urged not to take it personally, as if the loss of one’s life-time identity is not to be  taken too seriously.

This very new idea, the tossing aside of a lifetime’s work so someone else can save money, is no longer confined to the corporations who invented it, it has become all too commonplace. It is becoming an expectation. It is always cruel, always a violation, always a kind of rape of the spirit.

There was a happy ending, he wrote. In a couple of months he found a new job with a former colleague. Although it is half of his former income, it is “energizing and even fun work.” Good words to read, I like this man already.

As a culture, we are forgetting what people are for and instead worshiping what profits are for. No wonder the people are so angry.

“The consistent presence of your story was helpful to me during that time,” he wrote. “Your confession of financial fragility has given me perspective. Lately I have felt your work has deepened – I especially noticed this with your Christmas posts and your discussions of masculinity, friendship and mortality/aging.”

I was struck by the tone of the letter, even, thoughtful, perceptive. I appreciate the idea of my work deepening, I think there is some truth to that. The subject matter of the blog has broadened, and as I navigate through life, it has deepened as well. What it means to be a man. What it means to be mortal. What it really means to find meaning in Christmas. What it means to live.

I have always  believed a writer helps and touches others the most when he or she is authentic, is truthful about their lives.

In the letters to my P.O. Box, I am moved again and again by how many people have stuck with me these years as I have undergone my own hero journey, seen my own life upended and restored. This is the story of a life, and it is a beautiful thing to think of this thoughtful man reading my blog every night before he goes to sleep. It is the last thing he does before he goes to bed.

Godspeed to you, Mr. P. You have give me just as much, if not more comfort, as I have given you, and I thank you for the payment but more than that, for the time and care it took to send me that latter and share a bit of your life.

I have not been blessed with the support of a brother, but I feel like you and I are brothers in a sort, we are walking side by side, thousands of miles apart and forever out of sight. We are even having fun. Thanks for thinking of me and taking this trouble. It means the world to me.

___

You can write me c/p Jon Katz P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.