I woke up in a state of exhaustion this morning; I felt drained. I started to nod off at the computer, a place of intense awakeness for me.
I’m torn between a strong desire to do some good, have some quiet, cheer up other people, write essential things, stay alive, help keep others alive, keep up with the chaotic and frenzied news.
And try to become myself.
That shouldn’t be hard to do while “sheltered-in-place.”
It’s ironic because I’m almost entirely confined to my farmhouse right now, and yet, I’ve never worked harder or been more exhausted, or more connected with the outside world. It’s not the body, it’s the spirit.
But I do know this morning. I need quiet, I need to become myself. I need solitude.
I think I have never been more useful and helpful than I have been these last two weeks, with the help of many good people.
But of course, it takes a toll; I am no superhero. I feel like my spirit has been drained into a bowl and tossed outside into the compost pile.
There is a voice in my head this morning – I hardly slept last night – crying to me to take some time to become myself.
I have learned more than once not to give pieces of myself away. I feel today as if there isn’t much left for me.
People sometimes tell me I am getting better and better, but my trajectory has never been onward and upward.
I got a lot of praise for my work this week and a lot of criticism.
People thanked me for helping them find perspective in this whirlwind, and people felt betrayed and angry that I am not just putting up stories and photos of cute animals.
This is my sometimes schizophrenic world, it’s always been this way.
I am not a person of the left or the right, that’s too small and hateful a world for me.
I’m afraid there are many more parts to me, good and bad.
We live in a remarkable country at an extraordinary time.
I have never received more praise or more criticism for writing what I think and believe. Freedom seems like such a beautiful and straightforward idea, but it isn’t. It’s like Jesus – often evoked but never really accepted.
Being in this position at this remarkable time is probably a perfect place to be. Everyone is home, everyone is paying attention, even to me.
This morning, two of hundreds of messages that sum it up:
Linda: “Made my day that your essay is being read by so many. It’s been a long time since I’ve read such educational pieces of journalism. Job well done. Thanks.
Mary: “Can’t believe one of my favorite authors that touched my heart in so many ways got so political. Suggestion: please stick to beautiful animal stories..”
The big idea of my blog has always been to offer an honest account of my life and some respite from the mayhem of the outside world.
Bedlam Farm is a very peaceful place – and yet here I am, right in the fray, getting almost 200,000 shares online for several pieces I wrote and scores of pleas for me to shut up and write beautiful and cute animal stories.
I had to break the sad news to Mary: I will always write what I want to write. I can’t help it. She will be disappointed. The good news for her is that no one is forcing her to read me at all.
In many ways, this freedom is the point of my life. So strange a thing, all the people who want to tell me what to write, rather than let me just become myself and face the consequences.
I’m exhausted this morning, but happy with myself and proud of my work, both with the refugees and older people at the Mansion and others with my writing. I think I have helped a lot of people this week, and a lot of people have helped me.
It feels right.
My life has a lot of chapters – author, police reporter, political writer, dogs, animals, producer, child caretaker, editor, media critic, a writer with a farm. That’s not a boast, most a reflection of mental illness.
They all came together this week. I’m not sure I’ll ever be quite the same.
Most of my life, I have been losing and finding myself; this is sometimes a dizzying circle. I’ve always been smart enough to do many different things, but not sane enough to stay with anyone of them.
Today, this week, that seems like a blessing. I feel like I’ve reversed the order of my life, doing my best work later in life, not sooner. How strange is that? How fortunate? I have never had less desire to move or do something else.
The coronavirus seems to have called all of my different parts together, and I find it both exhilarating, draining, and intensely creative. For these past few years, I have much loved what I am doing, and every day I seem to like it more and more.
Perhaps I have become my self and just couldn’t see it.
Of course, not everyone will love or even like my path. Our poor frazzled country is so full of hate and resentment. We are each called to find our truth.
This morning, a friend send me a relevant poem by Mary Sarton called
How I Become Myself.
“Now, I become myself. It’s taken
Time, many years, and places.
I have been dissolved and shaken,
Worn other people’s faces,
Run madly, as if Time where there,
Terribly old, carrying a warning.
“Hurry, you will be dead before—“
(What? Before you reach the morning?
Or the end of the poem is clear?
Or love safe in the walled city?)”
Now, I become myself. Hurry, I might be dead before I lose it again.
Jon, give yourself permission to just rest and relax over the Easter week-end.
Good enough is good enough. You do what you can and that is good enough.
How about a nap?
DearJon, please just keep being you. Flaws and all, I can relate to that as a human being. Oh, we would be so perfect as to fit into everyone’s concept of what they feel is right, what they want to read. Your writing over this past week, your journalism on the political climate in Washington and New York were brilliant pieces of writing. Yes, surprise, there is still a remarkable talent there yet. So, it doesn’t suit everyone, well, it’s your blog, as you say, they don’t have to read you, but I suspect they will. Why? For the simple reason that we never know what is going to come out of that intellectually creative mind of yours and how you see the world. It gives us room for thought, in our own minds. I’m still giggling over the Greek analogy. Don’t ever loose that quirky sense of humour of yours,
Sandy Proudfoot, in Canada.
Always the wish that you may find patience enough in yourself to endure, and simplicity enough to believe; that you may acquire more and more confidence in that which is difficult, and in your solitude among others.
Rainer Maria Rilke
Jon, your blog is the garden and your thoughts written are the seeds. Those that don’t like what you’re saying are still hearing you, they’re still reading. The anger comes from having what they have always believed, challenged. Keep planting.
Luanne Hutchison
Canada
I am reminded of something Andrew Cuomo said last week when asked if he was tired. “Am I tired? Of course I’m exhausted . But when I feel tired, I think of the heath care workers, and how exhausted they are. I think of the hours they are working and the dedication they have to care for strangers. I think of them and I carry on.” I am of course paraphrasing, I don’t remember his exact words. As a frontline provider, his words made me weep. He has been my rock for weeks now. One thing I learned through this is that hard times bring out the best and worst in people. May we all strive to be the best that we can be.
I think you get rejuvenated from your interactions with all the people you usually get to interact with and that is missing. A lot of energy changes hands with the human connection.
Thoughts and feelings spill over into words that can’t describe them As soon as we try we e lost the moment. We. Red to try in order to satisfy our thirst to communicate with be friends ourselves and sometimes others who know how to listen. I listen to you and thank you for your moment in time. Namaste
Beautiful.
Thank you.
Maybe this is the lesson of the virus? To become ourselves.
Jon, I admire and respect all that you do for the good of the world and yourself. I have read all of your books. You have touched my heart in so many ways. I even adopted a 3 year old neglected and abused border collie. I followed your advise that was so helpful so thank you for that. He lived an additional 12 yrs and was the best dog I’ve ever owned. I just felt that when people ate being criticised no matter who it is they should have the opportunity to defend themselves. I guess I’m just crying out for the world to be a kinder place. And you seem like that type of person Jon. So sorry for stirring emotions or being a part of it. I try and do the best I can too. I want all of us to.
Dear Jon, In reference to this morning’s mail responses, I agree, word for word, with “MARY”. Paul and I have read and loved everything, books, articles, and photos on your website. We especially love your animals!! I have a photo of Gus, 12 weeks old, on my desktop screen saver. We have driven from Virginia to one of your Fall open houses, and are dedicated to you and Maria. Although I have known, by reading you, that you have political leanings unlike, mostly, ours. Your promise to never insert politics into your blogs was commendable! Now you know why we agree with “MARY”.
Enough said. We are still yours! Rebecca and Paul
Jon – Please don’t change a thing. It’s been a month since I discovered your blog and in this short time you have inspired me. Yes, your animal-focused pieces are what drew me in, but I also value your other posts. There is a realness to your writing that comforts me. Because I’m tired of reading hype disguised as inspiration that ends with the author selling instructions for success. I’m exhausted by the glorification of busyness. The idea that I deserve to (must) spend hard-earned money on a luxurious vacation as a reward for hard work has now gone stale. You write truthfully. You write about what it is like to be human and what it takes to be a good one. What does it say about us when the World Health Organization needs to instruct us to Be Supportive, Be Careful, Be Alert, Be Kind? Have people forgotten to be kind? It is my hope that COVID teaches us that we need each other. We need each other to be kind to all living creatures, in good times as well as pandemics and political turmoil. In other words: always. When you share your own struggles, triumphs, ideas and opinions I feel like there’s hope.