Writing was my job. My dad wanted me to get a real job, and talked me into agreeing to go to a job interview as someone who showed prospective customers show houses. (”You’ll have plenty of time to write between people,” he said cheerfully.)
I took a very long bus trip across North London, and sat in an outer office for a few hours, and then, about 6:15 pm, the secretary apologised to me as they hadn’t yet managed to see me. I took a very long bus journey home, and that was the end of my Day Job.
“I put everything I can into the mulberry of my mind and hope that it is going to ferment and make a decent wine. How that process happens, I’m sorry to tell you I can’t describe.”
Over rivers and valleys, mountains and plains—over all you have lost and all you have gained. Over all you have gathered, and all you let go, you have traveled at length through the wild of unknowns. And through all that is changing you can see you have grown. You have walked in the light. You have not been alone.
Mostly, being stuck in isolation half a world away from my family and friends, while I watch inept, unqualified and corrupt politicians screw things up in the countries I’m not currently in, and worry about my friends’ health and happiness, especially those whose sources of income have just been cut off (most of them) and those who have Coronavirus (two of them that I know of). Thank you for asking. It felt good to share.
“I often see in others a certain amount of fear of [warmth, caring, liking, interest, and respect]. We are afraid that if we let ourselves freely experience these positive feelings toward one another we may be trapped by them. They may lead to demands on us or we may be disappointed in our trust, and these outcomes we fear. So as a reaction we tend to build up a distance between ourselves and others–aloofness”
— Carl Rogers in On Becoming A Person, a therapist’s view of psychotherapy
