Watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you

So therefore I dedicate myself to myself, to my art, my sleep, my dreams, my labors, my sufferances, my loneliness, my unique madness, my endless absorption and hunger because I cannot dedicate myself to any fellow being.

~ Jack Kerouac

It resonates completely until I see that Jack Kerouac died after throwing up blood. The malt liquor. Then that other guy who shot his wife in the head. Burroughs somebody. And I wonder about literary figures. They're all drunk and staggering and haunting people today, I bet, still muttering and ranting in disassociated lines.

Or.

I'm wondering about a middle ground with wooly blankets and nubbly cardigans and nobody shot in the head and don't you think? Where yes, you are uniquely mad. But functionally uniquely mad. Endlessly absorbed but in the mildly scattered kind of way instead of in the crap-I-shot-my-wife-in-the-head kind of way. Unable to dedicate to another human being only in occasional fits.

Roald Dahl says you're a fool to become a writer, your only compensation being absolute freedom but then I'm not so sure about that. He bought a wagon from a Romanian gypsy and his kids played in it and I think he had more in the way of compensation than absolute freedom. He's got a point, though, even if he reached a point where his own point no longer applied to him. He had no master except his own soul, and that, he was sure, was why he did it.

+++

I stood at the front of the classroom feeling unqualified but not only that: I lied. I told them that inspiration is less about fairy dust and more about brute force. I warned them to quit thinking they know what failure is or what incompetence is, and I warned them the same of the word 'talent'. I told them that 75% of people who begin writing a novel never finish the last 25%. I told them there's one thing that separates those who finish and those who tried and failed to write a novel once: the brute force.

I lied.

Not that it isn't true. It is. But how is it fair for me to lecture on it when I can't rustle it up myself? When I can't finish? Missy begs for her time, her place, and I can't because this thing is a hydra now, two new heads grown for every reconciled one. I can't figure out where anything belongs, if it's worthy, what to do next. It's already too long. It's running away. Or am I? I feel entrusted with too much. I stare into space and think about how we had to remortgage the house when I could have been... I don't know. Doing something that either 1) pays more than absolute freedom because all absolute freedom does is run up your credit line; or 2) doesn't cause me to drunkenly shoot someone in the head.

Watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you

You're not getting enough air, like normal people.

Watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you

I don't know why you do this.

Watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you

Stop writing then, if you don't like it so much.

Watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you

That's all me saying those things. Constantly. Muttering. One self shrieks at the other self and the other self whispers back, sometimes in the voice of Roald Dahl. All this might lead you to believe that I think I'm a writer, literary, worthy of malt liquor and Romanian gypsy wagons and creative agony. I don't think so. Or that I'm ever going to do something truly good. That I'm doing what I should. That it's worth the expense, the endless absorption. I don't know about all of it. I feel ridiculously presumptuous at the same time as I feel like the keeper of invisible children that nobody else can see but me, invisible children waiting for me to be devoted enough, brutish enough.

Instead I'm just staring at them apologetically, angry at myself, trying to figure out what happens next.

They wait, staring back.

Can you do me a favour? Tell me the one thing you espouse but continually fail at. Your truthiest truth, your highest ideal. That thing you'd most want to tell your kids to remember, but that also makes you feel like a fraud to insist on it. Is it enough to not succeed but practice? Is practicing the point?

Comments

[Neil]

I doubt you even know how to use a gun or drink yourself to death, so I'm not that worried. Remortgaging the house is small time stuff for a crazed artist.

My question to you is -- What would you tell another person if you came to their blog and read the exact same post that you just wrote?

Exactly.

Why are we always so much nicer and clear-headed when it comes to others than ourselves?

[thordora]

You mean, like everything? I can wax lyrical about everything, about the hope in my life, the new love, blah blah blah but it's like a fucking freight train that I'm waiting to derail. It's all the balls I juggle, every day. I tell my lover it's easy, that it's nothing I mind at all. I tell everyone that.

I'm a fucking liar, just like the rest of us. It's not easy, it's hard and I'm tired of it but instead I'll grin at my kids and my man and somehow make it look easy. And the kids will grow up and learn the same thing.

[nic @mybottlesup]

thank you for giving me something to marinate on.

[pixie]

hot damn i love your writing. and your voices. i espouse self-care. what i teach is what i have to learn, eh? that's my story. can't wait to see you in nc. and maybe throw back a malt liquor for jack. ;)

[Karly]

The one thing I espouse but totally fail at?

Well, the thing I believe of everyone, EVERYONE, is that they have something worth saying, that they have worth.

And yet I can't believe it of myself - strange predicament for a writer to be in.

[Forgotten]

I tell myself I can do this. That there's nothing that has been thrown at me that I haven't been able to handle so far. It's a lie. I haven't been able to handle love. Not once so far have I managed to hold on to it but I keep insisting it's out there for me. What if it isn't? What if it's just a lie we tell ourselves to get through one more day?

[sweetsalty kate]

Okay so Neil it's a totally unfair and low blow to insinuate that I couldn't figure out how to use a gun in case I needed to shoot it accidentally in a drunken stupor. I don't appreciate your lack of faith in me.

What would I tell another person if I came to their blog and read this? Stay away from malt liquor.

Thordora, thanks for the fucking-liar-fistbump. Lying is half the battle. G.I. Joe said that. I think.

Pixie, gosh. Malt liquor sounds yummy. Can you bring some? I don't think we have malt liquor in Canada. Canadian writers have to lose their minds with Schooner Lite. It's a damn shame.

Karly... yup. nodding.

[Dana]

I tell myself I'm a writer. Then I stare at a blank screen for four hours and curse myself as a fraud.
I tell myself I'm kind. Then I shriek and howl with impatience and rage and make my children tremble.

[sweetsalty kate]

Forgotten, but you keep insisting. That's where the beauty is.

Dana, me too. All of it.

[Bethany]

I tried to be a writer for a long time, but I'm just not, and I'm okay with that. But you? YOU ARE.

[Natalie]

2 things are my biggest lie (and also my biggest truth)

I am a good lawyer...because I am not...yet I am...yet I fail...yet I try so damn hard...sometimes and other times I do not...fuck it. It's both.

I am a good wife. I fail at this...every day...and I also win at this...for continuing to fight...to get better at it and become the partner that I know I can be. But also, it eludes me...this natural instinct to put someone else (aside from my child) ahead of me. Should I want/need to do this? Probably...yet I don't. I guess it's a lie and a truth.

[Brooke]

Oh, gosh. I always tell my students that writing is agony but having written makes it worth it. I also tell myself that money is not the point and that I am not a materialistic person. I say that repainting the living room will be fun. I bought ingredients to make homemade bread. I also bought new running shoes. The divide between who I want to be and who I actually am is breathtaking. I don't run every morning and I don't make fresh baked bread in the evening. I am working, though, on cutting myself a little slack. Sometimes the daily grind is hard enough.

[Jen/LA]

1) I need to go finish my editing, my brute force is lacking
2) my truthiest truth, "You are loved" I say it all the time to kids, my friends, my hairdresser! Can't look in the mirror and buy it though, probably why I preach it...

This post just could not hit me in the proverbial gut harder, but Ina good way :)

[kathleen]

my truthiest of truths:

i repeat repeat repeat that it will all be okay. i know this to be the truth because even now, things are okay. more than okay really- all lucky and bright and laughing and full-to-brim-joy.

but every extra ounce of me is made up of molecules of worry and doubt and every extra second is consumed by the constant re-solving of the equation of how it will all go wrong.

it is possible to know both to be true? it will all be okay, and it will all go wrong.

[KP]

OH god, I tell people all the time to be kinder to themselves. To be gentle with their fragile psyches, to plan alone time and together-with-friends time and little surprises for themselves and to take care of themselves the way I know they deserve to be taken care of. And then I turn around and shit on myself, tell myself I will never be good enough or deserving enough, don't take particularly good self-care, and think self-kindness is wonderful in theory but have no fucking clue how to do it without feeling like a fraud. I have no idea how to practice what I preach and sometimes I just completely disregard it because ordering myself around sternly and yelling at myself that I'm a fuck-up is familiar and comfortable. That's my truthiest truth.

[Fer]

Truthfully? Don't gossip, I say, or talk behind others' backs...and I try, but...

Love your writing...re-shimmers the glitter for me.

[twoblueshoes]

I fail, constantly, to be happy. To look at all that I have and appreciate that it is both everything I've ever wanted and more than most people get. Instead I think of maids and personal trainers and independent wealth and all the things that I think will free me up to get on with the serious business of LIVING. And all the time, the life that I do have, that is wonderful, is marching steadily onwards and away.

[Ryan]

Kate,

You know if I said the truth people would say, oh no, that isn't true. Then I would be accused of fishing for compliments or being whiney. You can't win. I feel like I am terrible at just about everything I do. It's a sickness and something I rely on to keep pushing myself to be better. To be great. I don't want to be decent, I want to master it.

Me telling you that you're one of the most original voices I have read isn't going to quiet any voices in your head. I have a feeling that you are just going to have to make friends with all of you living inside your head, and one motivates the next to keep your legs pumping forward.

[Anngeedee]

Patience. I want to teach my children that desperately, but I can't seem to show any myself. I want changes to happen now. In me, in them, in the world. But mostly me.

[Aina]

It's mundane, but people in our house often can't find things because the things have not magically migrated back to the spots where they belong. So I periodically rant and lecture about how important it is for our psyches to put things back, to bestow a place on every thing, how every thing needs its own place, how without physical clutter, our psychological landscapes will be more at peace. Yet this is one of my own biggest challenges. And I'm still learning how to do it myself, and I'm not that good at it. My mother wasn't able to teach me these habits, and I fear passing this on the lack of this skillset to my kids.

[Cheryl Arkison]

I still believe in the power of brute force. In my case that manifests itself in lack of sleep.

The lie I tell? My 5 year old is a total spaz at trying new sports. If she gets it in her head that she enjoys it then she is tenacious and embraces all the falls, spills, and trouble it takes to learn something. So skiing and hula hoop were good for her. She persisted and figured it out quickly. But skating and riding her bike? She can't do it at the Olympic level from the get go therefore she sucks and it isn't worth doing - in her mind. I stand there and get infinitely frustrated with her. I tell her that you have to work and practice and try and try again. And she cries and spazzes and goes to bed early for bad attitude.

I should go to bed myself because I do exactly the same thing.

It's the fear of failure that keeps me from trying in the first place. That's why I still believe in the power of brute force. If I just fucking do it then I do it, whether I excel or not.

[Megan]

I often tell people, that it is ok not to be liked. That if everyone likes you, you are doing something wrong. That people-pleasing can turn into a disease... but it can be so difficult to take off my mask and deal with the consequences of the true self that I am finding/creating/living. I am 32 & I have lacked a "true self" for most of my llife.

[nic @mybottlesup]

i've been thinking about this post since i originally read it last night. i've made a list of things that could be my "one thing" and all of them seemed legit in their own right. and then i thought of how to construct a comment to this post that has rocked me to my core (in a positive way). eventually all of these thoughts led me to the realization that although i tell people not to care what others think, i do. this process in itself shows me that i do. i searched for the best possible way to comment on this... the best possible thing to say... and for who? me? you? your readers? strangers? the truth is i care what other people think and i am so angry at myself for caring. i want to just live. i want my son to just live, being content in who he is, not caring what the world thinks of him, of his family, of our life. how do i teach something that i don't entirely believe in myself?

[Fred Miller]

I've written four novels and have stopped in the middle of two more. You're right. The difference between finishing and failing is brute force. Just finish.

Also, Samuel Adams in the morning is good, but only sometimes. Whiskey in the late evening is good. But mostly I write sober. I don't like it when writing interrupts my serious drinking.

[Chelsea]

Inner peace. Being happy with who I am, where I am, and living in the moment.

Regarding Missy - my girls and I are happily waiting, imagining what sort of adventures she will get up to - and will be glad to read of them, whenever she is ready.

~C~

[Kerri Anne]

I tell myself I'm a runner, and I am, even on the days when I walk. I feel that way about writing. Fits and starts, fits and starts, but always: a hankering inside me to tell stories both real and imagined, whimsical and phantom.

And it's funny, because I had the tortured writer conversation this past weekend with a dear soul-friend. And we think, both of us together--as both of us grew up chasing our darkness on ink-splattered pages--that it's preferred, whenever possible, to swim the current of despair, but not live there. That maybe that's the trick to being able to hold onto your memories and tell your hardest stories--the ones you never chose but that are yours nonetheless--and yet not end up in a dark alley somewhere.

[starrlife]

Being tactful. See how blunt I am? More than anything I want to show kindness but I also have a strong drive for truth sorting and the two do not mix well :)
But I think that you are right - it is a certain kind of brute force that makes the finishers so effective. Focus, drive and discipline- ummmm... I suppose I never will finish.

[Tanya]

I'm a bitch. A terrible bitch of a woman who gets crabby at her kids and husband. I fear that I am one of those women who the nice guy marries who treats him, not terribly, but not so nice sometimes. I worry that he is going to become that guy in city slickers who pretends to sleep when his wife looks for him.
I just snapped at him because he wanted me to watch looney tunes with he and the kids instead of typing here. I can't stop. I am constantly apologizing.
I tell my children to treat each other and their parents nice, but look at me. This is where they learn it.
Maybe I am not all bad, but I usually feel like a failure, a loser, a fraud as a mom and wife. I only hope they remember me better than this.

[Jacinta]

I will wake up early in the morning. I will wake up early in the morning. I'll stop loathing myself for not waking up early. I'll wake up early to exercise and write, so I'm not stiff, so one day I can say I'm a writer... But dear God, do I love sleep. Maybe I need iron. Iron supplements! So I'll take my multivitamins, and Omega3, and iron, and I'll wake up early. I'll do so for awhile, maybe 10 days, maybe 15 in a row. And then, well then, something happens. Something stronger than my will. An event, one late night... Then I'll have to start all over again. What if I do it for a month? Will it become a life long habit after that? I'll dominate the world some day, when I'll have finally conquered sleeping in, to the point I don't have to think about it. In the meantime, these failures keep me humble, and I suppose this enforced humility is a gift.

[Deb @ San Diego Momma]

I tell myself and everyone to keep going, keep going.
Even when it feels dead in the water, even when you float, immobile in that water.
Keep going. Keep going.
And it will be OK.
And I believe it, and then I don't.
But I keep saying it.

[Christine Sweet]

I'm constantly encouraging/teaching/correcting my children to be more selfless, to prefer others above themselves. To be generous. To be patient. To use their sweet voice. I can't seem to get a handle on it myself though. Especially the generous part. But I'm so passionate about these concepts, these truths. It's so crazy. I'm hoping my children will end up teaching it to me and then I'll get it. It's kind of already starting...

[Jessica]

I am constantly telling my three year old to be less bossy, less forceful, less disruptive. All things I could work on in myself. I also tell myself I will do something fearless and out of the box, then I sit prisoned at a desk all day, bobbing my head, just to pay the bills.

[sweetsalty kate]

Just staring at these comments with my mouth hanging open. That means I'm thinking, liking, relating. thanks so much everyone... fascinating, all of it, and with so many parallels.

[Matt H]

Kate, this is not answering your question, but reading the Kerouac quote brought to my mind an alternative, and I think much better, take on things- here's some William Carlos Williams:

Danse Russe

If I when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,—
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
"I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!"
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,—

Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?

[Kim]

Um. Where to begin.

We should brush our teeth after every meal.
We should wash our hands before every meal.
We should take time to read lots of books and not watch TV nearly as much as we read.
We should put God first in our life.
We shouldn't eat junk.
We should eat kale.
We should be friendly to everyone and have people into our home often.

I breathe hypocrisy.
My only comfort is that I think most parents do-- whether we admit it or not.

[Schmutzie]

This weblog is being featured on Five Star Friday - http://www.schmutzie.com/fivestarfriday/2011/7/8/five-star-fridays-156th-edition-is-brought-to-you-by-charlot.html.

[Sweetney]

We all feel this, as writers, I think. Vacillating between pride and arrogance to feelings of worthlessness and that we are, in some way, imposters. No amount of praise or superficial "success" can burrow in and take root, convince the core self (superego - ha!) that we're not in some way fooling people, and ourselves, and that we will be unmasked. We write ot *get it right,* to say it, finally, with the words that will perfectly capture both form and spirit. And when we do, that moment is the juice, a feeling so satisfying it's almost narcotic. But it of course dissipates, and we remember we aren't superhuman, and we see the cracks. Everywhere, cracks.

And the cracks are why we write.

[jen]

The biggest fraud I tell my girls is not to care what other people think. That most people are so self-absorbed they won't notice that your outfit is not quite right, or there's a big gap between your two front teeth or your breasts are ridiculously small.

I know I shouldn't care what other people think, and I don't want my girls to care, but I am too often immobilized by exactly that fear.

[J]

How important it is to get enough rest. Written at 3:44am in my country. *sigh*

More than anything I want to be a disciplined person and if there is a gift I could give my kids, that would be it. I lack discipline. For the most part I make up for it with enthusiasm - I get super involved and make things happen. But rarely according to a carefully constructed plan, even if I do actually take the time to construct the plan. In fact, sometimes I spend long periods of time constructing the plans, and then have to rush to actually do the real work in a flurry.

If I had great self-discipline everything that stresses me in my life would be improved. So much so that some of the things wouldn't even stress me.

So, while discipline visits me from time to time, it's sheer enthusiasm, or - when the enthusiasm wanes and the deadlines come - determined brute force that gets me through.

[anymommy]

Be present in the moment. I want it so badly, but I wish so many precious moments away.

[Jenn]

"The days are long but the years are short."
"Take more pictures to capture the memories, but be present in the moment."
"Document their childhoods - you'll only regret it if you don't..."
"Burn this memory into your head - the feel of her sleeping in your arms. Her beautiful downy-soft hair, her lovely face. She'll only be this young once."

I try so hard not to wish it away, and I don't want to wish it away - but on days when I've reached my max and my husband is away in another country yet AGAIN for business, it's just hard to be as convincing, even to myself.

But I want to believe it. And to be that person, that mother, that makes this a truth and not just an aspiration.

[Bethany]

I'm relatively new to your blog, but I'm already hooked. Your writing is incredibly powerful. You are amazing.

To answer your question...
I constantly preach how important it is to love yourself, to accept who you are, to realize that beauty is a quality that has less to do with your body or facial features and more to do with your spirit. But when I look in the mirror, all I see is a body twice stretched by pregnancy; a belly that folds over the bright purple scar left after two c-sections; breasts that have been engorged and deflated and engorged again with feeding those babies; creases forming around my eyes and growing deeper daily for lack of sleep and excessive frustration. I try to tell myself that it was all for a good cause, that I would do it all again, and that the beauty is in the two amazing children I have and the way I interact with them, but I still wonder constantly how my husband can stand to see me naked when I myself can barely stomach it. I tell other women they should feel good about themselves and take care of themselves, that they're worth it, but I haven't bought new clothes in over 4 years, because I just think,'hey, I'm fat, I'm not gonna look good no matter what I do. Who cares if my jeans have holes or my shirt has spit-up stains? This is my life now'. For the record, my husband constantly tells me I'm beautiful and should buy nice things for myself, but I just can't bring myself to believe him. But I'm working on it.

[EarnestGirl]

Truthiest truth? That I am afraid I know none. And that I lack the strength of character for the brute force.

Then I read something, or hear a lyric, or maybe if I am very very lucky a few words string themselves into something that vibrates, and I think: there it is. But I am lazy, and hedonistic, sleepy and hungry, needed in mundane ways that tug so at my sleeve. And oh, look! there is dinner to be made and that is a solace when I prefer not to squint directly at the thruthiest truths.

Leonard sings them. Some nights it is enough to hum along. Some nights I can forgive myself. Some nights I cannot.

Be gentle on your good self Kate. Step aside and give yourself the advise, tell truths, you as if you would tell them to a friend. Missy understands.

[Julie Alvarez]

I want to be a singer.
I want to be a good person.
I thought I was both.
I am never sure.

[Sara Sophia]

This is one of the best posts I've ever read.


I feel it.

[christine]

That I love what I do. That I'm blessed and happy. That my heart is eternally grateful for the wonder of this life that has been bestowed upon me.

Every morning I wake up and say, "Today is the day I will do it." You know... IT. That thing, that shining, glowing ideal that bobs and flutters just out of reach. That I exhaust myself daily, grasping for it and at night fall back in bed sad and deflated when it eludes me yet again.

Art, in whatever form you express it, is war. A battle I didn't want to sign up for but still, I soldier on.

[Robin]

Two things:

I tell myself that I Trust The Process, when really, in the midst of painting, I think the process can go fuck itself.

Also, I tell my 3-year-old son ALL THE TIME that if he's having trouble with something he should ask for help instead of pitching a whining fit about it. Ha! I should know!

*

I think you're doing beautifully on both counts... you've reached out from the middle of the process, where it is messiest and richest and has the most to teach you.

[Christa]

That I am enough, just as I am.

That we all are.

I hope I am right.

Sometimes, I wonder.

[anja]

the truthiest truth? that i don`t dare love myself for who i am now, that i don`t dare be proud of myself because i am so scared that things will shatter around me. i am constantly grateful and scared at the same time, my heart is a big and scary place.i love and fear the world equally but tell my son to embrace it. but some days, just some days, i wake up and the air smells of wet leaves and hope.

[Dawn]

Oh.

The truthiest truth?

I hate more than I love. And I can't see anyway to fix it.

That more time will let me heal and finish and grow, but it never seems to quite work. There is always more things, more time needed.

That I want love in my life. Love in a bigger and grander way than I have had, but that I don't deserve it and anyway I can't have it and it is all in my head and I should just find a way to settle and be happy and content.

But I never,never am.

And I understand how you can end up an eccentric old writer, drinking too much and embittered and wanting to shoot the people you love because god dammit, why can't they see that you are no good - that THIS is no good.

And that I understand how people kill themselves, not simply from depression, but from the exhaustion of listening to all the noise in your head - the voices that push you beyond creative output into hysteria. From delight into delirium.

And that I want to run away from everything, even my daughter who keeps me grounded to this plane of existence, and just pretend everything is still wide open.

Those are my truthiest truths kate.