It needed many years, but when I finally realized that as a writer I would not be famous or successful in a way that would pay the bills, and when I understood what a lucky thing that was, the self-imposed burden of the idea fell away, leaving me light, free, ready, and glad for whatever may come. Painful as it was, I do not regret the process; I am not ashamed of it; I am not embarrassed by it; I do not see it as a failure. Rather, I regard it as one of the greatest and best experiences of my life — as are all of my experiences, which vary in duration from moments to years. This is not meant to suggest that I feel I have arrived at a place of intellectual or artistic safety. As ever, wisdom remains that mystical shout ’cross a pond. I only mean to say that I am grateful for what each waking moment seems this timeless, mortal existence, and the chance, if not sacred charge, to try to understand and express it.
January 7, 2020
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