Thanks, Robby. It was a great way for me to bring everyone from the book to join me in celebrating Harry Bernstein's 100th birthday. He is, after all, the senior member of the book. But more, it gave me an opportunity, to feel as if all the people in the book who had shared so much with me could be joined in a collective act.
Too, Harry had been very generous in praising the book and in expressing his admiration of others in the book, and I knew how much it would mean to him to have everyone in the book wishing him well. And it did. He was very grateful and moved.
I am always amazed by Harry's mind and memory, but was growing concerned about his ability to bounce back from an illness. He had been recovering for months in his daughter's apartment in Brooklyn Heights. Always, when we spoke, even through his worst coughing spells, he remained committed to finishing his fourth book, which he was dictating onto a recorder for his daughter, a nurse practitioner with many responsibilities, to type at night before she went to bed. Every time we spoke over the phone as I worked on the book, Harry would, at some point turn the conversation away from him and ask me, "So, Bruce, how is the book coming?"
I was as desperate to see it published in March for my sake as to be able to say to Harry, it has been published. I knew how much he wanted that for me. Having suffered so many years of rejection -- 40 novels rejected -- over so many years, he was, other than my mother and Robby, perhaps my greatest cheerleader. He even nominated me for a Guggenheim award, of which he is the oldest recipient ever. So, my gratitude to Harry as a subject for my book, as a model of persistence as a writer, and now as a friend is considerable.
I prayed that he would be well enough to celebrate his birthday on May 30. That that morning, when he awoke, he felt a little disoriented. He was, after all, not in his own home, but still in the hospital bed in the spare bedroom of his daughter's apartment (in the converted hotel where my parents were married in 1947!). He wasn't sure yet if he would attend his party. He knew there would be lots of people, relatives and friends, but he wasn't sure how he felt about it all. He reviewed birthdays passed, ones celebrated long, long ago on the divided street in Stockport, England where he grew up before WWI and ones he celebrated with his beloved Ruby in their first apartment in Greenwich Village when he was first trying to become a novelist.
He got up and got dressed in a now too-large corduroy jacket, and, from his wheelchair, greeted everyone who came to the restaurant to celebrate. He gave a gracious speech, thanking everyone, including his editors who were present and a reader who has come to visit his every week, for their support and wishes. After the cake was finished, Harry went home and within a few days had completed his fourth book, sent it off to his agent, and had a new novel underway. It was a joyful 100th birthday!
Maryz, thank you for your remarks on the discussion!
You wrote:
Daily, I search my heart and my mind asking myself "where do I go" where do I belong, what do I want to do?"
I'm not big on bucket lists so after 2 years of various courses at the college level and the local level of our community I still sit and shake my head, wondering with sadness, "Is there a place for me?" Where do I want to go from here?
I spent quite a while last night pondering the best way to respond. It sounds as if you are already on your way, taking courses. As Robby would be the first to point out, there are many questions one would want to ask before jumping in with any answer for you. We, of course, each already have "a place." The question is how we develop it, how we leverage our individual experience and history in a meaningful way. There is, I believe, no universal answer, no single script. We are too individual in our natures, histories, family backgrounds and relationships, and experience for that.
But asking yourself questions is always a good place to start. For instance, in recent times, whose story have you perked up at? who have you heard about and said, "Wow, if I could ever..."?? What job or cause or area of study have you come across that caused you to say, 'That's interesting, I wish I had the time to ... ' ? Writing down the answers as an exercise may be helpful. Trying to understand where your own resistance comes from in choosing a path may also be helpful, for ultimately we're our own worst gatekeepers. I've seen a suggestion that as an exercise it's helpful to write down jobs and paths you don't want to take, list why, and then, write down the opposite of those negatives for your perfect path's description. But I'm more and more inclined to think the answer for all of us lies at the intersection of mindful curiosity (taking the time to recognize and pursue our curiosity, seeing meaning and value in that pursuit) and action while in doubt (taking steps, no matter how small, rudimentary, ordinary, or distant from our imagined goal) and using visualization (taking the time to fill ourselves with the vision of our fantasy, no matter how grandiose).
In reading your question, I'm reminded of something an educator once told me about how to talk to your child after a day in school. He told me that it's a waste of time to ask a child what he did with his day at school when he comes home. The child will, predictably shrug and say, "Nothin'." I think we're a little like that child when we ask ourselves such a large question as "What should I do with the rest of my life?"
Why does the child say, "Nothin'" ? The educator suggested to me that it was because the opposite was true. The child's day is filled with so many things he can barely remember them all, and he learns early that what adults seem to want to hear about are outcomes, not, "Oh, I looked at an ant today." So, the educator suggested, when you ask a child about his day, ask him to tell you one thing he did or saw or thought about. Inevitably, talking about one thing will lead to others.
By the same token, I wonder if it isn't too much to ask of yourself -- particularly when asked with "sadness" and judgment -- 'Where is my place?' Better, I suspect, to ask, "Where is my place today, now?" and work from there. As I have said, most of the people in my book could not have predicted where they would end up.
But they seemed to have a couple of traits in common. They forgave themselves their "failures." Forgiveness of the self unlocks the door that self-blame keeps barred. It is a terrible paradox, but a true one. Of that, I am convinced. Self-blame keeps you tied to the past, protected from risk, and unable to access the very energy needed to move forward. The subjects of the book also live their lives forward: they keep their attention on the things that they want to accomplish. And I think they accept that it is a process, but are able to celebrate each step as if it were tantamount to succeeding entirely. They don't say, "I'm only taking a class." They connect it to their goal and celebrate it.
Lastly, while I might be the first person to make fun of it, I believe in the benefit of visualization. I know from reading in neurology that when we see ourselves doing things, our brain -- particularly the more practice we give it -- fires the same way it would if we were doing that thing. So, imagining is practicing. And becoming something, anything, is a matter of regular practice. And practice, not to go all yogic on you, is about doing something mindfully, in this moment, without judgment. When I began working on the book, a friend told me to see myself talking about the book on Oprah. I couldn't do that without subverting the image. But what I could and did do -- every time I flagged -- was close my eyes and see myself writing final pages, or handing the manuscript over, or signing the published book for someone. Every day, I got on the treadmill at the gym, I told myself, if I can make it for 30 minutes today, I can write another page; and I would see myself six months away, in better shape, ready for my publication. Ha! Dumb, I know, but effective.
