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Letter from Joyce Archives
Look for the February 2004 release of The Usual Rules in paperback!
May 29, 2007
Dear Friends,
My
youngest son, Willy -- now known as Wilson -- has been gone from home
for six years now, since he was seventeen. Unlike his older brother and
sister, Will chose not to attend college -- a decision that caused me
some anxiety at the same time that I had to admire his independence and
confidence, in taking a far less charted course. He used the money he'd
saved, working as a waiter all through high school, and traveled in Africa
for almost a year, mostly on his own, and to some pretty remote places
-- picking up a couple of languages along the way and making many friends.
For the last six years or so, Will's been living in Los Angeles, creating his own brand of education, which has meant voracious reading, some extremely good writing, daredevil road biking, some tennis and regular workouts on the rings at Venice Beach and, now and then, acting on the occasional television series. (For a few weeks, I gather, a much-larger-than-lifesized image of him wearing some cool brand of jeans also graced the Las Vegas skyline, but I never saw it.)
A couple of weeks ago came the news that he'd been cast in an HBO miniseries about the Iraq war, about to begin filming in South Africa. So he flew there a few days ago and will be gone through December. As happy and excited for him as we all are, I know I'll miss him terribly -- as will his brother and sister and his father no doubt. At the same time, I've come to recognize that what matters more than seeing my children is, simply, seeing them living their lives in big, interesting, fulfilling ways, and seeing them becoming strong adults who will make a contribution to their world one day, I hope. And because I know all three are well on their way to doing that, I accept that for the moment, at least, I won't get to see that much of them. (Slim consolation: come fall of 2008, I can catch up with my younger son by turning on the television.)
Of course, I'm a lucky woman, and Willy's a lucky young man. His departure to play a soldier in a movie, and the ache I felt saying goodbye to him, made me think about the infinitely more painful experience of mothers and fathers and husbands and wives and brothers and sisters, saying goodbye to people they love, as they head off to the real war currently going on in Iraq. Regardless of one's politics -- and mine are firmly opposed to the war our President got us into there -- I believe it's important to support our troops. I choose to do that by voicing my opposition to the war, recognizing the need for medical and psychological services when they come home. I won't pretend I can imagine what it must be like to be over there, or to be home, knowing someone you love is in a Humvee on the Iraqui desert.
So I found myself thinking a lot, this Memorial Day weekend, about the universal impulse of parents everywhere, to protect our children. We can do that when they're little, of course -- though even then, only to a point -- but once they're grown, it is a parent's job (harder, by far, than holding them close) to let them go, and trust that we've given them the tools to make wise choices and to handle what life delivers them.
In keeping with that line of thought, I decided to share with you something I wrote about the many years I spent, as an over-functioning parent, trying to shield my children from loss and pain, and the moment I realized what an impossible task I'd given myself. (Not only impossible, but ill-advised. Because of course, one thing we all need to learn is how to survive loss and hard times, rather than being destroyed by them. Our parents won't be around forever, to keep us safe.
So here comes my story, Love is the Best Art of All. (This one is actually the transcript of a story I told at The Moth in New York City a year or so back, wonderfully transcribed by a longtime reader-friend from this website, Jane Nehring.) I hope you enjoy it.
And on another front, I want to let you know I'll be hosting another day-long workshop on personal storytelling and memoir, here at my home in Mill Valley (California) on Sunday, June 10. (And if you live out of town, consider making a weekend trip of it, if you can swing the trip. Many workshop students do that. Or…start planning now for Lake Atitlan in November or next February.
One way or another, though, I want to thank you for staying connected. And to remind you, as always, that I love to hear what's on your mind.
With friendship,
RECOMMEND JOYCEMAYNARD.COM TO A FRIEND
