Wow, what a gut punch the 2nd paragraph was! Really got me thinking about a folder I have kept since high school of things that I thought were interesting and of course spoke to me. It would be interesting to pull it and go through it, I do remember several things in there that still impacted my views of the world and still speak to me. But this column has me thinking is now a good time to let it all go up in flames and burn those tethers. Wow. I sure can think of lots of other things in our house I would have no problem burning :-) :-), but not sure about this. Thanks for your wonderful writing!
Take it slowly! I have boxes of memories -- letters, articles, pictures my kids drew -- just like everyone else :) Not sure I could burn those as readily, nor do I want to! Just these journals. It was kind of a way to commit to myself that they'd always be private. But sometimes I burn other things that I've hung onto, and it feels good if I don't do it off-hand, give myself time and commit to the transition.
I attended an effigy burning one time (no journals, just words that we wrote there and some other stuff) and I think that I came away with the same general sense.
You know, I've done the thing before where you write down things that are worrying you and then burn the paper, but didn't get much out of it. Your description makes me think maybe I was doing it wrong -- a bigger fire makes a difference.
Oh yeah, you gotta have a little razzle dazzle when you do that! It almost needs to reflect the internal drama that produces the feelings and writings, honestly.
I keep thinking about the act of burning your journals. I am so glad that it made you feel lighter. I was some terribly bad poetry journals from nearly 30 years ago. It might be time for them to go.
Should have seen my dad's face when he heard my sister and me talking about it! He was horrified, which I get, and he brought up Nikolai Gogol, but I assured him there was no writing-writing in them, just decades of private complaining, mostly. Who needs to hang onto that? Poetry might be harder, but it's hard to know. I did delete some pretty awful fiction a decade ago, after a similar decade hanging onto it. And it felt better.
Oh my gosh, reading this: "When an assignment to write this essay appeared in my in-box, I thought, Oh, God, I can’t do that, I’ve got nothing left, and then I told myself to buck up" was huge today. I'm teaching the eighth-graders in an hour and feel like I'm going to fail them, but also have a talk with someone later this week for a gig that I know for certain I don't have the time or bandwidth for but ...
Thank you for sharing. I subscribe to Anne Helen Petersen's newsletter (she's wonderful) and she posted it, too, but I hadn't read it yet. Love the ending!
I agree; Lepore absolutely stuck the landing. I laughed out loud.
And don't worry too much about failing the eighth-graders. It sounds like you've prepped well, and that's all you can do. The upside is that you'll be lucky if half of them pay attention to you!
I literally just finished and you are absolutely right. Combined with a poor-quality video feed (sound and visuals were an adventure!) and a group of 8th-grade girls (none of whose faces I could see clearly!), it was ... not my best couple of hours. But it's done and if one of them walks away enamored with Rebecca Boyle's writing about space then I'm counting it a win. The second group did ask funny questions, which was nice!
I have earned my living as a writer all my life; two of my best friends have earned their livings as teachers. While neither job is easy, I have no doubt about which one is: 1. more difficult, 2. more satisfying, and 3. more important. As I have explained it to them, "All I do is write, but you guys hatch new writers."
Every time I volunteer in the school, even if it's just for an hour of reading time with second-graders, I wonder how teachers get up every single day to do that job--and like it. It's awe-inspiring.
Were you outraged that your journal burning ritual—because of course it was kind of a ritual, right?—showed up on someone else's social media? I would have been. Actually, I AM outraged on your behalf, heh. I hate how everyone assumes everything is open season for their bullshit posting. I recently did a photoshoot and of course showed up in a couple "behind the scenes" shots and I hate them. It feels like a betrayal of intimacy.
Maybe I need more time to process this experience! Chris is right, it was a ritual. I probably could have made that more clear. I'm sure my friend would take it down if I asked him to.
I was taken aback but on the other hand could have foreseen that it would happen if I wasn't explicit. It was also a very good friend so I decided to be mindfulness-y about it, which probably wouldn't have happened with a stranger (but then the whole scene never would have happened with a stranger).
I thought a lot later about our interactions in the world where we can never expect privacy, though. That's not really a new conversation--it's been around ever since cell phone cameras started being ubiquitous--but it's far more embedded in our lives now. I can give up all the social media I want, but who I am is part of it nevertheless.
I absolutely hate having my picture taken. Having it taken without my knowledge feels very much, as you say, a betrayal of intimacy. Happened at weddings in the last couple years and I was surprised by how uncomfortable it made me with the person taking the photo. Reminded me of when a friend visited in Russia and he took a photo of an old woman while we were sitting in a monastery garden. She was super mad, and I was shocked he'd even thought it was okay to surreptitiously snap photos of strangers (this was pre-cell phones).
My daughter is now 13 and going through a phase where she hates having her picture taken. I am trying so hard to respect her privacy even though part of me worries that we won't have "enough" pictures of her in this time. For me, I don't mind my picture as much as hearing recordings of my own voice.
That's a hard one, too. And the photo thing is hard with your own kids. I always ask mine now, and they know I've promised to not share their photos online, which at least helps keep their "selves" somewhat private?
We've discussed that it's been years since I have shared their photos online except a picture from the back that she approved last fall. I think she is just in an uncomfortable phase.
I absolutely sympathize with that. It's an uncomfortable time of life. Couldn't pay me to go through it again. But I have to say I admire parents who refrain! It can be a hard thing to do when you're proud of your kids and want to share, but for them to "own" their online selves feels important.
That breaks my brain, too! I can burn my journals but deleting something online (even on a computer offline, come to think of it) is a far less final act. My imagination can extend a fair way, but not far enough.
Wow, what a gut punch the 2nd paragraph was! Really got me thinking about a folder I have kept since high school of things that I thought were interesting and of course spoke to me. It would be interesting to pull it and go through it, I do remember several things in there that still impacted my views of the world and still speak to me. But this column has me thinking is now a good time to let it all go up in flames and burn those tethers. Wow. I sure can think of lots of other things in our house I would have no problem burning :-) :-), but not sure about this. Thanks for your wonderful writing!
Take it slowly! I have boxes of memories -- letters, articles, pictures my kids drew -- just like everyone else :) Not sure I could burn those as readily, nor do I want to! Just these journals. It was kind of a way to commit to myself that they'd always be private. But sometimes I burn other things that I've hung onto, and it feels good if I don't do it off-hand, give myself time and commit to the transition.
Thanks, great advice!
That feels like a very cathartic release into the universe of your words and past.
It probably would have been more cathartic alone but it did feel good :)
I attended an effigy burning one time (no journals, just words that we wrote there and some other stuff) and I think that I came away with the same general sense.
You know, I've done the thing before where you write down things that are worrying you and then burn the paper, but didn't get much out of it. Your description makes me think maybe I was doing it wrong -- a bigger fire makes a difference.
Oh yeah, you gotta have a little razzle dazzle when you do that! It almost needs to reflect the internal drama that produces the feelings and writings, honestly.
I've been doing it all wrong! Must rectify.
I keep thinking about the act of burning your journals. I am so glad that it made you feel lighter. I was some terribly bad poetry journals from nearly 30 years ago. It might be time for them to go.
Should have seen my dad's face when he heard my sister and me talking about it! He was horrified, which I get, and he brought up Nikolai Gogol, but I assured him there was no writing-writing in them, just decades of private complaining, mostly. Who needs to hang onto that? Poetry might be harder, but it's hard to know. I did delete some pretty awful fiction a decade ago, after a similar decade hanging onto it. And it felt better.
Your journal-burning-eighth-grade-writing-teaching-can't-say-no story made me think of this: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2021/05/24/burnout-modern-affliction-or-human-condition
Oh my gosh, reading this: "When an assignment to write this essay appeared in my in-box, I thought, Oh, God, I can’t do that, I’ve got nothing left, and then I told myself to buck up" was huge today. I'm teaching the eighth-graders in an hour and feel like I'm going to fail them, but also have a talk with someone later this week for a gig that I know for certain I don't have the time or bandwidth for but ...
Thank you for sharing. I subscribe to Anne Helen Petersen's newsletter (she's wonderful) and she posted it, too, but I hadn't read it yet. Love the ending!
I agree; Lepore absolutely stuck the landing. I laughed out loud.
And don't worry too much about failing the eighth-graders. It sounds like you've prepped well, and that's all you can do. The upside is that you'll be lucky if half of them pay attention to you!
I literally just finished and you are absolutely right. Combined with a poor-quality video feed (sound and visuals were an adventure!) and a group of 8th-grade girls (none of whose faces I could see clearly!), it was ... not my best couple of hours. But it's done and if one of them walks away enamored with Rebecca Boyle's writing about space then I'm counting it a win. The second group did ask funny questions, which was nice!
I have earned my living as a writer all my life; two of my best friends have earned their livings as teachers. While neither job is easy, I have no doubt about which one is: 1. more difficult, 2. more satisfying, and 3. more important. As I have explained it to them, "All I do is write, but you guys hatch new writers."
Congratulations on doing both, if only for a day.
Every time I volunteer in the school, even if it's just for an hour of reading time with second-graders, I wonder how teachers get up every single day to do that job--and like it. It's awe-inspiring.
Were you outraged that your journal burning ritual—because of course it was kind of a ritual, right?—showed up on someone else's social media? I would have been. Actually, I AM outraged on your behalf, heh. I hate how everyone assumes everything is open season for their bullshit posting. I recently did a photoshoot and of course showed up in a couple "behind the scenes" shots and I hate them. It feels like a betrayal of intimacy.
I was also outraged on your behalf!
Maybe I need more time to process this experience! Chris is right, it was a ritual. I probably could have made that more clear. I'm sure my friend would take it down if I asked him to.
I was taken aback but on the other hand could have foreseen that it would happen if I wasn't explicit. It was also a very good friend so I decided to be mindfulness-y about it, which probably wouldn't have happened with a stranger (but then the whole scene never would have happened with a stranger).
I thought a lot later about our interactions in the world where we can never expect privacy, though. That's not really a new conversation--it's been around ever since cell phone cameras started being ubiquitous--but it's far more embedded in our lives now. I can give up all the social media I want, but who I am is part of it nevertheless.
I absolutely hate having my picture taken. Having it taken without my knowledge feels very much, as you say, a betrayal of intimacy. Happened at weddings in the last couple years and I was surprised by how uncomfortable it made me with the person taking the photo. Reminded me of when a friend visited in Russia and he took a photo of an old woman while we were sitting in a monastery garden. She was super mad, and I was shocked he'd even thought it was okay to surreptitiously snap photos of strangers (this was pre-cell phones).
My daughter is now 13 and going through a phase where she hates having her picture taken. I am trying so hard to respect her privacy even though part of me worries that we won't have "enough" pictures of her in this time. For me, I don't mind my picture as much as hearing recordings of my own voice.
That's a hard one, too. And the photo thing is hard with your own kids. I always ask mine now, and they know I've promised to not share their photos online, which at least helps keep their "selves" somewhat private?
We've discussed that it's been years since I have shared their photos online except a picture from the back that she approved last fall. I think she is just in an uncomfortable phase.
I absolutely sympathize with that. It's an uncomfortable time of life. Couldn't pay me to go through it again. But I have to say I admire parents who refrain! It can be a hard thing to do when you're proud of your kids and want to share, but for them to "own" their online selves feels important.
That breaks my brain, too! I can burn my journals but deleting something online (even on a computer offline, come to think of it) is a far less final act. My imagination can extend a fair way, but not far enough.