We don’t live right on the water, but it’s less than a ten minute walk, from our house, from our still new-enough house. New England beaches are a punchline to some, but ours is a perfect ringed stretch, pleasantly unremarkable, riveted with a few prominent rocks that stand proud in low tide or in high, and there’s a faux-wood boardwalk that groans with the appropriate inflection as you maneuver your way along it, each step falling and rising in pitch as you plod past the unsullied white noise of a place where the sea meets the sand but produces no surf. You could easily imagine a lively little beach community there, but you do have to imagine it. New Haven Harbor is dead enough to harm its city but lively enough to keep everything to the east industrial. (Poor Connecticut. So far from God, so close to New York City.) To the west are expensive houses, too many of which are chopped up into Airbnbs. You pay a million to spend your golden years in front of a fire, head craned for the ocean, and then there are no neighbors to meet, only Manhattanite families peculiar enough to pick Connecticut for their summer destination and townies who pooled money for a sick Memorial Day weekend party house. Here, though, in my place, uniquely and forever mine, there is this unmarked cubby of a shore, there is a beach.
Lucretius mused on these things in his poem, De rerum natura. Then it was lost for over a thousand years and when it was found it was loved by Montaigne and hated by the Church. Deep waters today.
"In this I am like so many of you, caught forever between a life to apologize for and one which rebukes everyone who ever demanded an apology of us"
Believe it or not I once dreamed of writing for a living, a dream that has been dead and in the ground for so long there's nothing left but a few skeletal remains, and I've moved on with my life. 2020 was the year, which not coincidentally was spent in the Twin Cities, that finally broke me, where I gave up not only on that, but on politics, on most things really. I finally had to accept that whole life I'd been chasing for a decade and half, mostly in New York, was gone and never, ever coming back. My life had imploded back in 2017, but spent several years still hoping that it would come back.
In 2020 I decided enough was enough and that I was going to become an accountant like I probably should have back during undergrad in the early 00s. I'm good at it, and I know I'm good at it. I'm on my way to finishing up the CPA exam, have a steady job, etc. In a lot of ways this should feel like success, but when I look at how far old coworkers have gone on LinkedIn or something, I can't help but feel like a fuckup. I'll be paying for dreaming of something more for the rest of my life, I suppose. Now I mostly feel like I started running the race a couple laps after everyone else. What else can you do but move on and try to make the best out of whatever you have left?
A great essay overall. I'm glad you've found something close to peace out in Connecticut.
I feel like these words from Conan O’Brien are applicable here.
“I had a great conversation with Albert Brooks once. When I met him for the first time, I was kind of stammering. I said, you make movies, they live on forever. I just do these late-night shows, they get lost, they’re never seen again and who cares? And he looked at me and he said, [Albert Brooks voice] “What are you talking about? None of it matters.” None of it matters? “No, that’s the secret. In 1940, people said Clark Gable is the face of the 20th Century. Who [expletive] thinks about Clark Gable? It doesn’t matter. You’ll be forgotten. I’ll be forgotten. We’ll all be forgotten.”...It’s so funny because you’d think that would depress me. I was walking on air after that."
CT resident here, not too far from you. West Haven is one of my favorite places - an unpolished gem after a line of sparkling zirconium, the last lovable city in Connecticut on this side of the Connecticut River.
It could be a real gem if its government weren't so financially incompetent (the city is a ward of state at this point) and riddled with covid-fund fraudsters.
Beautiful imagery! Makes me want to live there; though I need community. This line also caught my attention. "In this I am like so many of you, caught forever between a life to apologize for and one which rebukes everyone who ever demanded an apology of us"
This does not sound like fun reindeer games; it's zero sum, with no winners, ever. Who are the ones holding you accountable for your life? Choose a better audience; that is absolutely your choice. I would only suggest, the one you put in that high place; be sure that one loves you dearly; more than His own life.
Freddie, you have a gift supplemented by the repetitive hard work striving to always be better at something. Bravo. This is a well-done and moving piece.
"In this I am like so many of you, caught forever between a life to apologize for and one which rebukes everyone who ever demanded an apology of us"
I wonder is this tendency toward periodic negative feelings related to our positive circumstances... this seemingly related pull to pull out and sympathy for others we deem less fortunate... to always feel like we need to be sorry for the things we are not... for the things we did not do... is something other than what we think it is? I also suspect it is not really healthy for us to do this too often... and also not for the subjects we mentally hug for their misfortune of having less.
I think we think too much. Probably have too much leisure time on our hands relative to Darwin's factors for our species to properly absorb so much change in everything. I also think because we have lost our religion, we are made more neurotic fretting about our inevitable death. In fact, we seem to obsess about it.
There is a song by Alan Jackson "Small Town Simple Man". This covers my view of things. I don't feel like apologizing for what I have and I don't feel the constant tug to met out sympathy for others that have less. I do God's work in giving and helping others everywhere I can, but I see the world as a bunch of ubiquitous and same human entities that fate and effort has put on different paths. I don't see class stratification... only circumstances... many, if not most, that can be improved by striving to improve.
And like this lyrics, my song is one where a good life is a simple life comprised of the same simple things that we seem to have forgotten about. We are driven to want more... and often what is more is right there already.
I won't bother you about the birds, but would recommend Jonathan Rosen's book "The Life of the Skies: Birding at the End of Nature". It's a meditative work that uses birdwatching as an entry into many life questions, and spends a lot of time contemplating humanity's role in degrading the Earth. This is the same Rosen who wrote "The Best Minds" that you have written about at length here. He's a very talented writer and thinker.
I don't sell books, so I don't know if there is a window of time during which books get sold new before they are available used (or free i a library, or one of those ubiquitous mini "libraries" people put in front of homes and businesses. It is rare these days that I buy a new hard cover book. I just wait for paperback, and if never on paperback, then eventually ther will be used/discounted hard covers.
The local bird of prey iis probably an osprey. Very distant cousin of Baldie, with less fame but more dignity. And a long-running feud with the cormorants, if the island ponds northeast of you are any indication.
Beautiful. Thank you for this
What a fitting essay this time of year.
PS. What happens to light. Does it expand and beam on into eternity
Lucretius mused on these things in his poem, De rerum natura. Then it was lost for over a thousand years and when it was found it was loved by Montaigne and hated by the Church. Deep waters today.
happy new year, freddie
If you’re lucky enough to be Irish, they say, then you’re lucky enough. But you’re not Irish, and what the hell do they know anyway?
Obligatory:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DtywWnBwja0
I really felt this line:
"In this I am like so many of you, caught forever between a life to apologize for and one which rebukes everyone who ever demanded an apology of us"
Believe it or not I once dreamed of writing for a living, a dream that has been dead and in the ground for so long there's nothing left but a few skeletal remains, and I've moved on with my life. 2020 was the year, which not coincidentally was spent in the Twin Cities, that finally broke me, where I gave up not only on that, but on politics, on most things really. I finally had to accept that whole life I'd been chasing for a decade and half, mostly in New York, was gone and never, ever coming back. My life had imploded back in 2017, but spent several years still hoping that it would come back.
In 2020 I decided enough was enough and that I was going to become an accountant like I probably should have back during undergrad in the early 00s. I'm good at it, and I know I'm good at it. I'm on my way to finishing up the CPA exam, have a steady job, etc. In a lot of ways this should feel like success, but when I look at how far old coworkers have gone on LinkedIn or something, I can't help but feel like a fuckup. I'll be paying for dreaming of something more for the rest of my life, I suppose. Now I mostly feel like I started running the race a couple laps after everyone else. What else can you do but move on and try to make the best out of whatever you have left?
A great essay overall. I'm glad you've found something close to peace out in Connecticut.
I feel like these words from Conan O’Brien are applicable here.
“I had a great conversation with Albert Brooks once. When I met him for the first time, I was kind of stammering. I said, you make movies, they live on forever. I just do these late-night shows, they get lost, they’re never seen again and who cares? And he looked at me and he said, [Albert Brooks voice] “What are you talking about? None of it matters.” None of it matters? “No, that’s the secret. In 1940, people said Clark Gable is the face of the 20th Century. Who [expletive] thinks about Clark Gable? It doesn’t matter. You’ll be forgotten. I’ll be forgotten. We’ll all be forgotten.”...It’s so funny because you’d think that would depress me. I was walking on air after that."
CT resident here, not too far from you. West Haven is one of my favorite places - an unpolished gem after a line of sparkling zirconium, the last lovable city in Connecticut on this side of the Connecticut River.
Thank you for giving poetry to the landscape.
It could be a real gem if its government weren't so financially incompetent (the city is a ward of state at this point) and riddled with covid-fund fraudsters.
"...a birthday clown hired ironically by hipster parents. "
Yowzaa!
Beautiful imagery! Makes me want to live there; though I need community. This line also caught my attention. "In this I am like so many of you, caught forever between a life to apologize for and one which rebukes everyone who ever demanded an apology of us"
This does not sound like fun reindeer games; it's zero sum, with no winners, ever. Who are the ones holding you accountable for your life? Choose a better audience; that is absolutely your choice. I would only suggest, the one you put in that high place; be sure that one loves you dearly; more than His own life.
Freddie, you have a gift supplemented by the repetitive hard work striving to always be better at something. Bravo. This is a well-done and moving piece.
"In this I am like so many of you, caught forever between a life to apologize for and one which rebukes everyone who ever demanded an apology of us"
I wonder is this tendency toward periodic negative feelings related to our positive circumstances... this seemingly related pull to pull out and sympathy for others we deem less fortunate... to always feel like we need to be sorry for the things we are not... for the things we did not do... is something other than what we think it is? I also suspect it is not really healthy for us to do this too often... and also not for the subjects we mentally hug for their misfortune of having less.
I think we think too much. Probably have too much leisure time on our hands relative to Darwin's factors for our species to properly absorb so much change in everything. I also think because we have lost our religion, we are made more neurotic fretting about our inevitable death. In fact, we seem to obsess about it.
There is a song by Alan Jackson "Small Town Simple Man". This covers my view of things. I don't feel like apologizing for what I have and I don't feel the constant tug to met out sympathy for others that have less. I do God's work in giving and helping others everywhere I can, but I see the world as a bunch of ubiquitous and same human entities that fate and effort has put on different paths. I don't see class stratification... only circumstances... many, if not most, that can be improved by striving to improve.
And like this lyrics, my song is one where a good life is a simple life comprised of the same simple things that we seem to have forgotten about. We are driven to want more... and often what is more is right there already.
Born the middle son of a farmer
And a small town Southern man
Like his daddy's daddy before him
Brought up workin' on the land
Fell in love with a small town woman
And they married up and settled down
Natural way of life if you're lucky
For a small town Southern man
First there came four pretty daughters
For this small town Southern man
Then a few years later came another
A boy, he wasn't planned
Seven people livin' all together
In a house built with his own hands
Little words with love and understandin'
From a small town Southern man
And he bowed his head to Jesus
And he stood for Uncle Sam
And he only loved one woman
(He) was always proud of what he had
He said his greatest contribution
Is the ones you leave behind
Raised on the ways and gentle kindness
Of a small town Southern man
Callous hands told the story
For this small town Southern man
He gave it all to keep it all together
And keep his family on his land
Like his daddy, years wore out his body
Made it hard just to walk and stand
You can break the back
But you can't break the spirit
Of a small town Southern man
Finally death came callin'
For this small town Southern man
He said it's alright 'cause I see angels
And they got me by the hand
Don't you cry, and don't you worry
I'm blessed, and I know I am
'Cause God has a place in Heaven
For a small town Southern man
Beautiful essay to read this time of the year!
I won't bother you about the birds, but would recommend Jonathan Rosen's book "The Life of the Skies: Birding at the End of Nature". It's a meditative work that uses birdwatching as an entry into many life questions, and spends a lot of time contemplating humanity's role in degrading the Earth. This is the same Rosen who wrote "The Best Minds" that you have written about at length here. He's a very talented writer and thinker.
Feel lucky to read you at 5 dollars a month. Have a good new year.
Such gorgeous prose.
Such gorgeous prose, indeed. If poetry could take the form of prose, this essay is its prototype.
E. O. Wilson wrote that there is no gulf between the sciences and humanities. This essay proves his point.
Beautifully said! I agree.
interesting that you talk about your book's performance in the past tense—my friend, it just came out.
I don't sell books, so I don't know if there is a window of time during which books get sold new before they are available used (or free i a library, or one of those ubiquitous mini "libraries" people put in front of homes and businesses. It is rare these days that I buy a new hard cover book. I just wait for paperback, and if never on paperback, then eventually ther will be used/discounted hard covers.
The local bird of prey iis probably an osprey. Very distant cousin of Baldie, with less fame but more dignity. And a long-running feud with the cormorants, if the island ponds northeast of you are any indication.
okay but how’s the pizza oven working out? 🍕