I am so happy to hear this , Katherine . Your experience will help others just through the being of it and being in it . Most of all, it is helping you. I hope your winter goes on being so bright
Thank you for asking. I am good, actually, I am whole. The most I have ever been in my life. Living alone these last 2+ years has afforded me the space for Being more me than I knew possible. Truly transformative to not be a carer for anyone, not even an animal. To allow all that time, energy, attention to find other movement, other meaning. To cook what I feel like eating. To feed myself, deeply feed the soil of my being. Rare and precious and a deliciously grand way to menopause. Highly recommend this kind of space for the transition that is the ‘pause. The gold you find in being still, silent, for as long as you need to. Or the frenzied creative states that make as much mess at they need to. The whole of me arriving, becoming the woman I always knew I was, given the time to collect all my edges. It is wonderful knowing that you, Jeanette Winterson, also stop and pause and note the Solstice. Blessed Be Your Solstice, from down here in the depths of Winter.
Thank you, Jeanette, for a lovely essay. I live in the city, but I've built a fire pit in my backyard. Tonight I will build a fire, sit under the stars and just be.
Hi I loved your piece. Most blogs I just skim over, but this one, I read carefully, word for word, from start to finish. So thank you! And how I am is always anxious, and obsessing - as the big things feel too big - over small things that shouldn't really matter when people are starving, imprisoned, driven from their homes - no, I find myself obsessing over the blackfly on my one climbing rose, the tiny insects that seem to get through even tightly closed windows, little black specks that make me itch, flies coming in whenever a door is left oen. Whenever I kill one, because their buzzing stresses me out, and I fear the disease they help spread, then I feel terrible because I've just taken a life, and so will I be punished next life, add to my karma, come back as a cockroach......? Obsession - it takes many forms, I'm sure. So thank you for asking!
We are human beings, not human doings. Thank-you for asking. I’m 53 and love being me. I eat chocolate whenever I want to. I’m convinced that chocolate is filled with vitamin H for happy.
Longest night, shortest day here in the Blue Mountains, Australia. Quiet. Solitary. The vague dread is lingering. Covid creeps, relentlessly unrecorded. Thanks for reaching out.
The fireflies have been my impetus to keep going. One magical morning right before dawn they were high in the treetops, first time I have seen that. On other nights they are garden height. One night recently one blinked his light all along the top of the window. And harvesting my strawberries brings me joy. And the mullein growing its flower tower makes me smile. But the news of the world, not. The endless details of my business project, not. Thank you for writing to honor the solstice.
I am guessing you are busy doing and being, but I am so much wondering what you are up to in your kitchen? How was the veg crop this year? I hope the winter doesn’t stop the walking in the dark. It is terribly tiring to be alive. Yet here we are, still trying. My candle is still glowing. The world is still grating. We are still diamonds. Love from St. Louis
Compared to so many people right now I’m not so bad. I saw fireflies at the end of May in Italy but not so many as the first time down there at my friend’s place in 2011 where they were a shimmering carpet reaching down the bank to the field below. I went for a swim in the Aegean south of Athens, a few days later there was a bad wildfire there so I felt very lucky to have been in the water, right there, but scared for my friends who live there and have to live with this risk now. And being back home at the end of the world in far west Brittany, where the solstice light is truly extraordinary, I’m not doing much at all because I am ill - possibly covid, probably not, just a horrible summer virus that has stopped me doing everything I had planned. But that’s ok, I’m reading, a lot, and now I will just sit for a while now I’ve said thank you, for asking.
Thank you for this Jeanette. You are truly a beacon of light during these very dark times. Your words have always reached me and given me hope - even back when the world wasn’t in such a dire place. And now that we’re here, we need your unique and insightful wisdom more than ever. Remembering How To Be might save at least some of us. At the risk of sounding narcissistic, I so often feel like you are speaking directly to me. I come away believing there is much more to this whole existence thing than we’ll ever understand. Please keep talking. The people who who need to hear it are listening.
A nice surprise to read another posting JW - your Substack writings bring a moment of peaceful reflection amid the maelstrom of life. They're a way to touch base: a friendly voice and the comments of others that help you remember you're not the only one having a struggle, that it's the common lot of humanity.
And yes, social media can be a tricky medium: you can get sucked in, as a writer as well as a reader. As a poetry writer it's not so bad - I can hopefully carry others through their emotions whilst stepping to one side. Being a supportive prose writer would be more difficult - being friendly without being too involved with your readership. You''re always likely to get someone who reads more into things than they should, usually with a back-story of sadness.. This will most likely always come with the territory, at least in our lifetimes: it pays to tread carefully with social media.
Anyway, to touch base: How am I doing? Had a merry waltz with Death this spring, before he skipped off to pester someone else. Sometimes you have to just hold on, until your knuckles turn white. But hey, still here, like the proverbial cat, though I've lost count of how many lives are left. There've been moments of great joy too, of long-hoped for reunions, which have come with a heap of sadness about all the time lost. But in the hell of these past few years: covid, war, inflation, this damned government, I've found it pays not to look too far ahead but to try to make the most of every day, to appreciate what's good, what's valuable in life., to make the most of now.
And now, as ever, summer is very hectic - repairs to myself and others as well as the house. A rush before the inevitable winter. Yes life is short, seasons go by in a flash.
Glad youre doing well JW. Hope your friend pulled through, I'm sure your support was a big help. Take care xx
I’m in the midst of covid and experiencing this ‘mild’ version gives me pause to reflect on how I am and how others are. These are bleak times but light is hope and it is hope which gives me strength to fight, to challenge, and to help make things better for me and for others. Keep well all.
I am so happy to hear this , Katherine . Your experience will help others just through the being of it and being in it . Most of all, it is helping you. I hope your winter goes on being so bright
Thank you for asking. I am good, actually, I am whole. The most I have ever been in my life. Living alone these last 2+ years has afforded me the space for Being more me than I knew possible. Truly transformative to not be a carer for anyone, not even an animal. To allow all that time, energy, attention to find other movement, other meaning. To cook what I feel like eating. To feed myself, deeply feed the soil of my being. Rare and precious and a deliciously grand way to menopause. Highly recommend this kind of space for the transition that is the ‘pause. The gold you find in being still, silent, for as long as you need to. Or the frenzied creative states that make as much mess at they need to. The whole of me arriving, becoming the woman I always knew I was, given the time to collect all my edges. It is wonderful knowing that you, Jeanette Winterson, also stop and pause and note the Solstice. Blessed Be Your Solstice, from down here in the depths of Winter.
Thank you, Jeanette, for a lovely essay. I live in the city, but I've built a fire pit in my backyard. Tonight I will build a fire, sit under the stars and just be.
Hi I loved your piece. Most blogs I just skim over, but this one, I read carefully, word for word, from start to finish. So thank you! And how I am is always anxious, and obsessing - as the big things feel too big - over small things that shouldn't really matter when people are starving, imprisoned, driven from their homes - no, I find myself obsessing over the blackfly on my one climbing rose, the tiny insects that seem to get through even tightly closed windows, little black specks that make me itch, flies coming in whenever a door is left oen. Whenever I kill one, because their buzzing stresses me out, and I fear the disease they help spread, then I feel terrible because I've just taken a life, and so will I be punished next life, add to my karma, come back as a cockroach......? Obsession - it takes many forms, I'm sure. So thank you for asking!
We are human beings, not human doings. Thank-you for asking. I’m 53 and love being me. I eat chocolate whenever I want to. I’m convinced that chocolate is filled with vitamin H for happy.
Longest night, shortest day here in the Blue Mountains, Australia. Quiet. Solitary. The vague dread is lingering. Covid creeps, relentlessly unrecorded. Thanks for reaching out.
The fireflies have been my impetus to keep going. One magical morning right before dawn they were high in the treetops, first time I have seen that. On other nights they are garden height. One night recently one blinked his light all along the top of the window. And harvesting my strawberries brings me joy. And the mullein growing its flower tower makes me smile. But the news of the world, not. The endless details of my business project, not. Thank you for writing to honor the solstice.
Thank you for this.
I am guessing you are busy doing and being, but I am so much wondering what you are up to in your kitchen? How was the veg crop this year? I hope the winter doesn’t stop the walking in the dark. It is terribly tiring to be alive. Yet here we are, still trying. My candle is still glowing. The world is still grating. We are still diamonds. Love from St. Louis
I love this. It's simple but really makes me think!
Compared to so many people right now I’m not so bad. I saw fireflies at the end of May in Italy but not so many as the first time down there at my friend’s place in 2011 where they were a shimmering carpet reaching down the bank to the field below. I went for a swim in the Aegean south of Athens, a few days later there was a bad wildfire there so I felt very lucky to have been in the water, right there, but scared for my friends who live there and have to live with this risk now. And being back home at the end of the world in far west Brittany, where the solstice light is truly extraordinary, I’m not doing much at all because I am ill - possibly covid, probably not, just a horrible summer virus that has stopped me doing everything I had planned. But that’s ok, I’m reading, a lot, and now I will just sit for a while now I’ve said thank you, for asking.
Thank you for this Jeanette. You are truly a beacon of light during these very dark times. Your words have always reached me and given me hope - even back when the world wasn’t in such a dire place. And now that we’re here, we need your unique and insightful wisdom more than ever. Remembering How To Be might save at least some of us. At the risk of sounding narcissistic, I so often feel like you are speaking directly to me. I come away believing there is much more to this whole existence thing than we’ll ever understand. Please keep talking. The people who who need to hear it are listening.
You’ve quieted the din once more. Thank you.
Always,
Sara.
A nice surprise to read another posting JW - your Substack writings bring a moment of peaceful reflection amid the maelstrom of life. They're a way to touch base: a friendly voice and the comments of others that help you remember you're not the only one having a struggle, that it's the common lot of humanity.
And yes, social media can be a tricky medium: you can get sucked in, as a writer as well as a reader. As a poetry writer it's not so bad - I can hopefully carry others through their emotions whilst stepping to one side. Being a supportive prose writer would be more difficult - being friendly without being too involved with your readership. You''re always likely to get someone who reads more into things than they should, usually with a back-story of sadness.. This will most likely always come with the territory, at least in our lifetimes: it pays to tread carefully with social media.
Anyway, to touch base: How am I doing? Had a merry waltz with Death this spring, before he skipped off to pester someone else. Sometimes you have to just hold on, until your knuckles turn white. But hey, still here, like the proverbial cat, though I've lost count of how many lives are left. There've been moments of great joy too, of long-hoped for reunions, which have come with a heap of sadness about all the time lost. But in the hell of these past few years: covid, war, inflation, this damned government, I've found it pays not to look too far ahead but to try to make the most of every day, to appreciate what's good, what's valuable in life., to make the most of now.
And now, as ever, summer is very hectic - repairs to myself and others as well as the house. A rush before the inevitable winter. Yes life is short, seasons go by in a flash.
Glad youre doing well JW. Hope your friend pulled through, I'm sure your support was a big help. Take care xx
I’m in the midst of covid and experiencing this ‘mild’ version gives me pause to reflect on how I am and how others are. These are bleak times but light is hope and it is hope which gives me strength to fight, to challenge, and to help make things better for me and for others. Keep well all.
I'm good, thanks, but I have no idea what happens next.