letters of our lives: to the book that changed me

This is my second letter in the Letters of our Lives project. Isabel’s is here.

"Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested." - Renaissance author Sir Francis Bacon

In a situation where you have a million and one choices, the standard advice is to go with the first one that comes to mind.

I am a writer, PhD student, historian, lover of words and speed reader so it follows that books are a necessary and joyful part of my life. Enter my home and you will see piles of them, everywhere. In every city I have lived, I have been a dedicated library user and patron of bookstores.

I can be fairly minimalist in other areas of life - happy to pare back to necessities in the kitchen, in my wardrobe - but with books? Never.

I honestly cannot remember a time when I could not read, and my activity of choice was not sitting somewhere with a book, or going to the library for more books, or writing my own books. Some books are like old friends, like houses I've lived in, like conversations I've had. There are memories and happiness associated with them. They are a wonderful way of showing you how you've changed, or how you haven't.

But to the book that changed me? That was a question. The answer came to me immediately, but I dismissed it at first. Surely there was another choice? Less….earnest? Something that hadn’t sold millions and millions of copies?

Every book I’ve read has changed me, made me a better writer, a more informed and curious human being. But when I really thought about it, I know that had I not read this book at the time that I did, I don’t know if I would have had the courage to keep going, to listen to my heart and to have learned that you have to make sacrifices to make your dreams come true.

Who knows where I might be right now, had anything been different.

So, this is the book that changed me.

See if you can spot the tile we had to Photoshop in because there are only two of them in a Scrabble set!

To The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho,

You came into my life, as I imagine you do with many others, in the midst of pain and bewilderment. It was a dark, cold winter, the darkest I had ever known.

I don’t recall how I came across you - perhaps a blog reader recommended you? Or perhaps I came across you in the bargain bin at Borders Melbourne Central, where I would go most days after work, prolonging my return home for as long as possible. My first marriage was over but it was early days and we were still living together, which was excruciating. Everything was so raw. I felt like I didn’t have any skin.

Or perhaps I saw you mentioned on a message board that I’d started trawling late at night, where other confused and heartbroken people holding pieces of their marriages in their hands gathered to vent and console. I never posted anything, I just read.

Wherever I found you, you ended up with me.

By the time I started reading you, however, things had changed a little. I had finally moved out and was getting used to a new home and identity. Everything was still in boxes. I had a different train, to the other side of Melbourne, to catch every evening after work. One particular evening, a freezing wet July night, I collapsed into a seat on the train and pulled you out of my bag.

It had been a long, low day. The feelings of grief and brokenness over my marriage ending had not dissipated, much to my confusion and disappointment. And they wouldn’t for some time. I was beginning to wonder whether ending things had been the right thing to do, given how much pain I was in. Should I have tried harder to work things out? Was he right, had it all been my fault? Had I been incredibly selfish, wanting to follow my heart and my dreams after so many years of putting them aside…for him?

As the train left the underground and out into the dark night, these lines pounced up from the page:

“Love never keeps you from pursuing your destiny. If it does, it isn’t true love.”

It was exactly what I needed to hear at that moment. My mouth fell open, my eyes filled with tears, and everything around me froze in time, I didn’t notice anyone else on the train, I just stared into space in relief, tears rolling down my face. At that moment I realised that I had done the right thing. I was free. The life I had always wanted could finally begin. I had abandoned my dreams during my marriage and now it was over there were no more excuses.

Of course, things weren’t that simple - as you warned me they wouldn’t be.

“The secret of life, though, is to fall seven times and to get up eight.”

Other relationships I fell into were over as soon as I mentioned I had plans to travel and live overseas. I couldn’t seem to find anyone to just have a bit of fun with! I fought my habitual urges to suppress my own longings and needs to make other people happy - a pattern that had flourished in my marriage until its last few months (which was of course why it ended). Soon it became clear that I was never going to find what I was looking for where I was. I needed to pack my bags and go.

Life in Melbourne grew strange and lonely as I packed up my life and prepared to leave for my big adventure. Previously supportive friends turned nasty and distant. It was a strange cocktail of excitement, guilt and fear - that I was giving up everything in pursuit of the life I felt I was destined for, and it would all turn out to be a terrible mistake.

“The fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself… no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams.”

You were right about that.

I was put to the test so much during that time - my safety net was gone, any predictability and security my life had previously had were over, and I headed out into the unknown.

“It is the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.”

It’s been 13 years and I think about my solo travels across the USA, Canada, Europe and Asia nearly every day. Everything pursuing my destiny had cost me was worth every exhilarating second of that trip. I stayed with friends and blog readers everywhere I went, who welcomed me with open arms and became my family for however long I was in their city, be it two days or two weeks. I saw amazing things and did things I could never have even dreamed of. Every day was a new adventure. It was the happiest time of my life (up to that point at least!).

I must admit, I haven’t read you from start to finish for a while but maybe now, after finding a love that hasn’t made me compromise my dreams and returning home to Australia, is the perfect time for a reread.

I’m on a different kind of quest now but the lessons and wisdom I gleaned from you all those years ago remain the same.

That I must remain courageous, persistent and assertive in pursuit of my dreams, especially when I am tested. Being tested is part of the journey.

If I back down out of fear, I’ll be back where I started.

That my heart is alive and I must always listen to what it has to say.

But most importantly:

“Never stop dreaming.”

Thank you for the consolation and the wisdom, old friend. I don’t know where I might be now without you.

Love, Phil xx

What is the book that changed you?

don't worry about art

Source

We live in an era of enormous cynicism. Do not be fooled.

Don’t act for money. You’ll start to feel dead and bitter.

Don’t act for glory. You’ll start to feel dead, fat, and fearful.

We live in an era of enormous cynicism. Do not be fooled.

You can’t avoid all the pitfalls. There are lies you must tell. But experience the lie. See it as something dead and unconnected you clutch. And let it go.

Act from the depth of your feeling imagination. Act for celebration, for search, for grieving, for worship, to express that desolate sensation of wandering through the howling wilderness.

Don’t worry about Art.

Do these things, and it will be Art.

– John Patrick Shanley, preface to The Big Funk

learn to be hurt

“Oh God, those wasted years! If this is ever read by posterity, let posterity ponder on this: You cannot run away from life. If you try, life will only catch you in the end, and the longer you’ve been running the more it will hurt. Learn to be hurt as early as possible, welcome being hurt; face pain, humiliation and defeat in your teens; accept them, let them go through you, so that you cease to be afraid of them.”

A few years ago I read the diaries of Jean Lucey Pratt, a lifelong diarist who also contributed to the Mass Observation project. She was my age during the Second World War and her diaries, of course, focus on those events but also her daily life and concerns, her dreams, anxieties and longings which for the most part remained unchanged by the war and all its dramas and hardships.

Despite all the upheaval of wartime, Jean was still figuring out who she was and what she wanted, and was starting to panic about all the what-ifs, missed chances and the might-have-beens.

I absolutely loved this book but this passage particularly, because I too have learned this lesson from life. It’s not an easy lesson, but an essential one. Don't run from pain, humiliation or defeat. Face them. Persevere. You're stronger than you think. 

letters of our lives: to a lost friend

This is my first letter in the Letters of our Lives project. Isabel’s first letter is here.

My dear Nischa,

Thirteen years ago, we spent a glorious day gallivanting around Manhattan, sipping Cosmopolitans, flirting with handsome bartenders, lining up for Magnolia Bakery goodies, sitting on Carrie Bradshaw’s stoop together and then later on a bench in Central Park, swapping life stories, eating cupcakes and banana pudding. You had been reading my blog for years and your kind heart and warmth had oozed through every comment and, later, emails, where you shared your own stories with me. It turned out we were very similar. You too wanted to write, see the world and have adventures. You too were wanting to embrace life, find your confidence and shine.

That June day in 2007 was the first time we met in person, after a year or so of getting to know each other online (which was considered a dodgy thing back then!). Though I know I was technically a stranger, it never felt that way. It was as if we had known each other for a very long time.

The idea that 10 years later you would be gone would have struck both of us as ridiculous. Laughable. Unthinkable.

We would only see each other one more time in person after that day, though we of course kept in touch and it was a joy to witness your life take off from afar. Your gorgeous wedding pictures where your face shone with happiness. Your move out of NYC and back to Texas. Your career soaring, literally! In every photo, every message, you were so vibrant, gorgeous and happy.

I still can’t believe you’re gone.

As I started writing this, I logged into Facebook for the first time in months, just to quickly check your page. Just to make sure I hadn’t imagined it. I so hoped I had. Perhaps it had all been a horrible mistake and you were actually still alive and well in Texas with your husband, living your vibrant beautiful life as you so deserved to.

But no, I hadn’t imagined it and yet it still doesn’t feel real. It’s been nearly four years now.

I felt a bit of resistance when the theme was chosen for this letter - because I didn’t want to write a letter full of darkness to one of the friends I’ve lost in other ways (though they feel equally as final). So then I considered the friends (mercifully only a few) I have lost, as Virginia Woolf put it, to death rather than an inability to cross the street. Someone I truly have lost forever. And that too was something I resisted.

But you deserve to be remembered and celebrated. Not just because your time on this earth was so cruelly cut short but because you were a beautiful, brave woman with everything to live for, who inspires me still.

These are lovely pictures, aren’t they? Both of us so full of joyful energy and wide-eyed wonder, promise and excitement about our futures.

It was one of those days where I really had to pinch myself because everything felt like something out of a movie, or an episode of Sex and the City (which was appropriate because we did The Sex and The City Tour!)

I remember how we giggled like schoolgirls on that gold bus that was crammed full as it purred past landmarks and iconic locations that we recognised from the show. We suddenly had the intimacy of a decades-long friendship when the bus made one of its first stops and we found ourselves inside The Pleasure Chest looking at vibrators! I remember how much you laughed.

I remember how after the tour was over we sat in the summer sunshine on a bench in Central Park, spooning up that divinely decadent banana pudding from Magnolia Bakery that we’d queued for, so fudgy and creamy, barely speaking while we ate it with the reverence it deserved.

I remember how we had coupons for free drinks in “some obscure bar in Little Italy” (according to my journal) where we had bitter but perfectly drinkable espresso martinis. Over dinner, we talked about our lives, our secret fears, our big dreams, our future plans.

From what I could gather of your life after that day, you went from strength to strength.

You worked hard. You loved hard. You embraced life. You saw the world. It was hard to believe you were ever, even for a moment, afraid of anything.

The last time I heard from you was in 2016 when The Latte Years came out and you posted a lovely photo of you reading it, with a coffee. That meant the world to me. I’m so happy you got to read it.

I didn’t know you were ill. At that point, I don’t think you did either. I didn’t hear from you again. I would have reached out, had I known. I’m so very sorry.

The next time I saw your face in my Facebook feed, some time later, it was a tribute from a pilot you had flown with. The way it was worded, it sounded like maybe you had just left your job and moved on to something else. Curious, I went to your profile. And there was the news, that you were gone. Colon cancer. Age 37.

What a strange, cruel world this can be.

Your passing was a devastating reminder that all our lives are so fragile, able to be snatched away very quickly. However much we are loved. However much potential we have.

Thank you Nischa, for being a light in my life, and one of my true friends and supporters. I miss you. I hope you knew how much you meant to me.

Because of you, to cherish your memory, I try not to take anything for granted. I soak up, embrace and enjoy all the little things in life. I try to live as joyfully as I dare. I dance when I water my vegetable garden. I take every chance I can to do something that scares me. I try to tell the truth. I try to be as gracious and compassionate with others as you were. To always welcome strangers, as you welcomed me.

Grammarly is telling me my tone of this letter is joyful. How interesting. That’s exactly the word I’d use to describe you, my beautiful friend.

I hope I get to eat banana pudding in NYC again one day…. but it will never be the same without you.

All my love,

Phil xxx

Nischa Janssen
1979-2017

letters of our lives

I have some exciting news! For the rest of 2020, my friend and fellow writer Isabel Robinson and I will be collaborating on a project called Letters of our Lives.

Our Story

Phil and Iz met through the blogging community in 2015. Back then, Iz was studying in China and Phil was living and working in London. Both are writers – Phil published her memoir The Latte Years in 2016, the year after Iz began her first blog, Nanjing Nian chronicling her adventures in China. Internet tag followed; a blog comment here, an email there, and in 2017 Phil and Iz became proper penpals, writing long letters about their lives to one another from opposite ends of the world. Phil moved home to Hobart in 2018, and though only Bass Strait now divides them, the correspondence has continued.

They have met twice in person – that’s it!

Letters of our Lives is Phil and Iz’s first creative collaboration.

Our Project – Letters of our Lives

Inspired by the Women of Letters project begun by Marieke Hardy and Michaela McGuire in 2010 to ‘revive the lost art of correspondence’ and ‘showcase brilliant female minds’, Iz (here) and Phil (here) will write a letter each month on a shared theme for the rest of 2020.

Letters of our Lives is also the title of a novel Phil wrote when she was 14. The story followed the lives of two teenage girls, one living in country Tasmania and the other in chic, cosmopolitan Sydney. While that’s not their exact situation (and the story had a tragic ending!), they love the reference to childhood and the value of a carefully composed letter in a world of texts and tweets.

[sidenote from Phil: I found the original Letters of our LIves the other day! Here’s the hand-drawn title!]

These letters are a response to our lives, inner and outer, past, present and future.

We hope you enjoy our project.

If you’re a writer and would like to join in, we’d be open to it. Please contact either one of us via the contact forms on our blogs.

Yours in correspondence,

Iz and Phil x