To Jane- with Love
Dear Jane,
I guess this is as good a place as any to write to you. You're dead, and besides, we never knew each other. I think that most of the people who have significantly shaped my life have this is common with you.
You were so bold. You put your name on your writing when it wasn't even acceptable to do so for women. I admire that about you. You didn't marry, instead choosing to make your own money on your own terms and support yourself. Yet often I feel like my life is just like one of your stories, just never that break through moment when it all makes sense.
I feel like I am constantly having to learn and relearn this lesson about the character of men. I don't seem to get it right ever. But I want to.
Maybe learning about my own character is helpful too. I am tired of trying and failing. I want to succeed. I am tired of being lonely, of holding my breath and distracting myself just long enough to go to sleep and try to make it through another day. I am tired of feeling so behind in life. I may start gaining momentum here.
I think about English gardens and life without toil, the upper class existence you wrote about, and it just seems so out of reach for most everyone I know. Still, there is joy to be had in the work. Little glitters of satisfaction in a job well done, purpose in being alive, being useful somehow to someone, contributing to the whole, to the unit. My cats don't share this joy, but I know bees and ants share it with me.
When I was in Ireland, I went to the Zoo. I saw a man cleaning up the garbage. I said something to him about having the fun job. He said that every job was valuable, no matter how small. It all needs to get done.
I find it's hard for me to measure it like he does. So often, I measure a job well done in dollars and cents and miss the pride in workmanship that accompanies knowing you did your best. I guess what I am trying to say, Jane, is that most of us don't marry for money anymore. I live in a world in which women work. We still don't make as much as men, but we can be educated. Our parents don't tell us who to marry, and nobody is going to be disinherited for picking the wrong mate. I think you would be happy about that. But there is still that deep character development work that must go on in our world. Money is tight for many. A living wage is hard to come by. We do so many side jobs to make ends meet. And we live in community, bitching about each other, to try to scratch out some extra money for the weekend.
It's just as well. No era will be without its problems. Someone will capture it as poetically in our age as you did in yours. I wish I would have known you. You wrote my family situation before I had words to describe what was going on with it. Thank you for the ladies you gave me. They've made me feel less alone in this world.
Thank you, Jane. Just in case the world hasn't told you enough. Thank you for writing strong, independent, stubborn, difficult women who needed to grow and who were perfect just as they were. You're truly an inspiration, and so are they.
I guess this is as good a place as any to write to you. You're dead, and besides, we never knew each other. I think that most of the people who have significantly shaped my life have this is common with you.
You were so bold. You put your name on your writing when it wasn't even acceptable to do so for women. I admire that about you. You didn't marry, instead choosing to make your own money on your own terms and support yourself. Yet often I feel like my life is just like one of your stories, just never that break through moment when it all makes sense.
I feel like I am constantly having to learn and relearn this lesson about the character of men. I don't seem to get it right ever. But I want to.
Maybe learning about my own character is helpful too. I am tired of trying and failing. I want to succeed. I am tired of being lonely, of holding my breath and distracting myself just long enough to go to sleep and try to make it through another day. I am tired of feeling so behind in life. I may start gaining momentum here.
I think about English gardens and life without toil, the upper class existence you wrote about, and it just seems so out of reach for most everyone I know. Still, there is joy to be had in the work. Little glitters of satisfaction in a job well done, purpose in being alive, being useful somehow to someone, contributing to the whole, to the unit. My cats don't share this joy, but I know bees and ants share it with me.
When I was in Ireland, I went to the Zoo. I saw a man cleaning up the garbage. I said something to him about having the fun job. He said that every job was valuable, no matter how small. It all needs to get done.
I find it's hard for me to measure it like he does. So often, I measure a job well done in dollars and cents and miss the pride in workmanship that accompanies knowing you did your best. I guess what I am trying to say, Jane, is that most of us don't marry for money anymore. I live in a world in which women work. We still don't make as much as men, but we can be educated. Our parents don't tell us who to marry, and nobody is going to be disinherited for picking the wrong mate. I think you would be happy about that. But there is still that deep character development work that must go on in our world. Money is tight for many. A living wage is hard to come by. We do so many side jobs to make ends meet. And we live in community, bitching about each other, to try to scratch out some extra money for the weekend.
It's just as well. No era will be without its problems. Someone will capture it as poetically in our age as you did in yours. I wish I would have known you. You wrote my family situation before I had words to describe what was going on with it. Thank you for the ladies you gave me. They've made me feel less alone in this world.
Thank you, Jane. Just in case the world hasn't told you enough. Thank you for writing strong, independent, stubborn, difficult women who needed to grow and who were perfect just as they were. You're truly an inspiration, and so are they.
Comments
Post a Comment