thank you. There was so much truth in this essay. For me, it’s not just time, it’s also distance. I live many thousands of miles away from some of the people I love the most.
“And yet, to see the structure is to loosen its hold.” Thank you for being a walking candle for illuminating the expansive invitation of time. Of why we might elect to elevate our intentional choices about how we use it and how we spend what we make when in service to it. After not one, but four visitations by cancer, I gave away my work clothes, scaled back my “societal ambitions”, combined homes with my sister’s family so I could do meaningful work part time, and spend whatever precious time I had left choosing and savoring a path led by soul. Four years later, I am alive, we are still living jointly, and would not go back. Countless meaningful moments and meals with my nieces, my own newly adult children (where distance is not the price of being grown) that fill my heart and help steady me in these tumultuous times. I saw the system that supported the acceptance of too many trade-offs, for a productivity that might well have extinguished my life. We have more power than we realize to re-claim what really matters to us.
Fred, so much in this piece. I loved it so much. Thank you. My sister recently visited and we didn't plan special outings or events, we spent the days together taking walks, cooking, shopping, reading together. It was such a treasure. Since my mother died, it has become so important to us to keep the string of family together across the distance because my mother held everything together. That time was so precious.
Also, thinking about how we bear witness to events and how do we properly honor. Thank you for giving me something that I will be thinking about for a long time. Your writing is a treasure to me.
We have been taught to accept this thinning of our lives as the price of being adults, as though distance were inevitable and not arranged, as though absence were natural and not produced. We say we are busy, and what we mean is that our time no longer belongs to us. We say we are tired, and what we mean is that something has taken more from us than we ever intended to give. The language softens the reality, but the reality remains. The people we love are reduced to appointments. Presence becomes something scheduled, negotiated, postponed.
Your text: We have been taught to accept this thinning of our lives as the price of being adults, as though distance were inevitable and not arranged, as though absence were natural and not produced. We say we are busy, and what we mean is that our time no longer belongs to us. We say we are tired, and what we mean is that something has taken more from us than we ever intended to give. The language softens the reality, but the reality remains. The people we love are reduced to appointments. Presence becomes something scheduled, negotiated, postponed.
My comment: blah, blah, blah. We weren’t taught all that. I don’t blame my choices on anyone other than me. I had opportunities to move away for career reasons. I didn’t do it. I didn’t chase money. I didn’t anyone tell me what to value. Nobody said anything to me about my choices. I’ve read so many of these pieces where people blame “society” for their choices. It’s your life.
Quite a story, Mr. Joseph. I related directly to it after a hiatus of many years from the last of my family. I'm talking 20, 25 years of not knowing where the last of my blood family might be. With a compelling aegis upon me, I sat down one afternoon about two years ago, maybe more like three, and wrote a birthday card to my cousin, dated on her birthday. My second cousin. We were only a month apart as we grew up. We were very close, more like sisters but we drifted apart. On point, what you were describing.
The letter I sent was to her last known address. She had sold that property, so the address was incorrect. But the local postman saw that it was handwritten and saw my name in the return address label. He knew her well enough that he called her and said would you like to see this? She said yes.
So a year, year and a half in the wind, and part of what I wrote was: I hope that you receive this and that you are well. And please know, there is nothing I want or need to ask of you. Other than I that I think of you frequently and know you to be one of my last remaining family members.
One day about this same time of year, my phone rang and I answered even though I didn't recognize the number. At the other end my cousin Synda asked: Genny? Genny is that you? I replied: Yes Synda it's me.
We spoke for two hours on the phone catching up somewhat and then last September I flew up to Virginia where she and her wonderful husband live in Amherst, which is very close to Charlottesville which you mentioned in another post.
It was spectacular in its ease and willingness. We stayed up late, got up early. We told stories we knew only she and I would understand, laughed in such delight that we both had sore tummies all through the visit. We talked about our family and revealed to each other things that neither one of us had known until that moment and so what I want to say is: Thank you. I hope this response finds a place in your heart and mind.
I think she's going to come down to Florida and join me at a writers conference in Seaside, Florida in the Panhandle, in May. We'll go fishing together. We'll make some meals together. We will be connected in family again and never lose touch again. We speak on the phone at least once a week, exchange emails and the occasional text, but we love just talking on the phone. We make time, hold space for each other, and because of those few days last September, we have renewed, rejuvenated, sort of kind of renovated our love for each other. So thank you for the profound insights. It helps me to treasure this renewed bond, connection with my family even more. There is love abounding as hope and beauty are not lost. They are very much with us, even if we cannot touch, see or feel them all the time. Time, as you so poignantly express, is finite for these fragile selves we treasure. Embracing mortality, eyeball to eyeball is worth every ounce of willingness we can muster.
I read this email this morning. Sent it to a bunch of friends. I'm still thinking about it this afternoon and almost want to write it word for word down on paper just to make it stick. Thank you for making the abstract, in a way, tangible.
Wow. I have been thinking about this very thing so much lately - how we have the resources to feed, clothe, and heal everyone and they are squandered as our time is squandered. My family and friends are also scattered across the country, seeing each other once a year, if that. I'm aching for more time for what's important while living paycheck to paycheck. It feels like I'm just watching it slip away, but I'm so tired when I'm not working. Thank you for writing so eloquently about this. 🖤
Thanks for this! I am revising my life, by that I mean my use of time since I got back from vacation. Instead of striving to do more, I am stepping back and asking if the thing I think I have to do is in keeping with the lifestyle I am choosing.
This was so profound 🥹 needed this one today!
Thank you, friend 🖤
Thank you. As I said in my restack, you keep speaking my heart, brilliantly written.
thank you. There was so much truth in this essay. For me, it’s not just time, it’s also distance. I live many thousands of miles away from some of the people I love the most.
Wonderful read and an honest reminder. Much needed, thank you.
“And yet, to see the structure is to loosen its hold.” Thank you for being a walking candle for illuminating the expansive invitation of time. Of why we might elect to elevate our intentional choices about how we use it and how we spend what we make when in service to it. After not one, but four visitations by cancer, I gave away my work clothes, scaled back my “societal ambitions”, combined homes with my sister’s family so I could do meaningful work part time, and spend whatever precious time I had left choosing and savoring a path led by soul. Four years later, I am alive, we are still living jointly, and would not go back. Countless meaningful moments and meals with my nieces, my own newly adult children (where distance is not the price of being grown) that fill my heart and help steady me in these tumultuous times. I saw the system that supported the acceptance of too many trade-offs, for a productivity that might well have extinguished my life. We have more power than we realize to re-claim what really matters to us.
This has been sitting with me since I read it.
Fred, so much in this piece. I loved it so much. Thank you. My sister recently visited and we didn't plan special outings or events, we spent the days together taking walks, cooking, shopping, reading together. It was such a treasure. Since my mother died, it has become so important to us to keep the string of family together across the distance because my mother held everything together. That time was so precious.
Also, thinking about how we bear witness to events and how do we properly honor. Thank you for giving me something that I will be thinking about for a long time. Your writing is a treasure to me.
Your text:
We have been taught to accept this thinning of our lives as the price of being adults, as though distance were inevitable and not arranged, as though absence were natural and not produced. We say we are busy, and what we mean is that our time no longer belongs to us. We say we are tired, and what we mean is that something has taken more from us than we ever intended to give. The language softens the reality, but the reality remains. The people we love are reduced to appointments. Presence becomes something scheduled, negotiated, postponed.
Your text: We have been taught to accept this thinning of our lives as the price of being adults, as though distance were inevitable and not arranged, as though absence were natural and not produced. We say we are busy, and what we mean is that our time no longer belongs to us. We say we are tired, and what we mean is that something has taken more from us than we ever intended to give. The language softens the reality, but the reality remains. The people we love are reduced to appointments. Presence becomes something scheduled, negotiated, postponed.
My comment: blah, blah, blah. We weren’t taught all that. I don’t blame my choices on anyone other than me. I had opportunities to move away for career reasons. I didn’t do it. I didn’t chase money. I didn’t anyone tell me what to value. Nobody said anything to me about my choices. I’ve read so many of these pieces where people blame “society” for their choices. It’s your life.
Quite a story, Mr. Joseph. I related directly to it after a hiatus of many years from the last of my family. I'm talking 20, 25 years of not knowing where the last of my blood family might be. With a compelling aegis upon me, I sat down one afternoon about two years ago, maybe more like three, and wrote a birthday card to my cousin, dated on her birthday. My second cousin. We were only a month apart as we grew up. We were very close, more like sisters but we drifted apart. On point, what you were describing.
The letter I sent was to her last known address. She had sold that property, so the address was incorrect. But the local postman saw that it was handwritten and saw my name in the return address label. He knew her well enough that he called her and said would you like to see this? She said yes.
So a year, year and a half in the wind, and part of what I wrote was: I hope that you receive this and that you are well. And please know, there is nothing I want or need to ask of you. Other than I that I think of you frequently and know you to be one of my last remaining family members.
One day about this same time of year, my phone rang and I answered even though I didn't recognize the number. At the other end my cousin Synda asked: Genny? Genny is that you? I replied: Yes Synda it's me.
We spoke for two hours on the phone catching up somewhat and then last September I flew up to Virginia where she and her wonderful husband live in Amherst, which is very close to Charlottesville which you mentioned in another post.
It was spectacular in its ease and willingness. We stayed up late, got up early. We told stories we knew only she and I would understand, laughed in such delight that we both had sore tummies all through the visit. We talked about our family and revealed to each other things that neither one of us had known until that moment and so what I want to say is: Thank you. I hope this response finds a place in your heart and mind.
I think she's going to come down to Florida and join me at a writers conference in Seaside, Florida in the Panhandle, in May. We'll go fishing together. We'll make some meals together. We will be connected in family again and never lose touch again. We speak on the phone at least once a week, exchange emails and the occasional text, but we love just talking on the phone. We make time, hold space for each other, and because of those few days last September, we have renewed, rejuvenated, sort of kind of renovated our love for each other. So thank you for the profound insights. It helps me to treasure this renewed bond, connection with my family even more. There is love abounding as hope and beauty are not lost. They are very much with us, even if we cannot touch, see or feel them all the time. Time, as you so poignantly express, is finite for these fragile selves we treasure. Embracing mortality, eyeball to eyeball is worth every ounce of willingness we can muster.
Simply beautiful and totally on target. Thank you
I read this email this morning. Sent it to a bunch of friends. I'm still thinking about it this afternoon and almost want to write it word for word down on paper just to make it stick. Thank you for making the abstract, in a way, tangible.
Wow. I have been thinking about this very thing so much lately - how we have the resources to feed, clothe, and heal everyone and they are squandered as our time is squandered. My family and friends are also scattered across the country, seeing each other once a year, if that. I'm aching for more time for what's important while living paycheck to paycheck. It feels like I'm just watching it slip away, but I'm so tired when I'm not working. Thank you for writing so eloquently about this. 🖤
Thanks for writing this. Sometimes we all need a reminder of what really matters in life.
Thanks for this! I am revising my life, by that I mean my use of time since I got back from vacation. Instead of striving to do more, I am stepping back and asking if the thing I think I have to do is in keeping with the lifestyle I am choosing.