Day 168

Years ago, when I was in my mid-twenties, I decided I wanted to go back to school to study photography. What I wanted in life was to travel the world and take pictures. I applied to a school out in California, I was accepted, and at the end of the summer I planned to drive out there. Mom didn’t want me to go alone. She thought I might enjoy some company. And so we left New York together. We didn’t drive the most direct route. We detoured to visit a few historic sights and National Parks along the way: the arch in St. Louis, the Alamo, the site of the Oklahoma bombing, Saguaro National Park. It enjoyed the journey, as I always enjoy traveling, but during the drive Mom managed to talk me out staying in California. I had no where to live. I didn’t have a job. Photography was a hobby, not something people did seriously. I was young, naive, and I let her talk me out of my dream. I let her convince me that I was making a big mistake and that the smart thing to do would be to turn around, return to New York and get a degree in education. I’m not sure what the bigger mistake was, giving up photography or taking up education. But in retrospect, I do know that I should have taken that trip out west alone. Because my mother was wrong. Teaching was not the secure option. It was the option that kept me bound closer to her, which is probably what she wanted. Maybe it’s not New Jersey I hate, so much as the fact that I allowed her to talk me into putting down roots close to home when what I wanted to do more than anything was explore every inch of the globe. I have always been happiest when traveling, even if it’s only a trip throughout the United States, like this last trip to the Great Lakes. If I had pursued my dream, I might still be poor. I might still not be happy. But I doubt I’d feel as miserable and empty as I do now.  

Today, we were sitting at the beach. Mom, my son, and I. I made the mistake of mentioning that we were considering another — short — camping trip at the end of September. Mom got that look on face, the same look she always got when I did something wrong, and she demanded to know why the Mattituck house wasn’t enough for me. Why couldn’t I just be happy that we could come here for a vacation? Other people just spend a week at the beach in the summer, why do I want more especially when we have no money? She doesn’t get. She never will. I don’t like vacations. I like to travel, and there is a big fucking difference between the two.

I listened to her all those year ago, and I wish I hadn’t. I wish I hadn’t allowed her to convince that I would fail. During my entire childhood, she criticized everything I did to the point where I was petrified to do anything, because it was bound to be wrong. And it was better not to act than to act and get it wrong. I’ve never had any self confidence because every time I made a mistake while copying a draft of an essay for school, mom made me rewrite it until there were no mistakes, no erasures. It had to be perfect, and perfection is impossible especially when learning something new. In the end, it was best not try, because by then I was tired of hearing her say, “I told you so,” every time I landed on my ass. But I wish I could go back in time and tell my twenty something self to leave her home. If only I had driven out to California alone. If only I hadn’t let my mother convince me that I wasn’t good enough to make it on my own, in the field that I was passionate about.

Ironically, failure has plagued me anyway. But perhaps my failures are driven by the fact that I’m not really doing what I wanted to do. Except for writing. I’ve come to like writing almost as much as photography. I didn’t let Mom talk me out of pursuing a degree in writing, but still failure greets me at ever turn. And that failure is made worse every time Mom asks, “Why do bother writing essays, if no one pays you? Why don’t you try to get a real job instead?” Yeah, I wish I had gone out west alone. I wish she would stop being so critical. I miss my dad, because while it took him a really long time, he was finally starting to understand me little bit better. At least he eventually said “very nice” when I published something. Now, I don’t even tell my mother when something gets published. It’s less painful not too.

While at the beach my son and I took a long walk, just the two of us. We walked by a large group  — there must have been fifty or sixty people — all sitting together. Kids of all ages were mingling both on the sand and in the water. This is just one example as to why schools should not open. These parent don’t give a shit about the virus. They are potentially exposing their kids to it. When their kids show up for in-person classes, they could infect their teachers or other kids. I find it extremely obnoxious that parents are demanding that teachers put their lives at risk to teach their kids, while at the same time not keeping their kids isolated and virus free. Parents are selfish. And as a result, people could die. But who knows, maybe if I had a successful career and was eager to get back on the road, I too would want my kid back in school. 

Mom seems set on selling this house. I’m going to miss it. I already miss it, because the house without Daddy is very different than the house we used to visit when he was alive. Mom expects me to come out here more, but I’ve already said I don’t like vacations. We used to come here to visit my parents. There was no obligation. Now, no matter what my mother decides, I know I will feel guilty, but hanging onto something simply because of the memories seems almost foolish. It will never be what it was, because Dad is no more.

I am now revising my query letter — based on critiques from my writing circle — for one of my novels. It’s the one from which I had an excerpt published back at the beginning of the summer. Writing query letters is a weakness. I can’t seem to encapsulate the essence of my story into a few sentences that pop. The novel has been rejected by over 100 agents. Is it because the writing is bad, because I have no luck, or because I have crappy query skills?

If only I could get a do over. If only I could choose to stay in California. That was the path I should have taken. The path I’m on is overgrown and dark. There seem to be no opportunities here.