For most of the time since I was eight years old, I’ve felt like my primary mission in life was to write. <\/p>\n
I started blogging in 1997 and started weekly psycho-therapy in 1998. All of my therapists have seen vast swathes of my writing as a major obstacle to my well-being. They’ve all wanted me to pull back from writing things that detract from my life. If I am committed to being an Orthodox Jew, then I should not blog things that hurt me in that area. If I am committed to teaching the Alexander Technique, I should not publish things that hurt me in that area. If I want to have friends, I should not make public writings that threaten those connections.<\/p>\n
By contrast, I’ve usually held that my most important purpose in life is to write and that everything else can lump it. Yes, I want to protect my most important relationships and will never betray those dozen or so connections, but after that, I’m free to say what I want, and if doing so causes me isolation, well, that’s the price of being an artist, of having such a sensitive soul, such keen observations. I’m in this world but not of this world. Sir Thomas More lost his head<\/a>, and I would lose mine too. Let it rest on Traitor’s Gate. Fine. My writing will be eternal. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" For most of the time since I was eight years old, I’ve felt like my primary mission in life was to write. I started blogging in 1997 and started weekly psycho-therapy in 1998. All of my therapists have seen vast … Continue reading