I will say that of the many good things that came from my divorce, one was certainly being disabused of the notion that I would be able to prevent my children from ever experiencing pain, particularly pain around family, which is one of those themes I return to over and over again. Now what I hope, and this has come to be true over the last 11 years, is that when we experience pain we keep each other good company. And I am realizing that is both more realistic and much, much more meaningful.
Having come from a family where there was a lot of addiction and violence, even as we were progressive people of faith, I wrestle in my writing (and in my life) continually with the notion of integrity. What is it? How do you actually practice integrity as an inevitably imperfect human? How do go about working through your periodic failures of integrity, both internally and with others, so that you can get back to yourself and function lovingly and honestly with the people around you? I circle around this continually because, as Toni Morrison used to say, I'm trying to write the thing I wish I could read. Certainly that I wish I could have read when I was growing up and being taught, emphatically, how important it was to live with integrity but not being offered any useful information about *how* to actually accomplish such a thing.
The wisdom here! Thank you, Asha. I like to remind myself that integrity is about wholeness. It helps me to wrap my head around what it means to show up with integrity even as an imperfect human being. I'll be thinking about your words for a good, long time. Gratitude-- M
Yes! That’s what I tell folks in my newsletter-- that integrity and integer come from the same root-- wholeness and whole numbers. It’s so much more than a moral exercise. How do we show up and find some mercy for our own and others messy, whole-ass selves? That’s the practice.
Maggie and Asha, thank you for sharing your thoughts on (and the actual root of the word) integrity as wholeness. A big theme—no, more than that, a QUEST—for me this year, in writing and in life, has been *authenticity*. Or, as Terri Cole puts it in the subtitle of her book, Boundary Boss, *talking true*. Your dialogue here gives me the language to explain to myself why this quest for authenticity has felt so urgent, so essential at this point in my late-forties life. When we can’t be authentic, when stay among people who punish us for talking and being true, we can’t be whole. When we can’t be whole, we’re out of our integrity. We literally dis-integrate. I’m tired of crumbling to pieces. I’ve been putting myself back together. I’m becoming whole.
Maggie, I’m a new fan and just want to say hi. I’m a writer and editor and podcaster. I loved your new memoir! Esp. how you structured it in short chapters and kept asking the same question over and over. I can’t lay my hands on my copy so I’m not remembering the exact phrasing. I puzzled over that question!
One of my favorites of yours, Maggie. Thank you for this annotation and look behind the scenes! I love how you point out the common thread here between Good Bones and First Fall, among others, and how we often return to the same themes and questions over and over (as you reveal so well in your memoir!)
This is one of my favorite poems... "soon I'll have another season to offer you." It lands different each time I see it--alone, among other poems, in your memoir, here. Thanks for these glimpses into your creative process. As someone who writes poetry without any classroom training, seeing how you think about language and lines and sounds is so valuable.
I will say that of the many good things that came from my divorce, one was certainly being disabused of the notion that I would be able to prevent my children from ever experiencing pain, particularly pain around family, which is one of those themes I return to over and over again. Now what I hope, and this has come to be true over the last 11 years, is that when we experience pain we keep each other good company. And I am realizing that is both more realistic and much, much more meaningful.
Having come from a family where there was a lot of addiction and violence, even as we were progressive people of faith, I wrestle in my writing (and in my life) continually with the notion of integrity. What is it? How do you actually practice integrity as an inevitably imperfect human? How do go about working through your periodic failures of integrity, both internally and with others, so that you can get back to yourself and function lovingly and honestly with the people around you? I circle around this continually because, as Toni Morrison used to say, I'm trying to write the thing I wish I could read. Certainly that I wish I could have read when I was growing up and being taught, emphatically, how important it was to live with integrity but not being offered any useful information about *how* to actually accomplish such a thing.
The wisdom here! Thank you, Asha. I like to remind myself that integrity is about wholeness. It helps me to wrap my head around what it means to show up with integrity even as an imperfect human being. I'll be thinking about your words for a good, long time. Gratitude-- M
Yes! That’s what I tell folks in my newsletter-- that integrity and integer come from the same root-- wholeness and whole numbers. It’s so much more than a moral exercise. How do we show up and find some mercy for our own and others messy, whole-ass selves? That’s the practice.
Maggie and Asha, thank you for sharing your thoughts on (and the actual root of the word) integrity as wholeness. A big theme—no, more than that, a QUEST—for me this year, in writing and in life, has been *authenticity*. Or, as Terri Cole puts it in the subtitle of her book, Boundary Boss, *talking true*. Your dialogue here gives me the language to explain to myself why this quest for authenticity has felt so urgent, so essential at this point in my late-forties life. When we can’t be authentic, when stay among people who punish us for talking and being true, we can’t be whole. When we can’t be whole, we’re out of our integrity. We literally dis-integrate. I’m tired of crumbling to pieces. I’ve been putting myself back together. I’m becoming whole.
Maggie, I’m a new fan and just want to say hi. I’m a writer and editor and podcaster. I loved your new memoir! Esp. how you structured it in short chapters and kept asking the same question over and over. I can’t lay my hands on my copy so I’m not remembering the exact phrasing. I puzzled over that question!
Debbie, thank you. I’m glad the structure resonated with you! The book—like life—is full of unanswerable questions.💚
One of my favorites of yours, Maggie. Thank you for this annotation and look behind the scenes! I love how you point out the common thread here between Good Bones and First Fall, among others, and how we often return to the same themes and questions over and over (as you reveal so well in your memoir!)
Beautiful poem, beautiful annotations, beautiful photograph. I loved reading this one. It brought me peace. Thank you.
This is one of my favorite poems... "soon I'll have another season to offer you." It lands different each time I see it--alone, among other poems, in your memoir, here. Thanks for these glimpses into your creative process. As someone who writes poetry without any classroom training, seeing how you think about language and lines and sounds is so valuable.