Why I love Joan Didion

Joan Didion in the 1960s.

It is easy to see the beginning of things, and harder to see the ends.

I love that opening line from American essayist Joan Didion in her 1967 piece, “Goodbye to all that”.

Didion, who died in 2021 aged 87, was considered a pioneer of New Journalism/creative non-fiction, or the use of literary techniques like imagery and character development as part of non-fiction writing.

Her essay was required reading for me in a creative non-fiction course two years ago, as an example of great use of imagery. For example, there’s a young Didion eating a peach on New York’s Lexington Avenue, with soft air blowing from a subway grating on her legs “and I could smell lilac and garbage and expensive perfume”. And then, later, when the magic of NY is starting to wear off, there are the beautiful silk curtains she hung in her apartment being blown out the windows, tangled and drenched in the afternoon thunderstorms.

I don’t love “Goodbye to all that” because of its beautiful imagery. I love it because its opening line seems to me to encapsulate a lifetime of wisdom in one simple sentence. That’s probably not what Didion intended; as she goes on to explain, she simply wanted to highlight the difference between the moment New York “began” for her, which is as clear as crystal, and the moment it ended, which she cannot lay her finger on. The moment it began was the day she arrived in New York at 20 from Sacramento, California to start a journalism internship. But the moment New York ended, the point where “the golden rhythm” was broken, happened at an unspecified time, eight years later.

It is easy to see the beginning of things, because beginnings are fresh and exciting. A job, a house, a relationship – whatever the “new” thing is, we (and those around us) approach it with the same enthusiasm as a puppy with a ball. “Congratulations!” “Well done!” “I’m so happy for you.” But endings are often different. “I’m sorry to hear that. “What a shame.” “Rise above it.”

And while the emotions associated with any new beginning are inevitably enjoyable – anticipation, contentment, a feeling of achievement – those that accompany an ending – like grief, guilt or a sense of failure – can be much less comfortable.

But, it seems to me, being able to see the end of something – in other words, knowing when to stop doing something or when it’s the right time to extract yourself from a situation – is a critical life skill that can bring us much satisfaction and peace of mind, if we get it right.

A difficult ending can also be the prelude to a pleasant surprise. Barnard and I were devastated at being asked to move out of our beloved rental home in Featherston almost 18 months ago. But now that we’re happily settled in the house we bought in Masterton, we know it’s the best thing that could have happened.

The idea of ending or stopping something is also part of my favourite model for proactive change, known as Keep Stop Start:

1. What am I going to keep doing?

2. What am I going to stop doing?

3. What am I going to start doing?

I haven’t used Keep Stop Start for a while, but I found my thoughts returning to it recently when I was experiencing a period of stress, caused (as stress so often is) not by one person or situation, but a combination of events that left me feeling upset and out of sorts. It felt like a good time to renew my acquaintance with my old friend. Here are the results.

KEEP

1. I’m going to keep my new job at OPSM, which I started in January. Three hours a day, Monday to Friday, I sell glasses, book eye appointments, unpack boxes and order new contact lenses. It’s time I could be spending on my writing and, like most retail jobs, it’s poorly paid. But it gets me out of the house, provides a regular income while I continue to establish my freelance writing business, and exercises my brain while I’m learning something new.

2. I’m going to keep contacting magazines I like and asking if I can write for them. So far this has worked out rather well. I had a piece published in North and South magazine last month about moving to Masterton, and in May, New Zealand Gardener is going to publish my article on Barnard’s 3D-printed hydroponic gardening system.

3. Speaking of Barnard, I’m going to keep him too. This month marks the third anniversary of our first face-to-face date after meeting online. It was a rather interesting start to our relationship when New Zealand’s first Covid-19 lockdown happened a few days later. But it all worked out in the long run.

STOP

1. I’m going to stop editing the Featherston Phoenix, the monthly community newspaper I’ve been involved with for the past 18 months. I’d rather be editing my own work than other people’s, and if I can find just one new freelance writing assignment each month, it’ll cover what I would have been paid by the Phoenix.

2. I’m going to stop using Facebook. The underlying reasons would fill a whole blog in themselves. Let’s just say I find it a very artificial and unsatisfying way of keeping in touch with people (although I need to do more of that – see Start below). So if you want to keep reading my blog, you’ll just have to subscribe. There’s a form at the bottom of the page.

3. I’m going to stop being a worry wart. I know I take life too seriously a lot of the time, which wastes valuable energy, so I plan to work on lightening up. However, I won’t stop keeping my CDs in alphabetical order. That would be a step too far.

START

1. I’m going to start painting by numbers. Barnard recently bought me two adult paint-by-numbers kits online, and while they do look rather fiddly I’m looking forward to getting stuck in. They each come complete with a little picture of what the painting is supposed to look like, along with 24 tiny pottles of different-coloured paints. I’ve never been very good at art, so we’ll see.

2. I’m going to start keeping in touch with friends more often. Most of them are nearly two hours’ away in Wellington, so there’s the first challenge. But I miss catching up with people who have known me for years and can celebrate and commiserate over recent life events. Talking to Arki and the cats isn’t quite the same.

3. I’m going to start running again (by myself – Arki, take note). It’s so good for my physical and mental health and for combatting the inevitable weight gain that seems to come with getting older. I’m not planning any more half-marathons – for now – but a nice gentle jog round the neighbourhood a few times a week seems like a good idea.