Pumpkins and velvet cushions

A line from Thoreau pops into my head. This is not an unusual thing to have happen. I have relied on his words for more then thirty years. When some people say that writing does not matter, I think of how many times it is the written word that has gotten me through a night. I recall reading somewhere that Bobby Kennedy was aided through the period after his brother’s death by the Greek tragedians and the Existentialists. Just so, Thoreau is one of those sources I draw on in order to make it through a particularly tough time.

The quote I have in mind is his claim that he would rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to himself than be crowded on a velvet cushion. Academia was quite a velvet cushion. Short days, long vacations, good pay, secure position. But there was a sense in which I always felt like a misfit. Certainly I did not shine in academia, but I would argue it is because my talents are not really those designed to shine in academia. Writing the sort of stuff that will get you noticed in academia was just not part of my personality. For a while I tried but and even published in this vein. But in the end, I chose another route, chose to write stuff that was more likely to reach a general audience. I don’t say that was either good or bad. It was simply where my interest and I think my ability lay. And while I did o.k. as a teacher, this is not the best position for an introvert, and in some ways it simply went against my grain.

So now I am out on my own. There is not the shelter and safety of academia, not the business card that explains who you are, not the easy answer to the question, “what do you do?” More importantly, not the income nor the benefits. As a result I will have to live a much simpler life, and in some ways a harder life. I have no illusion about what has been lost.But in focusing on Thoreau I can turn my attention to what has been gained. Thoreau tells the story of an Indian who, when he someone refused to buy his basket replied, “what, do you mean us to starve.” Thoreau wanted his life to be where he did not have to sell his baskets. And I guess that is where I am headed.