Of late the literary recluse has been in the news: first with the passing of a certain Mr. Salinger, and then Calvin and Hobbes creator Bill Watterson granted a rare, if brief, e-mail interview to a Cleveland newspaper.
Out of all this has come a good deal of commentary about why these creative men kept to themselves, why they didn't contribute more, what their motivations were, and so forth. For years, people have tried to track them down. We've heard from someone who used to help handle Salinger's mail, and those tales are interesting, to say the least. And journalists have tried for years to track down Salinger and Watterson, sometimes ending up with regret afterward.
Some people can't figure out why these men, with their accomplishments, did what they did: why Salinger retreated into the castle with the moat around it, only letting down the drawbridge when he wanted to. Or why, in relative youth and with Calvin and Hobbes still reliably funny and poignant, Watterson would call it quits and find bliss in anonymity. Some of the comments on recent articles have been interesting, with people wishing these men had been more productive or been less publicity-shy, or you name it.
But I can read these articles and completely understand why they didn't let the drawbridge down more than they did, and why they did things on their own terms. Why, for instance, they used their creativity as they saw fit and refused to let others dictate how they should spend it. I have no need to second-guess what they did, because I understand it. And, to some degree, I envy their self-determination. I've tried to emulate it to some extent.
For so long, I took so many orders from other folks, and took on things I hated doing. It was like an apprenticeship, yes, and I picked up many valuable skills and life lessons. But I also realized that life was too short, and when I was able, there were certain things I wouldn't do again. I also came to realize that a lot of things in life that somehow meant a good deal to some people weren't really that important to me.
To a certain extent, I began strategizing for the day when I could have my own drawbridge. And, to a certain extent, I have one. I have a good job that pays the bills, and I now have enough seniority to be a little more selective in how I do my work. I have a little bit of outside consulting work, but I'm very careful not to overextend myself there, and to only do things that I feel are worth it. With work and with outside activities, I've gotten rid of a lot of things that didn't justify themselves. As I've grown older, I've really come to appreciate the utility of the word "no." I still pop up, but only when I feel it's worth it. I'm not wealthy, but I don't need to be. I'd rather be happy. (As I've long said, I pray not for wealth, but for "just enough." That "just enough" gives you what you need, but reminds you not to get complacent.)
It also fits in with the fatigue I have with letting others define me, or letting myself be defined by my surroundings. For example, when I'm not at work, I don't like being considered a "professor," because that's not who I am outside the office or classroom, and I get tired when people throw it at me outside a professional context. I don't like when people project their hopes, dreams, desires or ambitions on me, even when some of those things might be things I'd otherwise stand for.
A few years ago I began writing a novel (that has since, it thankfully appears, died a merciful death). The protagonist was a young airline pilot who was caught up in a set of circumstances on a certain September morning, managed to resist the takeover of her aircraft, and landed the plane safely. Against her hopes and wishes, she became a heroine. And, out of this, her life became a nightmare because everybody wanted her to be something she didn't want to be. They saw her as all these things, projected onto her a lot of things she didn't want or believe in. She just wanted to be left alone to do her work and live her life, and it made folks upset that she didn't want to fill this role other folks created for her. (It was probably a good thing this never got finished, as without really knowing it, I realized later I'd sort of unknowingly ripped off part of Convoy.) In the end, she ended up moving to a little town in Alaska where nobody knew her except as another bush pilot, and she created her own new life and destiny, and had her own drawbridge.
I spent a lot of time, and put in a lot of effort, earning what I have now. And, having spent so long and having dedicated myself to getting here, I'm wary when others want something of me. Inevitably, I've learned, when you do that, they'll want more. It becomes the old "if you give a mouse a cookie" deal all over again. So that's why I'm wary. I do my work, sure, but outside of my work, I like the ability I've earned to ration myself. It's not that I'm misanthropic. It's that I'm careful. I like, for instance, that I basically write this blog because I like to, and if I get tired of it, I can walk away from it and it costs me nothing. No endorsement deals, no tie-ins, nothing. It's liberating, and it stays fun that way. I like, for instance, that most of the projects I do outside work are for myself. If I'm building something and it doesn't come along to my satisfaction, I can shelve it and not worry about it because I'm my own client. That's awfully nice.
I like it this way. And I've worked to get to the point where I can enjoy it. So, while other people wonder why Salinger and Watterson turned "reclusive," I can look at those two and say "Right on, brothers." Because I get it.
