Anderson - A Year by the Sea: Thoughts of an Unfinished Woman

A hardcover edition of this book was originally published in 1999 by Doubleday, a division of Random House, Inc.

A YEAR BY THE SEA. Copyright 1999 by Joan Anderson. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission from the publisher. For information, address: Doubleday, a division of Random House, Inc., 1540 Broadway, New York, NY 10036.

BROADWAY BOOKS and its logo, a letter B bisected on the diagonal, are trademarks of Broadway Books, a division of Random House, Inc.

Excerpt from When One Has Lived a Long Time Alone 1990 by Galway Kinnell. Reprinted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House.

Excerpt from The Waking 1953 by Theodore Roethke from The Collected Poems of Theodore
Roethke. Reprinted by permission of Doubleday, a division of Random House, Inc.

The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover as:
Anderson, Joan.
A year by the sea: thoughts of an unfinished woman / Joan Anderson.1st ed.
p. cm.
1. Anderson, Joan. 2. Cape Cod (Mass.)Biography. 3. Women
MassachusettsCape CodBiography. 4. Cape Cod (Mass.)
Description and travel. I. Title.
F72.C3A73 1999
974.492043092dc21

[B] 98-37082

eISBN: 978-0-307-77790-4

v3.1_r1

To my role model and best friendmy wondrously
unfinished motherwho continues to evolve
and transcend herself

Her wisdom, and that of her mother,
whispers throughout these pages.

I am deeply indebted to my friend Cheryl Lindgren, who gave me Women Who Run with the Wolves with the inscription: Never forget our roots. She was referring to our femininity, which, back in 1992, was tattered and unraveling. Together we formed a group of women to share our mutual plight and attempt to get back to our authentic selves. To these original soul seekers and pathfinders I owe the deepest gratitude: Virginia Dare, Joya Verde, Joan Daniels, Judy Greenberg, Hazel Goodwin, Julie Hansen. We worked toward growth and change for several years and this story is theirs as well as mine.

Local Cape Codders Marilyn Leugers, Nancy Cole, Geri Appleyard, Loni Ebersold, Marcia West, and Judy Corkum added encouragement and insight as the journey continued. Their feedback is sprinkled throughout subsequent drafts. Still othersthe Snyders, Emmerlings, and Bormansoffered their hideaways and cottages where I retreated to sort out my journal notes and formulate this manuscript.

There are no words to communicate my gratitude to Nicholas Monsarrat, Barbara Curcio, and Rebecca Anderson, three intuitive and discriminating editors, writers in their own right, who fine-tuned each chapter, fussed over my grammar, insisted that I not cut out on the truth, prodded me for more when I wanted to give less. Thank you for being incredible coaches during my literary marathon!

And a special thanks to Hannah Andrychowski, who transcribed notes, typed draft after draft, met strenuous deadlines, and cheered me on, for she believed the message.

Of course this book would not have been possible without the clear and steady vision of my agent, Olivia Blumer her sense that I was compelled to write this book, her faith that I could achieve it, and most significantly, getting it to the desks of Patricia Mulcahy and Harriet Rubin, venerable editors who know the market and were able to direct me to write for it, and special thanks to Denell Downum, who navigated the manuscript into port.

And then there is family: my cousin Judy, a sounding board and voice in the wilderness who prodded me from faraway Texas to finish the job; Wendy, her sister, who stood in admiration and cheered; my sons, who continue to push me toward authenticity, and their wives, whose independence and striving determination to become their own persons within the bounds of marriage continue to inspire me. But most of all I have enormous gratitude for my husband, who gave me license to share the hard truths and sought his own in the process. He never once interrupted my writing time, always ready to read the next chapter with a critical eye and encouraging words.

Many have provided a cheering section from afar: the Geigers, Chertoks, Jan, Dan, and Martha Masterson, especially Pamela Borman, a staunch supporter and good friend who believes in my message and is the best public relations person I could have.

Finally, I was so blessed to find my mentor and playmate, the late Joan Erikson, who committed to the task of dishing out her Eriksonian actuality day in and day out until it took hold.

There is a tide in the affairs of men,

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

On such a full sea are we now afloat;

And we must take the current when it serves,

Or lose our ventures.

Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, ACT IV, SCENE 3

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves.

Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything.

Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answers.

Rainer Maria Rilke, LETTER TO A YOUNG POET

T he decision to separate seemed to happen overnight. My husband came home from work one day and announced that he was taking a job hundreds of miles away. As he yammered on about the details, I sat blank-faced, hard-pressed for an excuse not to accompany him. After all, our two sons were grown, the big old family house in which we had resided for seventeen years had long since outlived its usefulness, and my job was portable. So where was my resistance coming from? Why was I frozen, frightened, and full of anger?

It didnt take long to realize my uncomplicated truth. I simply did not have the inclination or the energy to move with him. Trying to start a new life, in a strange place, when the marriage had gone stale was simply too overwhelming. I surprised myself when I blurted out the only alternative I could think of: retreating to our Cape Cod cottage to figure things out. I was alarmed by my numbness, my seeming lack of compassion, but there it was staring me in the face.

Consciously, I wasnt thinking this would be a legal separation, just a little breathing space that would be a sort of time-out, a vacation from relationship. For all intents and purposes, we would be back together again in a few months.

My husband met my challenge with little or no emotion, becoming remote, even blas. We went about making plans for our futureless future with a frightening politeness, casually announcing the decision to friends who gathered after a garage sale in our living room, now emptied of stuff, extraneous and otherwise. While most of them stood aghast, one quickly filled the stunned silence with Well, what kind of memories do you have about this place?