Though my family had come down the economic ladder we still ranked high on New England social scales from earlier generations. I attended Deerfield Academy, was part of the elite old boy network. I had a foot in Kennebunkport, you might say. The optics are enticing, but believe me, snobbery, racism, elitism are rampant in those waters, and life there is not worth the price of admission. You can't really buy your way in anyway. You need to be born there. Consider that you dodged a bullet : )
The thing we were performing from the outside was, from the inside, not worth the performance. With years this becomes apparent, but you can't convince a teenager otherwise. Thank you for saying it so plainly.
You just out-wrote me and I am delighted. The Sebago Mocs in frost, the Purple Jesus punch, the tongue encountering braces. Here we have the inside of the world I was performing from the outside in Oklahoma, rendered in perfect detail. "Carefree ways disguised a cult of self-enforced restraint." Every cult and culture are a cousin of another, even thousands of miles away. Human nature reigns consistent. Particularly in adolescence.
Hi, Monica, what a captivating read! I think this holds a lot of punch for me because I was always "aspirational"! That can be both wonderful in the way that it drive us to create, learn, work, but a little sad in the way it imprisons us with incessant striving and comparison. For me...your piece really begs me to dig into that a bit more deeply in my own life. No complaints with where I have ended up, and I like to think (ha!) that I have created this life out of living something "authentic." But your beautiful piece makes me wonder how we see and know ourselves. Can we see ourselves truly? Or is it always only in relation to others? Love this. Thank you, as always, for making me think!
Thanks so much for this thoughtful reflection. It means so much to hear that this piece resonated with your own journey.
You’ve hit on something truly profound—'aspirational' drive is such a double-edged sword. It’s the engine of our growth, but as you so perfectly put it, it can also become a prison of comparison. I wrestle with that exact question myself: how much of our 'self' is intrinsic, and how much is just a reflection of the people we happen to be standing next to?
I love that you’ve framed your own life as a creation of 'authenticity' rather than just a result of striving. That shift in perspective changes everything.
When you change countries, you change dialects, but you do the same when you change professions. You build up a resume of shared touchstones, an attitude and a way of speaking in one field that is worth absolutely nothing when you enter a new world of work. And going back to that first world years later, you find that the polos and loafers you once knew and loved have all been replaced by branded hoodies and slip-on sneakers from a store whose location you can't find on the map.
You just wrote the next essay. "The polos and loafers replaced by branded hoodies from a store whose location you can't find on the map." The dialect shifts whether you cross a border or a professional threshold. Eeither way you come back to find the furniture rearranged in the dark. Thank you for this. I'm still thinking about it.
Most of what you wrote didn't mean anything to me. Until you mentioned Florence - our common language" - I didn't relate. Which I guess is the whole point. I didn't get the "language".
This made me smile — you did get the language, you just got it through a different door. Florence: the universal translator! Thank you for reading and for telling me where it landed for you!
Though my family had come down the economic ladder we still ranked high on New England social scales from earlier generations. I attended Deerfield Academy, was part of the elite old boy network. I had a foot in Kennebunkport, you might say. The optics are enticing, but believe me, snobbery, racism, elitism are rampant in those waters, and life there is not worth the price of admission. You can't really buy your way in anyway. You need to be born there. Consider that you dodged a bullet : )
The thing we were performing from the outside was, from the inside, not worth the performance. With years this becomes apparent, but you can't convince a teenager otherwise. Thank you for saying it so plainly.
Oops. Premature launch! Take 2:
In the Maine Coast town where I grew up,
There was an understanding:
There were three yacht clubs,
A boatyard, and the steep-approach Town Landing.
There were small but sharp divisions between sail and motor sailors;
Was your a craft a classic J-boat
Or a rakish Boston Whaler?
My hair bleached white, fair skin grew brown,
Like half the other kids in town.
We guzzled Heinies on most nights.
The girls all smoking Marlboro Lights.
I’d often crew on Martha’s boat,
A beauty, named “The Reef”.
An apt reward for Martha’s Dad, who straightened crooked teeth.
I had no braces, but I came to know their feel
When I’d kiss a girl who had them
And my tongue encountered steel.
We swam like fish. We drank like fish. Had Tuna fish for lunch.
We raided parents’ stocks of beer, made Purple Jesus punch.
My breath smelled then of Camel Straights, and was distinctly malty.
We cherished our reputations:
Worldly-wise and pretty salty.
We wore a sort of uniform,
Painter pants and Lacoste,
Sebago Mocs out on the docks
Even when there was frost.
Our carefree ways disguised a cult of self-enforced restraint.
Grown-ups will let you borrow boats
If you don’t fuck up the paint.
Even now I can spot folks of that tribe, walking a Black Lab pup.
Clean but threadbare jeans,
Just like in their teens,
Izod collars standing up.
O fellow poet!
You just out-wrote me and I am delighted. The Sebago Mocs in frost, the Purple Jesus punch, the tongue encountering braces. Here we have the inside of the world I was performing from the outside in Oklahoma, rendered in perfect detail. "Carefree ways disguised a cult of self-enforced restraint." Every cult and culture are a cousin of another, even thousands of miles away. Human nature reigns consistent. Particularly in adolescence.
Hi, Monica, what a captivating read! I think this holds a lot of punch for me because I was always "aspirational"! That can be both wonderful in the way that it drive us to create, learn, work, but a little sad in the way it imprisons us with incessant striving and comparison. For me...your piece really begs me to dig into that a bit more deeply in my own life. No complaints with where I have ended up, and I like to think (ha!) that I have created this life out of living something "authentic." But your beautiful piece makes me wonder how we see and know ourselves. Can we see ourselves truly? Or is it always only in relation to others? Love this. Thank you, as always, for making me think!
Thanks so much for this thoughtful reflection. It means so much to hear that this piece resonated with your own journey.
You’ve hit on something truly profound—'aspirational' drive is such a double-edged sword. It’s the engine of our growth, but as you so perfectly put it, it can also become a prison of comparison. I wrestle with that exact question myself: how much of our 'self' is intrinsic, and how much is just a reflection of the people we happen to be standing next to?
I love that you’ve framed your own life as a creation of 'authenticity' rather than just a result of striving. That shift in perspective changes everything.
When you change countries, you change dialects, but you do the same when you change professions. You build up a resume of shared touchstones, an attitude and a way of speaking in one field that is worth absolutely nothing when you enter a new world of work. And going back to that first world years later, you find that the polos and loafers you once knew and loved have all been replaced by branded hoodies and slip-on sneakers from a store whose location you can't find on the map.
You just wrote the next essay. "The polos and loafers replaced by branded hoodies from a store whose location you can't find on the map." The dialect shifts whether you cross a border or a professional threshold. Eeither way you come back to find the furniture rearranged in the dark. Thank you for this. I'm still thinking about it.
I'm looking forward to reading that next essay.
In the coastal town that is my home,
Evolved an understanding:
There were three yacht clubs on its shores, the boatyard,
And
Very interesting.
Most of what you wrote didn't mean anything to me. Until you mentioned Florence - our common language" - I didn't relate. Which I guess is the whole point. I didn't get the "language".
This made me smile — you did get the language, you just got it through a different door. Florence: the universal translator! Thank you for reading and for telling me where it landed for you!