A new chapter
Turning the page on an unsuccessful experiment
Throughout 2023 and 2024, I wrote about 200 different posts for this Substack. I enjoyed the challenge of finding significant dates in Gandhi’s life, as well as the novelty of telling a story in “real time” over successive days or weeks. One of my favorites was what biographer Erik Erikson called the Event: the origin of militant nonviolence. The narrative of the mill worker’s strike which led to Gandhi’s first public fast has six parts spanning 26 days.
As you probably noticed, posts stopped at the end of 2024. With the election over, it was necessary to recalibrate for the new political landscape, and I debated various options. Some friends had a old house in need of repair, recently vacated by a long-term squatter. It was in rough shape. The biggest issue was that the roof was collapsing in several places, flooding the master bedroom and sending rain into the basement.
North Carolina winters are the perfect time to do roofing; I moved in and rebuilt the roof by the end of January. There was no heating system; I couldn’t really concentrate on writing. With the house watertight, I visited New England, planning to continue the work in the spring.
The owners were friends in the peace movement; we shared a mindset of love for humanity. Their intention in rebuilding the house was to make low-income housing available for those in need—a worthy goal. However, while I had much in common with them, there was also an unbridgeable difference in mindset. While I strive for a mindset of abundance, theirs was a mindset of scarcity. Debris was hoarded for potential reuse, littering the entire property. Resources were withheld, requiring additional labor to work around the intentional obstacles.
None of this was conductive to writing. Thinking back, I’d encountered the inverse of this problem while staying with a friend in New Hampshire; while we shared a mindset of abundance, the house simmered with outrage and hate for the president. That negative mindset also prevented me from productive writing.
What to do? After a full meal, I began June’s fast for peace on the night of the 14th and kept it going, seeking clarity. After a week of water, it arrived: I needed to move out. And so I did.
I’m back in Fayetteville, at the home where I did almost all of my writing for the last few years. It’s a new month, and a new chapter. Moving into that house—I can’t call it a home—was an experiment worth trying, but it didn’t work.
What was the worst living situation you’ve had?