Spring, 1960: Beloved Paris

In this entry of her Diary, Anais Nin records her trip to Sweden to read and lecture from two of her novels published there, then her return to the U.S. via Paris. She is in love with the small, intimate cafes and the personal, intimate conversations in which people in Paris engage.

She visits Sylvia Beach who owns the Shakespeare & Co. bookshop. She meets a friend at the Deux Magots cafe. She has lunch at the restaurant Paul on the Ile de la Cite. She walks alone the Seine and through the Left Bank. She sits at a cafe on the Place de la Contrescarpe. She walks between Place Clichy and Place Blanche and reads a review at the Moulin Rouge. She takes in an art exhibit on the walls under the bridge at Pont Neuf. She passes by the fountains at Rond Point. There is a concert playing in the Salle Gaveau where her father used to play.

Ahhhh, Paris in the spring.

Winter, 1959 - 1960: Oatmeal People

Anais Nin will sometimes contrast the artists with what she calls the oatmeal people. A letter from a friend says, "Your life was formed in the artist's world. In your childhood and throughout your life, you have been forced to reject the ordinary, the subordinary, the "oatmeal" people as you call them."

Artist: bohemian, full of curiosity, notices everything, needs to create, has imagination, needs beauty, likes to dream, lives intensely, full of energy, interesting, charming, adventurous, colorful, rich in experience, unconventional, hungry for life, free.

Oatmeal Person: boring, plain, empty, ordinary, conventional, one-dimensional, voiceless, spectator, invisible; basically, everything opposite of the artist.

Which are you - artist or oatmeal or a little of both?

Fall, 1959: Cutting off Relationships

After a session with her psychoanalyst, Anais Nin says,"I discuss with Bogner the unfortunate habit I have of cutting off friendships as soon as someone hurts me or betrays me. If they damage, disappoint me, I pack off and leave, and this is no solution. Even my novels are full of "cuts." "Cut!" says director Nin, as if it were a film being made, and one could cut out people's cruelties or thoughtlessness."

Dr. Bogner explains to Anais her need to relate to other people, but how everyone eventually commits "treachery," as Anais calls it. She has many friends who ask her for money or help of another kind, and these become burdens, demands for her. She feels hurt, used, and withdraws from the relationship.

Anais realizes that "by cutting off friendships, you create your own solitude." This can happen with family members as well. Those who are closest to us tend to hurt us the most. After we spend time with them or live with them, we expect them to love us perfectly; we hope that they will understand us completely, but they are only human and cannot do this.  We set ourselves up for disappointment because no one can deliver what we need, this unconditional love. We want it; we try and try and try to get it, then we are disappointed when we don't receive it. But as Anais says, it is no solution to pack up and leave. What is the solution?

Summer, 1959: Potion of Indifference

Anais Nin attends a party in the summer of 1959 that she anticipates will the the greatest party ever, but it turns out a dismal failure. All the people were sitting around, not talking to each other, not even showing any interest in each other. There was no laughter, no energy; it was dead. She says, "It was as if they had drunk a potion of indifference."

Have you attended parties like this? I have, and I have been the person who drank the potion of indifference. I suppose it came from a feeling of not belonging to the group, like maybe they all had some connection to each other that I didn't have. I just wanted to slip away or disappear or just get it over with as soon as possible. I think acting any other way would have been phony. Is it best just to avoid people you don't care to learn more about? Or should you make a greater attempt to actively participate and engage yourself in the conversation by expressing more curiosity about them? Is some of the responsibility on them as well?

Srping, 1959: Meaningless Experiences

Anais Nin makes a comment near the end of this diary entry: "Now will I construct a chaos of meaningless experiences as Kerouac does?" It made me wonder whether or not any experiences are meaningless. I have often said or thought, at least past the age of 30, that I'd rather have experiences than possessions. Life is a gift, meant to be lived and enjoyed, and to me, that means having fun and adventures. In other words, experiences.

So last year, I went to something like 30 movies in the theaters. Yes, some of these were not worthwhile, and I suppose they could be categorized as meaningless experiences. There are a few books I have read that have been meaningless for me. Sometimes I try a new recipe, hoping for a winner, and if it's not, does that make the experience of trying, experimenting meaningless? Is a meal more meaningful when shared with companions? When is going to the opera or a play or musical or ballet or symphony meaningless? When is traveling anywhere meaningless? Is visiting friends or family ever meaningless? Is it meaningless to get a massage or facial or manicure? What about visiting a museum or exploring an unfamiliar part of the city?

It's been said that it's better to regret what you do rather than what you don't do. To me, this means that it's better to have an experience and find it meaningless or not worthwhile than to never even try something in the first place. What do you think?

Winter, 1958 - 1959: Poverty of Life

Anais Nin writes in a letter:

"I understand loneliness better than anyone in the world, that is why I do answer letters and when you speak of your poverty of people I remember the times and places which were not lifegiving. Must you stay there? One should make a courageous effort to leave empty or lonely places. Life is much too precious. Looking back I can see how we create our own destiny, the negative aspects by our passivity. We should never accept poverty of life. I know it's difficult to face the unknown, to create another job, or another way of life. But if it is up to you, do not accept the void."

Anais is hospitalized with double pneumonia in March of 1959 but recovers in time to do a reading at Harvard.

She puts her continuous novels together into a collection called Cities of the Interior, which includes Ladders to Fire (which opens with This Hunger), Children of the Albatross, The Four-Chambered Heart, A Spy in the House of Love, and Solar Barque (which later become the opening section of Seduction of the Minotaur).

Summer, 1958: Soil of France

Anais Nin continues to reminisce about her recent trip to Paris in a letter to friends there: "I was beginning to think I was an eccentric and no one else thought as I did. But as soon as I stepped on the soil of France I realized I had a whole continent behind me." She thrives in the human, intimate, alive atmosphere of Paris whereas she has shriveled in the rigid, narrow, limited atmosphere of New York.

We all have times and places when we are with "our people" and are comfortable, alive, most ourselves and other times when we are not with "our people" and feel like an oddball, outcast, weirdo. Who are your people?