Embracing a So What Philosophy
Going off on a tangent, death decluttering and private notes
In the mid-1950s, Andy Warhol had his heart broken. For a long time afterward, the thought of loving someone who didn’t feel the same made him miserable. Then in June 1956, Warhol wrote, “I was walking in Bali, and saw a bunch of people in a clearing having a ball because somebody they really liked had just died. And I realized that everything was just how you decided to think about it. Sometimes people let the same problems make them miserable for years when they should just say, So what. That’s one of my favorite things to say. So what.” He or she doesn’t feel the same way—So what. You didn’t win the gold medal—So what. Tomorrow is the biggest interview of your life—So what. “I don’t know how I made it through all the years before I learned how to do that trick,” Warhol continued. “It took a long time for me to learn it, but once you do you never forget.”
When Billy Oppenheimer’s Six at 6 newsletter landed in my Inbox, my first thoughts about Andy Warhol’s so what theory were about writing. What if no-one reads your stuff? What if no-one cares about what you write or create?
How liberating is that!
I’ve been listening to this podcast with Richard E Grant and Davina McCall - not only is it a fabulous and very moving conversation, there was one bit that especially resonated.
What happens if someone reads your stuff?
I learned, the hard way that, as a child, I had to keep secrets. Throughout my childhood I took it as the norm that letters would be opened and read, that Christmas presents would be carefully unsealed and re-sealed before Christmas Day, and anything I wrote would be scrutinised.
I kept diaries, briefly. In my late teens I used code but wrote very little anyway. Even when I had my own home, I had to make sure notebooks, diaries and letters were hidden away.
One day, I failed. I never found out what my Mum discovered, but it was sufficient for her not to speak to me for several days. My Dad just said, make sure you don’t leave anything lying about.
Richard talks about keeping a diary. He was more savvy than me in concealing his diaries. But, if I’d done the same, and hidden them among my books, I suspect they would still have been discovered. There really was no hiding place.
Burn after reading (BAR)
I learned to cover my tracks, burning anything that could be considered contentious as soon as possible. I was a big fan of burning bridges. The past was gone, let’s look to the future.
I’m always envious of people who have kept diaries for decades. Those who have honed their craft and published their writing.
I wrote and then destroyed the evidence.
Even now, that feeling of having someone constantly looking over my shoulder has never gone away. I started printing labels and sticking them in journals.
READ AT YOUR OWN RISK
This is a personal journal. It contains random jottings and rants. They are intended for my eyes only. Comments and opinions are subjective and may offend. They are (usually) representative of a momentary viewpoint only good at the time of writing. A certain amount of poetic licence may have been used too. Just because I can. Once expressed on paper, normal service is generally resumed. The contents were never intended to be read by anyone else and certainly never made public. You have been warned!
Death Decluttering
Slightly tangential … I think about who might read my words when I’m no longer here. That deep need for privacy follows me.
Somewhere, recently, I picked up on the publication of Joan Didion’s journal, Notes to John, and some debate as to whether Joan would have wanted these notes to be published. They were found in a filing cabinet with no instructions for Joan’s executors.
But … to avoid any doubt, Joan could have destroyed these notes. As a published writer, did she think her notes were fair game? And that her audience would want to read her most private thoughts?
I recall my Mum saying that there were letters in the bureau. Written to and from my Dad during his National Service. After my Dad died, there was no trace of these letters so I can only assume that he had destroyed them. Like Father, like Daughter!
I have a box of letters written over the years. As an only one, and with no children of my own, there is no one else who would have any interest in them. I intend to burn them all. Partly for privacy but also to make it easy for whoever ultimately deals with my affairs.
I learned, when I went through all of my Mum and Dad’s things after they died, that it was important to make decisions. I could have kept more of their stuff but I wanted to dispose of it, my way. I feel the same about my own possessions and paperwork. There’s also something cathartic about decluttering and letting go.
So what
After our little detour, let’s go back to the beginning, and I may contradict myself here - does it matter what other people think?
What if someone doesn’t like what I write? So what.
Or, disagrees with a premise I discuss? So what.
A bit like let them by Cassie Phillips, the so what philosophy frees us. I like that!