Dad, In 1960
I hope you excuse my very long silence. No reason why I haven’t written, I guess, just couldn’t sit long enough to write a letter — especially after sitting at work 8 hours. No ambition. Just enough energy to shower, put a record on & prop a book before me. I don’t understand this enormous lassitude that has overtaken me. Perhaps it has to do with leaving soon. I want Terribly to get out of the Army, but – oh, how I hate to leave Germany. Especially this Bavaria that has been my home for two years – and probably, deep inside me, for the rest of my life.
I want to write, but most of the time doubt my ability, and because of that, am afraid to plunge off the deep end in that direction. There is a strange feeling within me when I think about this – as if I were on the verge of some great event. Maybe it’s a dream I’m chasing, but that’s something that must be discovered by me alone. I shouldn’t doubt that one day i wound up a farmer; the soil appeals to me, as does the idea of long hours out-doors engaged in physical labor.
Needless to say, confusion runs rampant within me. I find myself searching for my meaning, my intent, in everything that happens around and to or with me. It’s difficult to find my relationship to the world – especially when the effort is so acutely conscious. There are people who effortlessly seem to glide into their niche, and then there are the others (myself included) who, though they can adjust to any situation, via fingernail method, their own niche – they always seem to choose the granite surface to do their scratching. But, in the end, I think the latter group find their lot the happier one – or maybe that’s wishful thought.