Even though she was under unimaginable stress, even as she was suffering a parent’s worst nightmare—watching as her only child was overcome by mental illness, by depression, by alcoholism—even as she was doing the agonizing work of understanding her own role in her daughter’s difficulties, Joan Didion sat down to write.
It wasn’t for publication. It wasn’t even in one of her famed notebooks (which I talk about in the journaling chapter of Wisdom Takes Work—signed copies available here). No, these were summaries of her therapy appointments for her husband, typed up as their then-30-something daughter, Quintana, spiraled into addiction.
Helpless to control her daughter, but desperate to help however she could, Didion was trying to process an overwhelming situation. The private thoughts were not intended for anyone but her husband…and yet, when they were discovered in a small file near Didion’s desk and published as Notes to John (get your copy here) after the death of all three figures, they made for profoundly moving reading—detailing in Didion’s clear and precise writing style what it is like to watch as your child seems bent on self-destruction.
They also prove that, even in private, Joan Didion was apparently incapable of bad writing.
In a way, this is a similar story to Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations. We have a man suffering and struggling. We have a man in the midst of a very specific, singular experience (being emperor of most of the world…who happens to have his own difficult child), writing almost entirely for himself. And yet from the specific came something universal and helpful to countless people after his death. We have a man whose literary gifts made even his personal admonishments to himself into literature…and philosophy.
Both of these books—Joan Didion’s Notes to John and Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations—these private thoughts of influential people going through turbulent times in their lives, have resonance in both their writing and their messages. Both of these books, left to us from some fluke of history, are remarkable gifts that we’re lucky to have. Treat them as such. Read them. Learn from them their timeless, universal lessons.
P.S. BecauseMeditationswas never meant for anyone but himself, Marcus Aurelius didn’t write with readers in mind. So it helps to have a guide if you want to get everything you can out of it.
I’m happy to be that guide.
This month only, I’m rereading Meditations with our Daily Stoic community—together, we're learning and discussing how to live Marcus’s principles. Using ourHow To Read Meditations Digital Guide, we’re going through the book’s themes, extracting meaning and practical tools, and then discussing it on our private digital platform.
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