The sun itself was still obscured by the mountains visible from my living room window early this morning when I raised the shade, but its light was close to glorious, awesome in the true meaning of the word. One could even have called it holy.
Last night, for some reason, I was thinking of “The Year of Magical Thinking” — not the book, but the play. I attended a performance in 2007, in March of that year, at the Booth, and have not forgotten it. The words of Joan Didion, the stage presence and feelings of Vanessa Redgrave, and loss. Loss so stunning and final that the mind is sheared flat by the force of it.
This morning, when I walked out to the living room, I saw that light. I stood at the wall of windows for a few minutes, not wanting to let it go. It was blue and orange and gold and pink, and it was waking up downtown Los Angeles, where I now live.
Several minutes later, while drinking a coffee, I came across an email that told me this: Today is Joan Didion’s birthday. After reading that, I walked back over to the windows and watched the sun rise above Los Angeles, a city whose stories Didion told well. I then thought of this quote of hers:
Life changes fast. Life changes in the instant. You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.
As you know it.
I have read most of Didion’s work, but I will soon begin reading it again, in my new city.
Happy Birthday, Ms. Didion. I hope you celebrated well.
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