I recently came across this piece, written about a year after my release from prison, while I was still under home incarceration in Vero Beach. I was attempting to establish a new life, writing every day, and struggling to come to terms with the one I had left behind. Reading it now, I’m struck by how uncertain I was about what lay ahead.
I’ve left it largely as I wrote it then.
POST SCRIPT—VERO BEACH
I’m told that I’m not remorseful enough. It’s painful to hear that. I resist it. If I’m honest with myself, that’s probably true. But I’m getting over it. In time I will be. I’m an author now. Who knows how accomplished. It’s a long road to ten thousand hours at my age. I read, write five to six hours a day. Sometimes in the morning sometimes in the afternoon. My goal is 300 good words a day. Not easy for me; good ones that is. It’s like digging in hardpan.
I’ve gotten in the habit of naps every day. Before or after a session. Florida summer cools down in the afternoon. It’s close and humid when I go out on the porch. After a while there is a breeze that cools slowly and a drowse just overtakes me. The best sleep of all. I don’t think I ever dream on those afternoons, none of the frightening reels that roll at bedtime. Waking from them is the best part of my life now. It is the only time when I feel good without guilt which is surprising because napping was always a guilty pleasure during my old life.
Maybe because it’s in between worlds and you’re not sure if you’re alive, asleep or in another world, in fact have no idea where you are or what you did or who you are or if you have a history or if you were just born at that moment. No better feeling than those first moments waking from a nap. Surprisingly, it was the same when I was in prison when I was able to sneak a nap after work in the kitchen. Stolen moments. Maybe that’s it. Moments of pure existing and unknowing of anything. Just alive in the world.
Maybe that’s how dogs feel all the time or cows. Cows were my favorite animal. If I could be an animal, I’d choose a cow. Grazing in the outdoors every day, the world literally a feast of green and scent of fertile fields, plenty of company and no ideas to worry about. Anyway, that’s my life now, grazing, myopic, just coasting the rest of the way, as clueless as possible, bracing for the end.
Justice Notes is an ongoing series examining incarceration, rehabilitation, storytelling, institutional power, and the lives that exist behind prison walls.
If this piece resonated with you, consider sharing it or leaving a comment. To support this work and help spread awareness about justice reform for white-collar defendants, subscribe to White-Collar Journal and stay connected. John DiMenna is a member of the White Collar Support Group.
To leave a comment, Substack may ask you to verify your email address (a one-time step to prevent spam). You don’t need to subscribe or create an account. Just check your inbox for a one-time link.