By Global Culture & Spirituality Desk
Published: October 2023
Main Facts: The Anatomy of a Lifelong Inquiry
For decades, writer, teacher, and prominent Buddhist editor Susan Moon has navigated the quiet, often unmapped terrain of human isolation and spiritual yearning. Best known for her work with Turning Wheel: The Journal of Socially Engaged Buddhism and authored books such as This Is Getting Old: Zen Thoughts on Aging with Dignity and Humor, Moon’s literary and spiritual footprint is deeply rooted in personal introspection.
At the core of her life’s work is a fundamental question that has haunted her since childhood: Why is there only one small self inside our heads, serving what feels like a life sentence in the solitary confinement of our own skulls?
This inquiry—examining the delicate tension between individual consciousness and the universal desire for deep connection—forms the philosophical bedrock of Moon’s reflections. Rather than treating existential loneliness as a pathology to be cured, Moon’s essays and teachings propose a radical alternative: that longing itself is not a void to be filled, but an active, creative force that binds humanity together. Through her childhood memories on the shores of Menemsha Pond, her struggles with childhood insomnia, her maternal experiences, and her decades of Zen meditation practice, Moon maps a universal human condition where the ache of separation ultimately births a life of profound connection.
Chronology: From the Bayberry Bushes to the Meditation Cushion
The Seashore Summers (Age 10)
During the summers of her youth, Moon’s family escaped the structured, metric-driven world of carpools and sidewalks for the rugged coastline near Menemsha Pond. Her father, a schoolteacher seeking solitude, retreated entirely into his study to write, while her mother managed a bustling household characterized by underlying, unspoken family tensions.
Feeling isolated in her dungaree shorts with poison ivy between her toes, ten-year-old Susan carved out a secret sanctuary. Pressing through a scratchy gap in the bayberry bushes, she discovered a small clearing overlooking the water. Here, she practiced cartwheels and handstands, whittled driftwood into "cudgels" inspired by Howard Pyle’s Robin Hood, and constructed miniature lean-tos out of twigs for imaginary forest dwellers.
It was also during this tumultuous tenth summer that Moon suffered from acute, unarticulated insomnia. Lying awake in the dark, she listened to the ship’s bell chiming the watches of the night—eight bells for midnight, four bells for two a.m.—haunted by the quiet terror that she might die from a lack of sleep. When she sought comfort from her parents, her mother prescribed counting sheep. Instead, Moon read Louisa May Alcott and Under the Lilacs, finding companionship in library books and balancing between feeling microscopic and monumentally vast under the moonlight.
Literary Companions and Kite-Flying Magic
Books served as Moon’s primary lifeline. Through the pages of public library volumes with gold-stamped cloth bindings, she found worlds populated by orphans, runaways, and kindred spirits. On rare, brighter days when her father’s depression lifted, the family engaged in the real-time magic of kite-flying. Moon’s father—acting more like a seasoned ship captain than an aloof academic—tethered a massive kite that soared toward the gibbous moon. With garden gloves protecting her hands, young Susan held the spool as the wind-driven kite pulled their rowboat across the pond, offering her a fleeting, transcendent brush with the divine.
Adulthood, Motherhood, and the Zen Path
As decades passed, the existential questions of childhood did not fade; they merely evolved. Motherhood offered temporary physical communion—the visceral, grounding sensation of feeling an unborn child move within her belly—yet the fundamental condition of cerebral isolation remained.
Eventually, Moon found her way to Zen Buddhism and Theravadan meditation. She sat in community circles and silent monastic halls, confronting the physical sensations of longing—the hot prickles on her skin and the restless vibration in her blood. Rather than fighting these sensations, she learned to greet them as old friends.
Supporting Data & Psychological Context: The Neurology and Philosophy of Loneliness
Moon’s personal reflections intersect neatly with modern psychological and sociological data regarding human isolation, childhood development, and mindfulness practices.
- The Solitary Brain: Neurologically, human consciousness is inherently subjective. Neuroscientists note that while empathy allows humans to bridge psychological gaps, every individual experiences reality through a closed loop of sensory processing contained entirely within the skull.
- The Rise of Loneliness as a Public Health Crisis: According to data from the U.S. Surgeon General, chronic loneliness carries health risks equivalent to smoking 15 cigarettes a day. However, Moon’s perspective distinguishes between pathological loneliness (social isolation) and existential solitude—the baseline condition of self-awareness.
- Mindfulness and the Nervous System: Clinical studies on meditation—such as those conducted by institutions like the Greater Good Science Center at UC Berkeley—demonstrate that observing uncomfortable emotions (such as longing or anxiety) without judgment decreases amygdala reactivity. When Moon notes, "Hello, longing. I know you," she is utilizing a foundational psychological mechanism: cognitive defusion, which reduces the distress associated with negative internal states.
Official Responses and Literary Reception
Susan Moon’s body of work—including This Is Getting Old and her editorial guidance on socially engaged Buddhism—has drawn widespread acclaim from spiritual leaders, literary critics, and mental health advocates alike.
- Literary Impact: Reviewers have consistently praised Moon for her rare ability to marry lighthearted humor with deep existential gravity. Her creation of the fictional, satirical Zen master "Tofu Roshi" showcased her capacity to mock spiritual pretense while honoring the genuine human search for meaning.
- The Buddhist Community: Senior teachers within the Western Zen tradition have lauded her essays for bridging the gap between rigorous monastic discipline and the messy, everyday realities of family life, aging, and emotional vulnerability. By normalizing the persistence of longing even after decades of meditation, Moon provides a comforting counter-narrative to spiritual consumerism, which often promises total eradication of suffering.
Implications: Re-framing Longing as a Compass for Life
The broader implications of Susan Moon’s reflections challenge contemporary cultural norms. Modern society treats longing—whether for a partner, a community, or a deeper sense of purpose—as a design flaw to be corrected through consumption, distraction, or self-optimization.
Moon’s philosophy turns this paradigm on its head. By asserting that "the longing for connection calls forth a life of connection," she reframes our deepest aches not as evidence of failure, but as our primary navigational tool.
- A Catalyst for Activism and Community: Moon’s own life demonstrates that the internal ache of separation does not lead inward toward permanent withdrawal; rather, it propels us outward. The same longing that drove a ten-year-old girl into the bayberry bushes later drove Moon to participate in voter registration drives, spend months in monastic silence, and host gatherings for family and friends.
- Embracing the "Bag of Skin": In her quiet study in California, watching a redwood tree sway outside her window, Moon continues to sip her green tea and ponder the limits of individual identity. Her conclusions offer solace to anyone struggling with modern alienation: the boundary of the skin is permeable through empathy, breath, and shared presence.
Ultimately, Moon reminds us that we do not need to escape our humanity to find peace. The small girl practicing handstands in the coastal brush is still present within the aging writer, serving as a reminder that the capacity to wonder is our most enduring shared trait.
As Moon reflects during group meditation, when the breath flows in and out of every body in the room like an ocean tide: Longing is its own satisfaction. It is already complete.
