It’s the time of year here when trees look picked over, gardens seem bereft and bedraggled, and skies are frequently gray. So as I was walking along recently, I found this color arresting. It promptly landed on my list of things to be thankful for, a list that has been especially abundant this year and includes family, friends, mentors old and new, and, still, the excellent consultation I had last September at Mass General, which gave me hope and ongoing reason to reinvest in my life. If you’ve ever wanted to hug a neurosurgeon while crying dazed and ecstatic tears, you might be vibing to my frequency. I’m thankful for the friend who drove me there and the receptionist who was kind and even the elevators, the hallways, the glass doors, the parking garage. I hate parking garages! But that one helped deliver me from hell back to life on earth. I’m grateful for a screenshot of my parents on Zoom, hugging while wearing the scarves that I made them, my father’s a decade old or so, lingonberry-red, my mother’s new and pinky-purple like a type of orchid. I’m thankful they’ve been untouched by COVID. I’m thankful for your reading this, which is why it’s short—time is valuable! I’m thankful for Nick Hornby, whose novels got me through the worst of election season. I’m thankful for income and inspiration—also for coffee on the daily, and my new favorite source: Grounds for Change. Take a moment and click that link to find out how truly wonderful they are. I have zero financial interest in the company; my only interest is in wanting to see them and every high-quality, deeply principled business continue their good work in the world—work that benefits the people (who, in this case, produce the beans) as well as the ecosystems they live and labor in. Sustainability for all—it doesn’t get better than that.
I take long walks these days. It’s not because I have less I should be doing, it’s just that there’s only so much time a person can spend at a desk feeling overwhelmed. The synchronized left-right action of walking is one of the best things I know; each step is a gift. The impact of COVID-19 is so vast, it’s hard to comprehend. Sickness, death; overwork for some, unemployment for others. Separations and losses of all kinds. Economic collapse. I heard a story on NPR about a man in California living in his car who no longer has places to spend his days. In local news, calls to DCYF suddenly dropped by 50 percent or more because there are no non-household eyes on children now. Layer after layer of consequences to this. I won’t go on about how this is a sign that we’re all connected, though it is. We are. This is the network made visible. What I really need to say is that, in purely personal terms, I’m much better off now than I was a year ago, and that in itself is a strange fact. For most of 2019, health issues put me through a kind of private hell scarcely known to anyone but me. If I were to describe it, as I sometimes think of doing, it might sound invented, and I have no wish to subject myself to skepticism after having survived it. What I can share here is, Surrealism is hard, but like so many things, it’s better when it’s shared. Value your conversations now, even more than you usually do. Value your not-aloneness. Also, in this hemisphere, it’s spring! Enjoy it. Renewal is a beautiful thing.
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A recent study in Britain found that the average prisoner spends more time outside than the average child. I read that sometime within the past year or so and had the predictable reaction of concern for contemporary Western culture. All those yards and flowers and trees, all that sun, the rain puddles, the snow, the creatures—what a sad waste to miss out on play and learning in the physical world. Lost, in many cases, to the tyranny of screens. Then back-to-back, one client reported a SWAT team breaking in across the street, another mentioned gang threats in her mobile home neighborhood, and I remembered that there are many kids for whom the outdoors isn’t an option. A different kind of cultural problem, but also resulting in distance from nature, a lose-lose proposition. In cartoons and commercials and movies and memes, animals are consistently objectified. Plants are, too, in many cases. The leaf in the photo above, I saw on a walk this past weekend. It had fallen from one of the trees that clean and cool the air in my town—its veins, and the beads of rain on its surface, exemplars of beauty and biology, tutorials in physics. As a child, I heard about the death of languages, and how each dead or dying language represents a unique resource of wisdom, gone. Species death is similar. And what of clean water, clean air? An issue with incalculable loss is that we can’t conceive of it—but it happens anyway. It happens in estuaries and in living rooms alike. As within, so without, and vice versa. Contact is invaluable; attention matters.
Out of respect for client privacy, names on this blog are always changed or omitted, and details may be altered in fact while relevant in spirit. Text and image copyrights held by me. In the midst of personal difficulty, I’m grateful for your reading. If you enjoyed this piece, please consider sharing it with anyone you feel might like it, too.