though i recognize how very impactful graffiti may be, i am not necessarily a blanket-fan of graffiti on public property.
these words, however, caught my attention: “be happy”“be kind”
such a simplicity – the imperative of life – in two short sentences.
someone – or someones – thought it important enough to place these thoughts in blue spraypaint onto the lake’s shoreline rocks. they didn’t sign their name or names, but i can understand that…that would be risky. nevertheless, they felt the risk of defacing the boulders was worth it – especially in light of the message they were leaving for others to see.
in these recent days, we lost an icon in the music world. dolly parton lived the imperative of art and of tenacity and of life and demonstrated a generosity that leaves a legacy stamped all over the world, forever. her example is profound. happy and kind were her companions.
completely the opposite is the deplorable example of the leader of this country. his feverish need for his name to be everywhere is distorted, narcissistically outsized. his pugnacious and gluttonous attitude prevailing over utterly everything he does, it is difficult to even utter his name without shuddering. this is not something we want graffiti-ed all over our precious country. enough already.
there is a tiny card that sits in my studio. it reads: “if you asked me what i came into this world to do, i will tell you: i came to live out loud.”
to live out loud – happy and kind.
seems pretty simple.
and it is easy to discern the difference – between those who live happy, who live kind and those who do not.
why would we elevate, entrust, enable, elect or endure anyone who does not?
in a non-rigorous scientific-community-questioned experiment back around 2000, a japanese researcher exposed water molecules to positive and negative input – commentary, music, sounds that are easily sorted into validating or dissing, softer reassurances or harsh aggression. the water molecules that had been privy to positivity turned into beautiful ice crystals while the water molecules that had been subjected to negativity froze into ugly shapes. the theory was that vibrational input – all the energy input – played a part in the effect on water, and the experiment posited a direct connect to how vibrational energy affects us as people.
whether or not this experiment had all the controls and data and science it purported doesn’t really matter to me. what matters is that this makes sense.
being kind, generous, positive, encouraging to someone, stroking someone with words of goodness is entirely the opposite of berating someone, demeaning them, being hostile toward them. clearly.
when you walk into the trader joe’s grocery store nearest us, the first thing you see – on your right – are bins of flowers. it is a wall of color, of beauty. we slowly browse through them all – so many are different than what your would find at a typical florist, these are intriguing and, obviously, very popular – as there are shoppers with armloads of these bouquets.
we haven’t bought flowers often there, though i have stopped and admired them each time we have entered the store. flowers weren’t in the budget so i enjoyed them at the store and thought about one day starting a new tradition of having fresh flowers around us, any time of year. my sweet poppo would buy my momma grocery store flowers for the little table in the foyer of their house and she loved that tradition, the ritual of changing the flowers, of having beauty right by the front door.
the last two times we went – which isn’t too often because it’s about 40 minutes away – we picked up a bundle of flowers. last time we picked up red hypericum, this time purple eryngium. each time we brought home a little posey of something uniquely different to us, something just simply so pretty we couldn’t pass it by. despite other shoppers leaving with multiple bundles, we have been quite pleased with ourselves, carrying out of the store a sweet bouquet of infamous tj flowers.
at home – in a ball jar on the bistro table by the windows in the sunroom – we enjoy our flowers every single day, for this is the place we sit most often. and every single day that we have enjoyed these flowers – this $4.99 investment in ourselves – we have felt the positive self-message that we are worthy of them.
it doesn’t take much. tiny affirmations. words of support, assurance, validation, self-belief. little gestures. big empowering. everything in between.
if i had to guess, i would think that having trader joe’s flowers around might be a catalyst – one among many others – for becoming beautiful crystals. that – even more than the 60% of our bodies that are water – our body is 100% beautiful. and in the overwhelming presence of that kind of beauty, we are most alive.
“we begin to find and become ourselves when we notice how we are already found, already truly, entirely, wildly, messily, marvelously who we were born to be.” (anne lamott)
the snow on the mountain groundcover creeps under the fence. it tries to take over the ornamental grasses, winds its way around our peonies, fills in spaces we didn’t necessarily need filled in. it’s invasive dressed in pretty. it has even given the wild geranium a run for its money. fortunately, the geranium – particularly under barney – has survived the overbearing groundcover and its sweet pink flowers are getting ready to bloom now.
i saw a post the other day that was a gut-punch. the words on the post read: “it’s illegal to feed wildlife at national parks because they get dependent on handouts and forget how to survive. it kinda sounds familiar, doesn’t it?‘ the photograph with the post was depicting minority moms and children in line with shopping bags and grocery pushcarts.
it literally made me ill. because it was posted by a neighbor with a comment that read, “hmmmm.” just despicable. and downright hard to believe that there are people who really feel that way. haughty. sickening. overbearing. uncaring. bigoted.
creepy and invasive.
that kind of bullshit post enrages me. it’s unconscionable. the hatred is just exhausting. how dare he/they be so righteous, so pompous, so entitled? with clearly no heart at all – no empathy – no love-one-another in their soul, no we-are-our-brother’s/sister’s-keeper. the judgment and demeaning attitude.
i could go on.
but i won’t.
because i am hoping that most of us in this country will be like the intrepid wild geranium. that we will bloom despite the invasive stuff that purports to be pretty.
that we will be able to spread goodness and kindness and compassion.
that we can possibly be the nation we were destined to become in a world that needs the caring interdependence of all people.
that we aren’t dreadful people who believe despicable things and then share those extreme racist views with the world, hoping for “likes”.
snow on the mountain is “incredibly invasive and will spread indefinitely if not restrained.”
*****
sorry about the language. but sometimes it fits. 🤷♀️
“hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.” (langston hughes)
we wandered arm in arm around the fairgrounds, one antique booth to the next. it was good to be outside on this day, a little cooler than the surprisingly hot day before. we weren’t looking for anything, really. just idea-gathering, noting how people were re-purposing items, laughing over things folks were selling as antiques that we still use every day.
a big armoire got our attention and we walked over to it. the young vendor gave us a few minutes with it before he approached.
within minutes of our first question about the armoire, he had begun telling us of the life-struggle he was in, seemingly desperate to share it, to voice it, to maybe bring a different kind of energy to it.
we listened. i was aware we were both getting uncomfortable a couple minutes in, but both of us could also see he needed to tell his story. and so we listened.
when he was done – except for staccato-ing out another detail here or there – we talked about how life will go on, how light will return, how everything will be ok. he became less intense then and smiled, saying he was already better off since the initial traumatic moments.
this young man has sat on our hearts since then. and so has the lesson we were reminded of – to listen.
in those moments we have all had – when we are broken-winged birds – we have sometimes had someone, somewhere, who has given us hope. someone who has lifted us. someone who gives us perspective. someone who nudges us to remember our own value. someone who reminds us of joy. and of dreams.
someone who tenderly repaired our wings so that we could fly.
a few yesterdays ago we were at the apple store, asking questions, learning, dreaming, stoking up on what new technology is “out there”, what we might eventually need to replace my no-longer-with-us hand-me-down 2008 crashed computer, this 2014 mini ipad, etc etc etc.
in a remarkable three hours or so – that we stood and talked to mike and then nate – we jogged our braincells into grokking new information, new terms, new device potentials and we entertained dancing with visions of artistic sugarplums. it was a joyous time, filled with others teaching us, punctuated by laughter.
toward the end of our visit at the store, a couple – a bit older than us – walked in. both were dressed to the nines (in direct comparison to our ripped jeans, flannel shirts and hiking sandals).
the woman walked over to the table with ipads and pointed to one as an-even-older-than-them-and-us saleswoman looked on. she asked what it was. the evenolder saleswoman – let’s just call her “dreamdasher” – immediately said this while body-guiding her away from the very tablet that was inviting in the customer: “ohhh. that’s verrrrrry expensive. it’s fancy. it’s an ipad proooo. it’s for proFESSionals.”
i was taken aback and stared at them. since we were just across the table from this debacle – about three feet away – i said aloud, “did you just hear that? what on earth was THAT??” our nate – who we have now adopted because he was young, bright, informative, told great stories, was pretty adorable with great hair and tolerated our three hours worth of information-gathering – said, “everyone has their own approach, i guess.”
i continued to rant – about assumptions, about dashing someone’s dreams, about ageism (which was funny because the salesperson was perhaps older than the customer!), about did-i-mention assumptions. who was to say that the customer wasn’t a professional? who was to say that the customer didn’t have goals to be a professional? who was to say that the customer wasn’t buying for someone else? i was flabbergasted that a woman (dreamdasher) would be so rude to a woman (dreamingperson). it is truly amazing that i did not walk over to dreamdasher and quietly ask her where her generosity went, how she could just dis-count dreamingperson’s curiosity and possible purchase, how she could – in the instants since that couple had walked in – put them in the tire-kicker category and body-guide them down the row of ipads to a lower level of tablet.
i went on and on in big red for a while too. it did not sit well with me.
because we were there to dream, to imagine. we did not look the part of people who could slap down some cash and purchase the row freaking row of tablets. we were clearly behind the eight ball on device capability and terminology. and yet nate – and mike – were generous and careful teachers, on point with what we described as possibilities, lifting us – and our visions – up, not trouncing on them.
wow.
still a little miffed, as you can see.
as human beings – particularly in a time when our very country seems to want to drown every floating dream – isn’t it our obligation to lift others up, to not make unfounded and discriminatory assumptions, to be kind? isn’t it our responsibility to feed others’ creativity, to encourage and bolster their life goals as much as we can, to hope for the best for each other? is it not in our nature to wish to elevate other humans, to boost them up, to animate their dreams, to delight in ambitions and initiatives of goodness? to make a difference in the lives of others – no matter their fortune? to say “i believe in you”? to be light in the dark?
“the more we focus on the good, the more good will circulate.” (carl blanchet)
it would be easy – outside on an extension ladder at 2:00 am – in ten degrees – hauling plastic decanters of hot water up and down – pouring it on a frozen gutter that has been melting into the house – to get crabby, to focus on the negative.
it would be easy – with blow dryer in hand, plastic spatula, rubber mallet and many loads of towels in and out of the washer and dryer – de-icing interior windowsills and windows from the ice-damming above – preventing any further accumulation – to get crabby, to focus on the negative.
it would be easy – as we keep revisiting and dealing with the ice-damming – day after day – for the conditions continue to be ripe with icing – to get crabby, to focus on the negative.
it would be easy – sitting in the parking lot – our truck broken down – big red’s hood up for all to see (including our neighbor who happened to park next to us but pretended not to see us – yikes) – waiting for a tow truck for five hours in less-than-twenty-actual-degree weather – to get crabby, to focus on the negative.
it would be easy – getting summoned for jury duty – at a time when the courts are unconscionably questionable – when the supremes are throwing out constitutional law – when none of us are assured the rights and privileges of this democracy – to sit in the jury room surrounded by over a hundred others – that waiting place – waiting, waiting – to get crabby, to focus on the negative.
but then we wouldn’t have considered the good. for the good that has happened, the good we have witnessed, the good we personally have been privy to – even over the last couple weeks – that good has far outweighed anything that should make us crabby.
the good of strangers, friends, neighbors – trying to help or helping…the good of professionals generously doing their job…the good of circumstances for which we are grateful…the good of the simplest things…the good of waking up.
truly, as carl blanchet backpacks the pacific crest trail for the second time, his focus is on all the good he has encountered. his message is clear – he believes that focus will circulate more good. and i have to say i agree.
for even in these current times – in this current climate – in this country as it currently is – in divided families, divided neighbors, divided communities – we must do the best we can to recognize every morsel of good, to appreciate every bit of good extended to us, to bring good, to pass good on.
there is only one way to get through all the challenges we each face on a daily basis, not to mention the seemingly insurmountable challenges we are facing as the united states of america.
and that is for ruthless goodness to circulate, for each of us to be ruthlessly kind.
to – without hesitation – trump the bad with good.
“the smallest act of kindness is worth more than the greatest intention.” (khalil gibran)
it had been a long day. a very long day that was preceded by other very long days. we were tired and road-weary. the last couple hours were brutal. at one point i just wanted to stop in the middle of a dark intersection and weep. we kept on.
when we finally got there – after driving through corn-edged roads with slices of moonlight shining on the asphalt – i pulled the truck onto the gravel drive and – without any finessing to my parking – just stopped, more than ready to get out.
we opened the tiny cottage door, taking a breath, knowing that – sometimes – a place to land is merely that and nothing more – just a place to land.
in the moment of stepping over the threshold, it was instantaneous. the little cottage reached out and held us as we entered, its every detail thoughtful and comforting.
we wandered room to room – the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom. everything was impeccable. we were struck by the abundance offered in this place, instead of the sometimes helter-skelter just-enough conglomeration of furnishings, decor, necessities.
we stood in the bathroom by the cabinet, literally stunned by the stacks of thick, fluffy towels on its shelves. we had just come from a rented place where the towels were thin, musty, ragtag – the sort of towels we have downstairs in our laundry room for cleanup duties not guests.
we had a small dinner – on plates and glasses that neatly filled the kitchen cupboards, at a table with flowers and napkins, adjacent to a counter with a basket full of snacks.
but it was when we got ready for bed that really got to me, that helped me exhale my held breath and granted me a new, big, deep breath.
there on a giant scrumptious bed – with a thick comforter and quilt and multiple pillows – were two andes candies.
the tiniest sweet gesture.
yes, we paid to stay at this beautiful cottage that perched on a hillside above the river boasting plentiful water fowl and eagles. but we’ve also paid to stay at many, many other places. truth be told, we usually like them all, finding charm in the location, the aged history, the quirk. even when there’s only one spoon or one glass, a hodgepodge of plastic plates, not enough lights.
but when you are as embraced by a place as we were that night, you are reminded that going the extra mile is worth it. that any hospitality we might offer others – whether as a generosity or paid – whether near or far – whether beloved or stranger – should be considered, heartfelt, gracious, unsparing.
even the tiniest of gestures. like a couple andes candies.
because many people these days – in places all over the world – feel like weeping in the middle of a dark intersection.
the business was closed as we walked by on the sidewalk. the luminescent sunset over the harbor was beckoning. but i stopped when i saw the sign – facing out the window: “work hard and be kind“.
i’m not sure what kind of office it was – maybe a realtor, maybe insurance, i don’t know. it doesn’t matter, though. the message was clear and we so appreciated it. it was like a combo quote – of my sweet mom and poppo smushed together. there were other signs of my mom and dad here and there. simple gestures from another dimension.
when big red’s windshield started to high-pitch-whine, there was no way to ignore it. with no time for an official windshield rubber seal repair, we pulled off and found a home improvement store. i could hear my dad as we purchased and then tacked black gorilla tape all along the top windshield seal. his instructions were clear – trim the spots where there is a little gutter so that rain doesn’t accumulate there (good advice considering we were about to be driving in the torrential tropical-storm-turned-nor’easter), be sure to bring the tape all the way across and down into the well created by the driver and passenger doors, press it all down firmly and eliminate as many air pockets as possible.
i couldn’t help but remember the time – more than five decades ago – that my dad and my big brother and i had a breakdown upstate new york and they cut barbed wire from a fence for our pink-painted lilco-van-turned-camper to fashion some kind of engine fix that would get us home.
we laughed as we applied my dad’s version of a rube goldberg repair. and we laughed even more, clear that columbus and my dad were having a good chuckle together watching us from the other side. mostly, we worked hard together at trying to solve a problem, at staying calm and being kind to each other in the process. because a screaming (and later, leaking) windshield can most definitely cause stress and grumpiness.
only a little water managed to get past our super-duper-3-times-stronger-heavy-duty-all-weather homemade seal, which is pretty impressive considering the torrents of rain and wind it endured.
by the time we were walking on the sidewalk down toward the harbor and the sun, we had forgotten about the windshield challenge. we were immersing in a little harbor town i have always loved, intentionally appreciating people who were working hard and people who were kind to us.
but back in big red, on the way back – sans whistling windshield – we talked about our rube-goldberg-ing on the way out.
it all seems pretty basic to us.
gorilla tape won’t fix everything but working hard and being kind can.
john pavlovitz wrote, “if tens of millions of people get up every day and do a small something, that’s a pretty damn powerful something.”
his wise words suggested to “leverage your life where you are” and that we are each gifted with “the proximity to need and the agency to alleviate it“.
his wise words helped the paralysis that we were feeling.
in these times of extreme chaos, it is easy to be overwhelmed and we have felt that just like many around us. it helped to be reminded about the power – the moving of mountains – of leading with the intention of good, of choosing even simple acts of kindness. doing something.
tens of millions of people could get up every day and do nothing. tens of millions of people could be complicit with the state of the country. tens of millions of people could be cold-hearted, could not care, could place their own needs first and foremost and singular. tens of millions of people could look away from the chaos and the cruelty, the lawlessness and the devastation upon others in their community. astonishingly, tens of millions of people are doing just that.
but there are other tens of millions of people who believe in something different, who are showing up, who are cutting through the noise, who are helping, who are trying to make a difference, who feel the imperative to do something.
reverse threading 