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.
“positive cultural change today (as it has always been) is about leveraging your life where you are: by doing small, possible, measurable daily acts of decency, of protest, of advocacy, of collaboration.” (john pavlovitz)
the bumper sticker read: “kindness is an act of defiance.“
in a country with an administration that is leading the way on trying to make people believe that kindness is weakness and wokeness and various other nouns, being kind seems an infinitely easy way to push back.
i have been astounded to see people i know and love spew words of hatred aligning with this administration’s mounting display of cruelty. it would seem that they have plucked kindness and decency out of their hearts. it is my hope that this plucking is not permanent. it is my hope that a vigor – to help people, to collaborate with people, to share rights and freedoms with all, to advocate for those who are in need – will return at some point. but cold hearts become rigid quickly and their version of defiance seems to be complicity with the authoritarian vision.
and so we sit on the deck with dogga and talk about it all. we talk about our own plans. we ponder how we might make a difference, besides writing and writing and writing. we copy lists of things that are needed by local non-profits and organizations aiding people. we sort needs and wants and prioritize as responsibly as we can.
and we wander around the backyard, looking at the phenomenal growth of our herbs, the tropical-like burst from the flowers and the grasses and the sweet potato plants. we are grateful for this tiny place of earth that is ours. even in our own lack and thriftiness, we are grateful for our own abundance. in our own tiny yard, we snip basil for homemade pizza, cilantro for chili, parsley for red pesto, tiny cherry tomatoes and jalapeño peppers.
we cook, we clean out, we give away. we hike, we photograph, we write. we pay attention to little details. we try to find the small, possible, measurable ways to create culture change.
there are definitely days – many of them – during which we would love to just run away. go to some far away remote place and hole up together, sans current events and other people. because it is all sometimes unbearable.
a writer and former pastor, john pavlovitz said it well, “the greatest tragedy to me isn’t him. it isn’t the reality that the person in the highest seat of power in our nation lacks a single benevolent impulse, that his is impervious to compassion, incapable of nobility, and mortally allergic to simple kindness. the greatest tragedy is how many americans he now represents – and that he represents you.”
there are too many “you”s.
and, like this dill in the middle of the heat-dome-heat, we are wilted. because it is exhausting. utterly exhausting.
i don’t honestly know how this country can ever regain its heart.
i don’t know how we got here – though one can certainly track lines of bigotry and hatred and violence through history. the ebb and flow of the heartless seeking of power, control, profit through any means whatsoever, without any scruples, ethics, or conscience.
the things that are happening, the things that people champion – people i have known or loved or cared about – the things that diminish support for others, marginalize groups, perpetuate cruelty…it’s just too much.
and…the grief. not just the grief of the arc of this history, but the contemporaneous grief. it is exhausting. utterly exhausting.
no amount of water will unwilt this dill. it will turn yellow and then brown and these stems will die. for these stems – in the extreme heat – have reached the point of no return. i must be more vigilant to protect the rest of the plant, to – figuratively – keep its heart beating and its spiny stems upright.
so it is here – in the middle of this reeling and this vigilance and this burning grief and this already-deeply-bone-aching tiredness i wonder how – exactly – we can keep the heartbeat of democracy when the moral spine of this nation is so compromised.
“literally incredulous at the “ho-hum” behavior of those all around me.” (m.d.)
i passed by these words on instagram while scrolling the comments of a profoundly relatable post. i scrolled back to them. and sighed.
another comment read, “if one more person tells me i’m overreacting, i will lose my sh*t.” (k…) yup. sigh.
and another: “more people should be really angry about everything that’s going on. if not, they aren’t paying attention.” (b…)
john pavlovitz wrote: “you know who I’m talking about: those friends, family members coworkers, classmates and social media acquaintances who tone-police us for surveying the monumental destruction being inflicted upon our fragile republic and its people and being livid…”
he continued: “there is a time and place for self-control, for tolerance, for listening and bearing with people, for breathing and being still.
but there is a time and place when the gravity of the moment calls for something fierce and unwieldy; a wildness of heart. i suggest that now is such a time, and here is precisely the place.
america is on the brink of authoritarianism…”
we talk about it a lot. we read the news, fact-check religiously, study a variety of opinions and historical footnotes, watch video footage, debate between ourselves – the two of us.
because there are so many – so, sooo many – people who just simply don’t want to talk about it, who prefer to talk about positive things, who exclude politics from their menu of conversation options (though i’d beg to differ on this – this is not politics anymore; this is real-life america now! – it is what is happening on a daily basis.)
you know the instant you even try to bring it up – there is a moment when a look crosses their face, there is an extra beat or two before an answer, there is an instant pushbacky “don’t you think about anything else?” or various conversation deadenders “i can’t go there” or “i am not gonna talk about it!”
and i wonder what – exactly – one does when one’s country is being decimated and a buncha people aren’t really willing to discuss it because – well – it’s uncomfortable.
it is heartbreaking to wish to have hard real-life conversations but never be able to get to the nitty-gritty of it all. not talking about it will not make it go away.
there is nothing – nothing – ho-hum about what is happening in this nation. it is staggering.
because we are both empaths, we unfortunately can pretty much feel the vibration frequency of fear as it swirls around this country. i keep wondering how low “they” can go. i keep wondering when some of the people – the ones hip-hip-hooraying all this, the ones whose dark souls align with this abject cruelty, and, yes, the ones who just don’t wanna discuss it – might catch on to the plot. i keep wondering how we might be able to stop this twisted administration from destroying all we know.
i am anything but ho-hum. we are most definitely not ho-hum.
“…we need a lot more fire and a lot less calm. right now, it’s a sign of your humanity, of your sanity, and of your soul, to look around at it all and say, ‘i’ve f**king had it.'” (john pavlovitz)
like you, maybe, i woke up on tuesday, sickened. the scourge has impaled the nation and i am stunned beyond belief. though i know we – personally – will be working at keeping on keeping on, the fallout of less than 24 hours was mind-blowing. which i know was the point. shock and awe, as they say.
in the tracks of our future we need to decide just exactly what we wish there. the present tense cannot be that which we leave in our wake, for this twisted leadership’s twisted governing will – most definitely – be the end of humanity as we know it. it is hard to grok this kind of cruelty.
in this time of grieving for our country, our democratic ideals, rights and freedoms on the chopping block to be desecrated, a moral center devoid of morality, the heaviness of depression and dread move in like a thick fog – difficult to see through to the other side. this is stifling, intense, horrible.
and so, maybe, i know how you feel. and sitting in this “collective depression” (john pavlovitz) is necessary – for the moment. we need spend time looking back, looking at now, looking down the road. we need spend time in the middle of it all. there are no easy solutions, i suspect. but each inch of the road forward counts and the tracks we leave will tell the story of our attempt to find balance and peace and goodness. it is the fundamental one-foot-after-another.
even as i write this i know that i don’t know what i’m talking about. not really. i have not lived through such a time. i am – like you – newly embarking on a trek heavy with the baggage of an administration steeped in hatred, retaliation, corruption. to think i know anything about such things is overstating, hyperbole. i – like you – have been mostly fortunate to live – most of my life – in a country with laws, checks and balances, at least a few grains of fairness mixed in. but here we are. and, though 77 million people voted for this maniacal cadre, more did not – through their vote or their silence.
anne frank embraced hope, “i don’t think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains.”
ralph waldo emerson’s words remind, “life is a journey, not a destination.”
when i come out from under the quilt, reopen the blinds and step out, i know that we will consider carefully our path as we go. we will step lightly and intentionally. we’ll not carry the fancy luggage with leather-edged nasty executive orders and gleeful manifestations of greed and malfeasance with us.
we will carry the scroll of our constitution and its good will from here and now to next days and the days after – our tracks will not be shameful indicators of the worst of us nor will they embarrass us. instead, they will be steady and strong and will tell the story of this journey for “whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly” (martin luther king, jr.) and we have a legacy to choose.
they are on 24/7. we haven’t taken them off our old wrought iron railing because – well – we need the light.
today i read a tiny post about someone who had taken her christmas tree down and had lugged it outside, getting it ready to go to the drop-off where it will be picked up and recycled into mulch. she wrote that she was sad and that she told her husband – when he arrived home – that she already missed the lighted tree. the end of her bitty post revealed that the tree was back in the house – lighted. it warmed my heart.
we have taken down the holiday decorations. it was just a couple days ago and i already miss the glimmer. it’s all so joyous and – once put away into bins – feels plain. to be honest, i did keep one lighted lodgepole pine tree in the sitting room and i am contemplating bringing another back up. it won’t take much to convince him that they are necessary for a while, even though i was prepared with “they don’t reeeeally look like christmas trees….”
whatever it takes, i’m thinking. if we need more happy lights, then we should – by all means – put them up. anything to stay in the light, particularly right now. these darker winter months require much vitamin d and anything else that brings us beams of hopeful … and this one – this winter – well, there are particularly dark circumstances that will make us look for anything to try to even out the seesaw. if a couple fake lodgepole pines and a wrought iron railing with lights help, then so be it.
we spent saturday moseying about antique shoppes, one of our favorite things to do. i was looking for glimmer….things that might reflect light or hope or remind us to be “relentlessly present” (john pavlovitz).
each of the seconds that ticks by – even in this particular right now – cannot be held, cannot be relived. to lose them – those seconds – is to let the indecency win. to seek a balance – where we zero in on the stuff that is flashing by us and still attend to whatever we can do to further goodness in a not-good time – seems prudent. otherwise, every last bit of glimmer will be gone and the dark will usurp us. to be relentlessly present is to be mindful of breathing, i’m learning.
we found a cool candleholder – wrought iron and reflective silver – bargain-priced. it is now on the radiator where the happy-light-covered aspen log is, reflecting the light from those tiny bulbs.
we also found a wooden ampersand. we didn’t buy it – though also bargain-priced, there is the budget and all – but i think we may be going back for it (or find some other iteration of it).
something about having an “and” sign in the living room may remind us – relentlessly – about each other, about the fragile balance we need to hold, about this moment and the next and the next and-&-and.
we move forward in this new year – attending to the processes of democracy and this nation’s constitution. we pass by the sixth of january.
“four years ago, a few thousand insurrectionists attempted to disregard the laws of this nation for a single career criminal. and what they could not accomplish then in the capitol rotunda, 77 million americans now have at the voting booth: the voices of our forebears have been rendered silent, the protections of our constitution have been destroyed, and a convicted felon, adjudicated rapist, and wannabe dictator has been given the keys to the kingdom.” (john pavlovitz)
if that is not prickly, i don’t know what is.
once upon a time, back in the day, there was a sexual predator. he was charming and indubitably well-versed at preying on young women. he started by grooming – paying undue attention to these young women – even girls – who were far younger than he, gifting them, serenading them with song and words that – clearly – meant nothing. because he was well-practiced, it did not take him long to go from zero to sexual abuse – his deflowering count blossoming. and then – post-conquest – he would quickly discard that conquest – another young woman who was forever-devastatingly-changed – and move on to the next. he was never punished for any of his crimes nor was he ever held accountable. the misogynistic men who knew and who should have handled the crimes of this crony-of-theirs stayed silent, a peer group of complicity, continuing to enable him. he still walks about freely here in these united states. for decades.
prickly, eh?
and here we are – decades later – nearly half a century since the time of this one devastating story among millions of such stories – and we have not moved any further along. as a matter of fact, we have now elected a misogynistic sexual abuser – with his own bevy of complicit lawless cronies – to the highest office of the land.
it’s just like the story from back in the day. interesting how little has changed. only – now – 77 million people are part of the story – who not only stayed silent but became a part of the enabling – who stamped their wholehearted approval and voted him in – a man liable for sexual abuse.
if you don’t feel prickly about that, i don’t know what’s wrong with you. because your embrace of violence – your ignorance, pushing this newsy news aside – your lack of morality – your perpetuating of this travesty – your complicity – has placed every single woman in this country in peril.
in the way that conditional if-then statements work, that would all condense to: if you voted for him then you are culpable.
pretty prickly.
“we don’t coddle our kids when they spew nonsense or think the truth is irrelevant. we correct them.” (rex huppke)
or – as history and the present show – we let them walk free and even make them president.
“the decision to put someone like [him] back in the most powerful position in america should be embarrassing. it wasn’t.” (rex huppke)
“i will not win all of my battles, and neither will you. but if we do our best with intelligence, compassion and love, that will be enough – it has to be enough. and that way, though each outcome may not be what we wanted or hoped for, at least each day we can be proud of who we are.” (elizabeth glaser)
with intelligence. with compassion. with love.
this made me cry. i was going through framed pieces that had had spots in various places of our house or back-in-the-day at my label offices. and these words – instantly stopped me in my tracks.
for these were the very things lacking in what-ended-up the winning campaign of this election. intelligence. compassion. love. and i find that devastating.
i saw a meme the other day. it read: i will be proud all my life that i voted for kamala.
and i will.
because the other thing – the other choice – the magachoice – the one where “he got you to stop trusting the media, scientists, legal and judicial systems, federal agencies, military leadership, economists, educational institutions, our closest allies” et al – leaving “the only person you trust is him“* – that choice…was without intelligence, without compassion and without love.
instead, it zeroed in on people’s internal rage, giving it permission by example. it exploited their lack of knowledge, their lack of curiosity or questioning. it perpetuated the maniacal glee of revenge and retribution. it made a farce out of the legal system of checks and balances, a limitless low bar on integrity for the highest position(s) in the nation. it made self-serving a positive trait. it exclamation-pointed prejudice and marginalization. it underlined and bolded all the worst qualities of humanity and it brought it all to the surface. without hesitation, people jumped onto the hatewagon, pistols drawn, flying flags and banners of “greatness”, bleeding out any semblance of intelligence, compassion or love.
and here we are.
and i wonder how you – who voted for him and for all the cruelty and hardship and extremist notions and fascist intentions and every thing vile of which he reeks – are proud of that.
and so…it made me cry.
and – better than i could have said this, a brief video (x-out top right, turn on audio bottom right). thank you to matt and for his courage to say it aloud:
“yes, joy is the thing that has returned, and not a moment too soon.”(john pavlovitz)
like you, i’ve interviewed for many positions in my life. many of them were positions in non-profits. i spent thirty-five years as a minister of music in churches. i was asked the question “what do you bring to this job?” multiple times. i always answered the same way: “joy.”“i will always lead with joy,” i would add. and then this: “if you want perfection and not a joy-filled music program, i am not your person.”
as an entrepreneur, recording/performing artist and in managing roles i’ve also interviewed many people. i always looked for joy. for without it, life is flat. for without it, there is rote drudgery. without it, things seem dark. without it, there is doom and gloom, there is no hope, there is no light. without it, worthy projects, generosity and communities will not survive, will not thrive.
in the last two weeks i have been absolutely struck by the absolute change in vibration of the air around us. suddenly – with the advent of change in this election – we can see, hear, taste, FEEL joy. JOY.
“it’s a mystery. grace. it falls on us like morning dew, each and every day. we rise, buoyant or troubled, joyous or grieving, in clarity or murky, in the light or in the dark.we step into next, knowing we have yet another chance.” (nov. 22, 2019 & august 20, 2021)
we are in the grace of joy.
we are feeling hope and light. we are feeling the freedom to laugh, to dance. we are feeling open hearts. we are feeling possibility. to live life. to experience – in all its complexities and differences – in grace – living together. we are tasting the future.
we passed by this nametag sticker stuck to the street merely three days before our president ended his re-election campaign and passed the torch of election to our vice-president. we were crossing the street and when we reached the other side i went back to photograph it. in an incredibly fraught time, “grace” caught my attention. we didn’t know then that a few days later we would be in a different election. we didn’t know that less than two weeks later we would be remembering what real joy is.
in joe’s love for this country and sacrifice of personal ambition and in kamala’s vibrant love of life and dedication to this democracy, we can dream, we can aspire – once again – for the best of what these united states of america can be.
joie de vivre…is falling on us like morning dew…we have yet another chance…
we can choose this. we can vote for this.
“…so everyone can pursue happiness unfettered…”(john pavlovitz)
the light lit up the sky, a golden glow in a fog toward the heavens. it is one of the chicago botanic garden’s iconic displays, this tunnel of light, begging you to look up, be wrapped in its light, acknowledge the goose bumps. the luminous winter cathedral drawing people toward it. they stood, marveling, they strolled slowly, they posed for photographs, the millions of starry twinkling lights enveloping all.
i’m not much for cathedrals, really. i never have been; it’s nothing new. while i can appreciate their stunning beauty and the incredible feat it often took to build or install, they have never brought me closer to faith than any other place…outside, in the presence of others, at the piano, alone in wonder.
in my life – and in three and a half decades of my work life – i have found churches to not only house beauty. i have found churches to also house ugly. and so, i was relieved to read the words of john pavlovitz. it is important to distinguish the difference – the building is not God. and, sometimes, the best place to find the supreme deity you are seeking – no matter the name, no matter the denomination or affiliation, no matter the book of written word – is not in a place, not in a building.
the people – so many gathered there – under the arch of the winter cathedral seemed softer. the glow of light on their faces, they moved slower, offered to photograph others, gazed up. just as a community of people in a church often do, they seemed to come together, one of the benefits of “the building”. but, as i have found time and again – and, if we are to speak truth – those benefits sometimes run out. and people within become consumed by that which would never be considered a basic tenet of faith – the hypocrisies of power and control and discrimination and subjugation and competition, toxic things that “[don’t] feel like Love anymore”*.
as i walked under the night sky i knew that the cathedral would be close to the last installation on the guided path. i steeled myself for its overtones, even with its undeniable beauty.
we stood back and watched people enter it. in awe. it is truly glorious.
we approached and there was this tiny voice inside my head naysaying “church” to the other tiny voice exclaiming “wow”. both.
yet ethereal was there and it shone down on us as we walked through to the other side. and then we were once again under a night sky, full of stars we could see and stars we couldn’t see. just like faith.
“you are fully freed to run into the wide open spaces of this world, and to experience life and faith and beauty in ways you never thought possible…”*
reverse threading 