"When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown-up, we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability... To be alive is to be vulnerable."
Madeleine L'Engle
My camera caught the coffee strangely there - it looks metallic... We are, in fact, drinking metallic coffee - made of sparkling creamer and fibers of little thin steel. There's a line in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn that goes like this, describing some of the women in the narrative,
"They were all slender, frail creatures with wondering eyes and soft fluttery voices. But they were made out of thin, invisible steel." Betty Smith
So, we put some steel in our coffee this morning and hope that it helps us shovel the driveway (it did). Then we'll put some steel in the baby's bottle. Even though we're grown-ups, I suppose, we can learn a lot in the way of vulnerability from this little tiny 8 month old - as she chews her toys and tries to eat her feet. She's a drooling mess wearing clothes that have ears and ruffles. And somehow she trusts us without thinking that we won't take care of her.
Rediscovering New Jersey: Skyline Drive, along the Appalachian Trail
“Our invented philosophy — the self-made scaffold our lives and visions cling to — is harder to speak out loud. It’s hard to even write it down. And yet, we must try! For we hang our very beings on these invisible bones.” Barbara Mahaney, Invitation to December
As much as I would rather be out West hiking around beautiful trails and enjoying the warm dry sunshine, the feeling of community present here has become such a wonderful gift this season. To get out and see a landscape is rejuvenating, but so are the precious hugs and joyful smiles of people I get to see again.
To be present in a place that has spent years showing me how to love is a gift. This is not to say that I am in any way perfect at it, but I'm reminded that these are the invisible bones and scaffolding that have supported my soul. These are the people who redirect their steps to give me a hug and ask how I'm doing. They give me a ride home - even though it is adding 40 minutes to their journey - because they want to catch up with me. These are people whose "I'm so sorry about your grandmother" mean so so very much, since you know that they know how much she meant to you. They have given me comfort (and love) in these moments that I have not received from my year of graduate school and moving around.
Love is refreshing; to feel known is relaxing. If I were to begin to articulate my own invented philosophy, I would have to start with love. We often talk about compassion in social work - even compassion fatigue - and maybe this is because we don't want to talk about the love you can have for a stranger in a way that comforts them in times of difficulty. I don't think love ever becomes fatigued, does it? We talk about boundaries and detachment but what about love? These are words that carry so much weight and this is one of the heaviest. Feeling loved - "attached" as they say in psychology - can bring me to tears; it moves me.
As much as I love the West, the West will never love me back. This is why to be loved in community is a gift, which also comes with its own challenges. But we must continue to try and to hang our very beings on these good and strong invisible bones.
From a walk through Millbrook Village, New Jersey yesterday.
I love the long shadows of winter and that bright blue sky.
The other day on my drive down to New Jersey I was listening to an On Beingepisode with Quaker singer Carrie Newcomer. It was the Thanksgiving episode where the interview was woven in and out of her folksy music; it was the perfect peaceful combination to listen to after a stressful semester.
Do you ever hear something or think something and feel the need to write it down before you forget it? During this episode, Carrie spoke about hope and I went back and found the transcript online to remember the words exactly. It goes like this:
"And then there's like a hope that's gritty - It's like, the kind of hope that gets up every morning and chooses to try to make the world just a kinder place in your own way. And the next morning gets up, and does it again. And the next morning, gets up, and you have been disappointed. And you do it again. I wanted to write about the kind of hope that's faithful, that kind that Niebuhr talked about: 'anything worth doing will probably not be achieved in one lifetime... so we are saved by hope.' And that's a harder kind of hope to live with, because it's easier to be cynical. I mean, when you're cynical, you're never disappointed."
When I think about hope, Emily Dickinson's poem pops into my head. Her rendition of hope is this:
"Hope" is the thing with feathers - (314)
"Hope" is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird -
That kept so many warm -
I've heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
I like holding the two of these together, thinking of hope as a belief that is a choice and requires faith, but also something that rests and perches inside of us.
Here's Carrie singing Betty's Diner, a Joni Mitchell-esque song about people in a diner. Being in New Jersey, where there's a silver diner melting on the corner of most towns, it seems appropriate to post this one.
"When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe." John Muir
I woke up to a blue sky day and the ground covered in sparkling frost. There's something about waking up and either being outside or heading outside and grabbing some of that pure, fresh morning air. It was cold when I opened the door after putting on my boots and setting out across the driveway in my plaid pajama pants. The sun rises over the small hill in our backyard and casts shadows over our deck illuminating stripes everywhere. But this morning I photographed the grass across the way and the hill of our neighbors' property.
In the spirit of Frost, I thought I'd add a poem by Robert Frost.
Dust of Snow (1923)
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued
May the New Year bring many sparkling moments which change the course of our coldest days.
When I was out in the wilderness this summer, each week in the field, on the drive out, the other staff and myself would set goals for ourselves on our eight-day shift. Throughout the week, we would give each other feedback on how we were doing. I have often wanted to bring this practice into my "normal" life because I think it helped me be more intentional, purposeful and active.
As I've been trekking through Graduate School, there have been lots of deadlines that I've had to meet and academic hoops that I've had to jump through; it's exhausting. Although I'm exercising certain parts of my brain, other parts of me cramp up - my neck, my shoulders and the creative part of my brain.
(This is why committing to yoga is essential!)
In an attempt to be more reflective, creative and intentional, this year I'm committing to posting something daily, or every other day. I'm not sure where it will go... as Alice said to herself in Wonderland, "I don't see how he can ever finish, if he doesn't begin." (Lewis Carroll)
(A post from September 28, 2014 that I never finished)
I was inspired by a line I heard from an On Being podcast, something along the lines of perhaps happiness isn't always a pursuit, but sometimes we need to stop and let it catch up with us. I've found it hard to slow down in recent years, as there are always things that I feel the need to pursue: photography, travel, friendships, job, academics, or even just the nature surrounding me.
But today, I'm letting happiness catch up with me. I'm finally figuring out how to safely get the over 3,000 photos from the past 4 months off my iPhone. This has taken me longer than I would have liked, causing intense technological frustration. Thankfully, I went to yoga for 90 minutes this morning, which was a surprise to find when I got there, but welcomed. I organized my room a bit more, rearranging the haphazard organizing that occurred when I first moved in and I basically threw all of my belongings in drawers, on the bookcase and under my bed, not to mention stuffing all kinds of things into the my closet (my tarp from the summer is still bound up tight). My window is open and a warm breeze is coming through - probably one of the last ones as we are heading into Fall all too quickly. I've got candles lit and am thoroughly enjoying Lord Huron's Lonesome Dreams.
Another thing that's going on in the back of my mind, is that I'm reflecting back over the summer and the girls that I worked with out there for a couple eight-day shifts. Recently, Emma Watson gave a speech at the UN about her organization He for She about feminism, which I found myself resonating with - nodding my head at my iPhone as a I watched it. She talked about how feminism became such a dirty word, but all it means is to believe that women should have the same rights as men - that's it.
Now, I'm not going to focus on feminism per se, but I will focus on the girls I saw this summer. The girls who struggled with esteem - having to try and convince themselves that they were enough, worthy, and should stop trying to bear the emotional burdens of their families. The girls who constantly smiled and sought to rescue one another from their negative emotions, saying "sorry" for what was not their fault. To me, these are symptoms of girls growing up in a world where they may be encouraged not to be confident, to expect less, and keep on smiling. They feel shame for never ever being good enough and call boys who treat them without respect their boyfriends if they happen to text them back.
Recently, I was listening to This American Life, a story about a woman who was a federal regulator, speaking out about the irresponsibility of Goldman Sachs. It was a fascinating story, but what frustrated me most was hearing a recording of a supervision session with her boss, where he told her that she was "breaking eggs" and her "shoulders were too sharp" and she was "arrogant". What I wondered was if she had been a man, would she have been called arrogant, or confident?
I don't really know. But what I do know, is that girls are courageous, strong,beautiful, and smart. I think this is one of the reasons that I love seeing girls out in the wilderness, where their bodies and their personalities are accepted as they are and they have the space to challenge themselves. It's true even for me: I feel the most beautiful when I am the most dirty. We're talking I rub my hands and peels of dirt come off dirty. It's not the dirt that causes me to feel beautiful, but it's because I'm in a place where there is no pressure to be anything more than all my imperfections combined, because it's those qualities that make me who I am. It's not until I'm there that I realize the intensity of the pressures we walk around in daily that nudge us towards believing that we are not enough... and girl are those forces strong.
It is when I find my way back to that place of enough-ness (often a tricky place to find) that happiness can catch up with me. Here's Lord Huron's Lonesome Dreams and some drawings from my time out there. Enjoy :)
