Greetings friends,
This missive is a short one, written in the last hour of a day when I’m guessing we’ve got a full range of emotion represented in our little community. The past two weeks have found me bouncing between rage at the destruction of the toddler President and his enablers, inspiration at the way folks are taking care of themselves and others, and heartbreak at so much profound loss. More than 250,000 victims of COVID-19 are no longer with their families and hundreds of thousands of other deaths had to be grieved alone because of the same. Healthcare workers are exhausted and begging the citizens of this country to stay home and millions of those same citizens simply can’t be bothered to alter their lives in any way.
Our Thanksgiving was small this year, just the four members of our family living here in NYC and we felt lucky to be together, to be healthy, to have enough to eat and a place to live. I remembered my Thanksgiving six years ago, alone on a couch in Kansas City with with a heart so broken I thought I might shatter if someone looked at me, and I pondered all the growth of the ensuing years; the wholeness of my life now. I am so grateful for the journey.
And yet. There is still the ache, the inertia, the this is not the life I imagined and I have no idea how I’ll ever get there blues. It may be loss or loneliness, fear or sorrow, or just a pang that you don’t understand, but it’s the water we’re all swimming in right now.
And it should be.
Let me say that again. If your life is untouched by the losses of this year or you don’t feel the ache of the losses of your fellow humans right now, I can promise you that the day will come when you’ll look back at 2020 and wish you’d said yes to whatever hard things you didn’t want to experience.
So here are a few gifts for that journey, whether you feel thankful or not. I’ve been happy/sad today, but I’m grateful for each of you and mostly I just wanted you to know that.
George Clooney once gave his 14 best friends $1M each as a way of thanking them for all they’d done to help him build the life he lives. This profile of him and his family during the quarantine is delightful and contains at the end, his perfect comeback when a rich guy asked him why in the world he gave his friends so much money. I haven’t even seen all of George Clooney’s movies, but anyone with that level of generosity who can also take down Trump with a statement like this one is worthy of admiration:
Here’s the thing: I grew up in Kentucky. I sold insurance door-to-door. I sold ladies’ shoes. I worked at an all-night liquor store. I would buy suits that were too big and too long and cut the bottom of the pants off to make ties so I’d have a tie to go on job interviews. I grew up understanding what it was like to not have health insurance for eight years. People in Hollywood, for the most part, are people from the Midwest who moved to Hollywood to have a career. So this idea of “coastal elites” living in a bubble is ridiculous. Who lives in a bigger bubble?
I have a wonderful daily reader of Rumi poems and when I read this one a few days ago, I wept with the truth of it. Welcoming everything is hard. I’ve also come to believe it’s necessary for our souls to expand. Sure we can resist. Put on a happy face and refuse to acknowledge anything but good news. I just don’t know how to do that and keep growing.
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
This incredible cloud formation from my walk to Ft Tryon last night. You see it right?
And finally, one last poem from Laura Grace Weldon that so perfectly captures my heart these days.
I miss you, fellow walkers – dad with double stroller,
rainbow legging woman, earnest black hound hauling
graybeard man on a never-slack leash.
I miss the Marc’s check-out clerk with three nose rings,
bitten nails, sardonic asides.
Miss the librarian whose voice is soft as my mother’s was
back when I sobbed myself weak, her hand
stroking my hair while she looked out the window.Wherever you are now, I wish you well. Cast light around you
each night before sleep. I want your granny to pull through,
your job to stick around, your landlord to grant you
every dispensation. I want flowers
to sprout in your garbage, old milk to turn into yogurt.
May your junk mail transform into loans forgiven,
scholarships granted, grievances forgotten.
May we see each other soon, smile in recognition,
reimagine a world where we all breathe free.
Happy Thanksgiving.