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Dear Reader, I hope you're taking care. For those of you who celebrate Eid, Eid Mubarak. And for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, happy spring equinox. We've tipped into spring and longer days—the first blooms on the trees and the first bulbs are flowering here in New England. I was at a silent retreat last week, and this Saturday, Eric and I spent the day at the ocean, watching the waves crash in and out. In the afternoon, the clouds cleared, and the sun came out. We walked by witch hazel in bloom, fields of snowdrops and tiny yellow and purple crocuses. And then I came back and opened up The Guardian to see what's unfolding, and my whole body, which felt expansive from the weekend, contracted upon seeing the heedless, painful destruction. Today, I want to share a poem from my first book, The High Shelf. This is a poem about the juxtapositions of the world, and the roles of language and silence. Below, I also offer 10 reasons to write when things feel over-much. Reading the Newspaper By the Open Window The world that is alone in its beauty with no consolation— the black walnut tree the goats, always-hungry–– Who hasn’t been seduced? Who is the wonderful me of happiness? Of forgetfulness, As if “all” Now no one speaks. I hope you enjoyed the poem. Sometimes, we can forget that we are all part of the same whole. Whatever you're feeling, I hope you'll continue writing. 10 Reasons to Write: 1) Writing helps us process our experiences. 2) It's good for our brain—as well as our emotions. 3) Writing builds order and structure and makes meaning. 4) Writing reminds us of our humanity. 5) Our humanity is collective, but it's also individual. We care about the collective because each individual is precious; writing reminds us of the individual. 6) If we don't translate our experiences into language, we remain unsettled—in body, mind, and spirit. New research shows that the brain itself remains unsettled if experience is not met by language. 7) Whatever is happening in our lives, whether we are falling in love or experiencing violence and pain, whether we are in a beautiful spring landscape or working in a mine, writing is a means of giving name and meaning to our experience. It's a place to mourn and to celebrate, and sometimes both at once. 8) Writing helps us process things that can feel impossible to process; it helps us come to understand ourselves and the complexities of the world. When we write, we're able to tap into different levels of wisdom and understanding. 9) When we write, we become better at speaking out in other ways. 10) Writing builds bravery, participation, aliveness, connection. It's also one of the best ways to celebrate what we love, what matters, and meaning. If you feel stuck or overwhelmed, I encourage you to find just 15 minutes. Schedule it on your calendar. Take a few deep breaths, and then write. If you're in the US and, like me, upset about what's happening, speak out. Call your representatives. Write them. Write to major corporations and tell them not to participate. Perhaps your call won't make a difference, but if every person called, it would make a difference. For as long as we can speak out, we should take that right as a sacred blessing and use it. And if you feel drawn to, attend a No Kings Rally this coming Saturday, March 28th. with love and appreciation, |
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Dear Reader, Happy September! I hope this finds you well, whatever this change of season brings for you. I've just had a lot of transitions–saying goodbye to our kids as they go back to school (Gabriel’s starting law School and Simone her senior year of college), spending time with my in-laws, renting out our house and getting ready for Eric’s sabbatical year–we’re headed to France soon, where we’ve rented a little house in the Pyrenees this fall, so I'll be working from there! I've been...
Hi Reader, Greetings from Prince Edward Island, Canada! I’m so lucky to be able to visit different places, and so glad that even in our globalized world, different places are still truly different from one another. The high mountains of the Rockies, where I was this July, and the rolling farmland and red-cliffed bays and long sandy beaches of PEI are unmistakably each their own. We travel in large part because of differences — for the different landscape, light, food, culture. People still...
Dear Reader, This summer I’ve been traveling in Colorado with my husband, Eric. We’ve been visiting our daughter, taking many beautiful hikes, and, as always, reading and writing a lot. This is the longest time we’ve traveled alone together since before our kids were born, and I’ve been remembering all of the other places we’ve spent time—traveling, exploring, but always reading and writing, and talking together: In our first apartment in Cambridge, when Eric was in his MFA writing program...