Also this
Yes, all those other difficult things. Yes, the world is on fire. But also this:
We went on a quick overnight road trip to Jasper and to Pyramid Lake this week which seems a wildly decadent thing to do, but also from Edmonton it’s a fairly easy drive. There was a moment when I was sitting on one of the benches on the island and looking out at the lake, and it just hit me, I haven’t really felt calm in probably four months. There have been moments where I think, I’m probably okay, but there is that low level hum of anxiety that pretty much anyone human has going on a layer or two or three below their surface, below their calm-ish exterior. But out by the lake, it all kind of dissipated. There’s something about the mountains maybe, reminding us that the mountains are still the mountains. It helps. I don’t at all want to minimize any of the profound suffering that’s going on in the world right now and some of it is going to take a long time to grieve and process and come to terms with. There are some truly horrendous things going on right now. The unfathomable cruelty is being catalogued as we speak. I think others can address that more competently than I’m able to.
What I’m able to do is encourage you to look after your health and mental health so that you can continue to do all those other important things, now and continuing. Because none of this is normal, or easy. And it’s probably even harder on your soul than you’ve allowed yourself to think about.
A few things I’ve found helpful for myself then.
The cupboard sheet by David at Raptitude. He says: “Inside the door of my breakfast cupboard I taped a list of activities that reliably make me feel better: journaling, meditation, cleaning something that’s been dirty for a long time, reaching out to a friend, reading a real book, and half a dozen others.”
I like that one of his activities is “read on the front step.” I don’t have an actual list on my cupboard, but in my head I have: read a poem in my red velvet chair. (This usually ends up with me reading more than one poem, and it’s amazing how reading something good and short can just wake up my brain in good ways). The specificity is helpful. I think re-directing the body to a particular place is useful, good.
I swear I was about to write a similar post when Austin Kleon’s newsletter came into my inbox. He says to do the work that’s in front of you. Just do what you can today. Pick a thing. Just do what’s there. Don’t get fancy. Don’t go madly off in all directions. Pick the easiest thing. Do that.
If you’ve been around here for a while, you’ll have read my list of calm things to do and at this time I keep coming back to good ol’ number 16, which is “Share your calmness.” Of course we’re angry right now and with every right to be. I am so angry at the brutality and racism and unfairness. And here I acknowledge my privilege because I know that not everyone can step aside and that living in Canada as a white woman affords me an enormous amount privilege. But is it still possible to be a donor of peace and hope? Is it still possible to attempt to be the calmest person in a room/zoom? Is it possible to let our calm become a contagion?
Anger can be effective, and necessary. Now is the time for anger, I can’t deny that. Even Bruce Springsteen is using the F word these days. Good for him, man. This is not to be taken lightly. When the boss is telling you to put on a fucking mask, this is serious stuff.
But okay, we’re wearing a mask, we’re trying to be calm and let it ripple out so that it can help others become calm and we can try to lower our blood pressure etc.
I keep thinking about all my years at the library, trying to develop and to really have an open-hearted stance. I put my whole body into that stance and my eyes and my facial muscles. It’s hard to do when you’re tired, or wary, and sometimes even a little afraid. But I’ve always found that when you make this effort, when you throw yourself out there with an open heart, the payoff is amazing. It’s really about having trust in humans, faith that if you are your best self, they will bring theirs. I would say that this works almost all the time. But now, if our faces are covered, how is this going to work? Early on when I started working at my current library branch, I got Bell’s Palsy, which I have bored you all with repeatedly, and wrote about in my latest book. Suffice to say, half your face is mud/basically paralyzed, and this usually lasts 3-4 months. Most people recover but I had some depressing thought that I’d be in the whatever percent of those who don’t. Don’t ask me why, I had convinced myself of this, and so went back to work before I strictly needed to. Long story short, I couldn’t use my usual facial expressions to convey those things I wanted to convey. So I had to really rely on the rest of my body, my eyes. The eyebrows were also useless, though I’ve often been asked if I even have any. I do! They’re just very light, haha. What I realized is that what’s more important is just feeling the feelings. Feeling the faith, and actually trusting. That that is enough. It’s felt. Words, also good. But yah, it sounds all fluffy and mystical, but in my small experience, it worked. You send out good, you get good back. You can still do this, emanate the good vibes, the whole heart, wearing a mask. And if it doesn’t work, at least you sent out good. Because for me, how I walk through the world is the thing. This is what living is. This is what being a decent human is. (Yes, sometimes it’s also yelling at people Boss-style). The thing is, none of this is going to go away overnight. How do you want to walk through the world? What is your stance?
I know this is getting longwinded, and because I’m Canadian I will say the obligatory sorry right here. It’s what we do. Sorry.
The thing I’m thinking a lot about lately is contingency. Ages ago I read Living with the Devil by Stephen Batchelor and it has helped me live this life as a writer married to an artist. That existence. We are used to living with flux, uncertainty, albeit not even close to the extent that we are now experiencing globally. But the thought, “if not this, then that” — has helped me a lot. Batchelor talks about contingency: “whatever is contingent depends on something else for its existence. As such, it need not have happened. For had one of those conditions failed to materialize, something else would have occurred. We make 'contingency' plans because life is full of surprises, and no matter how careful our preparations, things often do not turn out as anticipated.”
Embracing contingency “requires a willingness to accept the inexplicable and unpredictable.” We become more fluid and responsive. Batchelor describes the state as being similar to waiting on tables. “Just as a waiter attends to the needs of those at the table [they] serve, so one waits with unknowing astonishment at the quixotic play of life. In subordinating his own want to those of the customer, a waiter abandons any expectation of what he may be next called to do.” The waiter is “constantly alert and ready to respond.” The waiter is invisible yet always there when needed. The waiter is “optimally receptive and alert.” Batchelor also talks about how we hate waiting for things like trains or late friends. We might dip into “resentful frustration.” But he guides: “Instead of regarding it either as an affront to one’s dignity or a waste of time, waiting can be seen as a cipher of nirvana.” The practice of waiting is not passive but is “an alert stillness that cradles perplexity, it is the ground from which we can respond in unpredictable ways to life’s unfolding and the inevitable encounter with others.”
(As an aside, when I worked in a cafe during my Uni years, I was often teased by fellow waiters about my style of loping lazily around the restaurant. I have long legs and am 5’ 11”ish, and back then I had a slighter build, and I think that contributed. But I made good tips, better than many, and I’ve always said the best waiter is a lazy one because you don’t make unnecessary trips. Also I turned red (still do) at the drop of a hat and probably people felt sorry for me who knows…).
The last thing I’ll mention that has helped me, is this idea that if I’m going down, I’m going down with flowers, with beauty. I’m going down with a glass of champagne in my hand.
There’s a song by Amanda Shires that kicks, and here is the link and the YouTube below. If we’re gonna get on with the shitshow then let’s break out the champagne, amiright?
From RollingStone magazine:
“But To the Sunset‘s true centerpiece is “Break Out the Champagne,” a verse of which was inspired by a real-life incident when Shires’ plane lost an engine mid-air and is propelled by a uniquely memorable melody – like that aircraft, it flirts with danger but kisses the ground.
Shires still hates planes. “I often like to come on a second flight so, if one goes down, at least Mercy has one of her parents,” she says of the occasions when she and Isbell fly together. “And it doesn’t feel dark to me. It feels like the truth.””
Anyway, I hope this wasn’t too prescriptive etc. They’re just some things that help me keep moving, figuring things out as I go, because we’re all kind of coming in out of the dark and our eyes are adjusting to this different light, and it’s weird man, it’s weird and hard. All I can do is send big love your way, and tell you to put your hands out and try not to stub your toe….
