Majestic days
For the past few weeks, I’ve struggled to come up with what to write in this part of the newsletter, and I think it’s a symptom of a larger issue. These past couple of years have been challenging for every single one of us, for reasons both shared and totally unique. I’m finding that the more people I talk to, the more I realize the truth to the colloquialism “everyone’s fighting a battle we know nothing about.” It’s made me feel less alone while also mourning humankind’s collective losses.
By comparison, that aforementioned larger issue seems quite small, but it’s weighing on me. As a creative person, namely a storyteller, I’ve felt stilted by this period in our lives. Connecting with others, traveling to new places, and stumbling upon adventure are things that used to fuel my stories. Sure, I adapted and was able to write about my time at home, and I did write some pieces I’m proud of. But I feel saddened by all the stories I didn’t get to write because of all the moments I missed out on. A good writer can take a pen to paper about anything (think Virginia Woolf’s “The Death of the Moth”) but my inspiration well is running dry. I’ve written about the shrinking walls of an unpleasant living situation (now thankfully amended); I’ve revisited Rome by bringing my memories to the page; and I’ve journaled about my feelings more than you could imagine, but I’m ready for more fuel. I want to be out in the world and make notes about what I’m seeing, touch, hearing, and smelling for future essays. These opportunities are growing more frequent, and I’m thankful for that. But right now, in the midst of this long winter, I’m looking out into the gray hoping for a rainbow.
I know the rainbow will be there soon enough. And hey, I just wrote 300 words about having nothing to write about. Maybe I don’t have to look too far after all.
Brain collage
“I would like to step out of my heart and go walking beneath the enormous sky.”
— Rainer Maria Rilke, “Lament” from The Book of Hours
Feast your eyes
Recommended reading
The Peace of Wild Things
by Wendell Berry
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
Get some rest
On my mind 🇺🇦
