Finally we are in the dog days of summer and I can’t help but think, “can’t we just sit in this beauty forever?” The weather has been glorious here all week (mid-70’s, low humidity, sunny) which means a lot when you live in a state that claims to only have 2 seasons: road construction and winter. We’ve also finally had a full week with decent air quality, something that was not easy to come by just a few weeks ago in the Midwest with wildfires in Canada continuing to rage on.
Despite the climate grief I’ve been feeling, early/mid-summer is one of my favorite times of year; everyone is finally out of the hole they’ve been hiding in all winter (or maybe that was just me!). Getting to see family and friends that I haven’t seen in months is one of the most precious parts of summer for me.
Still, I think what I cherish the most about these beautiful summer days is the quiet moments in between. The moments by the lake when it’s still enough to notice the head of a snapping turtle poking up out of the water for some air; or hearing nature’s white noise machine, the persistent chorus of bull frogs that sound more like bull horns; or seeing lightning stretched across the sky over 50 miles away and sit in wonder. In these moments it feels like time stands still and I can breathe deep.
I feel like a kid being caught up in all the stillness and beauty of nature.
A few weeks ago my partner and I went to see a herd of bison that live at the Belwin Conservancy every summer near Afton, MN. Belwin is a nature preserve with 1,500 acres of prairie, savanna, and woodlands in Minnesota’s Saint Croix Valley. It’s one of those hidden gems that you would never guess is only a 15 minute drive outside of the cities. We got to view the bison from an outlook area and watched them graze.
Bison roaming freely at Belwin Conservancy
One of the many Great Mullein flowering plants along a trail at the Belwin Conservancy
What I loved the most about our visit to Belwin was the quiet moments. We saw a few other people at the outlook and along the trails we hiked on, but all in all, it was the sounds of nature that spoke the loudest.
A few of my favorite poems this summer have been written by the extraordinary poet, Ada Limon. Limon is the 24th Poet Laureate of the U.S. and has numerous published books of poetry. Her most recent title, The Hurting Kind, traces the seasons of the year through lyrical poetry interweaving stories that show the interconnectedness between humans and nature. It’s definitely worth a read!
In her poem, “Give Me This” she talks about the joy of watching the groundhog in her backyard and allowing herself simple pleasures, moments of stillness in the midst of all the heaviness of this world.
One of my other adventures this summer has continued to be gardening. This year I’ve tried my hand at flower instead of herbs and vegetables. Flowers have been a bit less commitment than trying to keep veggies alive (and ensuring they were fully edible), but still a project nonetheless!
My impatiens in early June...
My impatiens in early July, a bit more in bloom! đ
Here’s a few other poems and songs that have been inspiring me lately:
Creek leading to the Rush River at Morgan Coulee Prairie State Natural Area, near Pepin WI
As things continue to open up and sprint towards “normal again”, at least here in the U.S., I can’t help but feel like I should be joyous at all times. Don’t get me wrong, seeing friends and family and loved ones, some of whom I haven’t seen in nearly a year and half, has been exhilarating, refreshing, and all around joyful. Yet, at the same time, I feel an undercurrent of sadness, anger, and loss.
Maybe, you can relate. This past year and a half has been a cluster, to say the least. When I came across this article last week on NPR’s Life Kit blog called “The Importance of Mourning Losses (even when they seem small)” I felt an echo of understanding.
Kenneth Doka, a breavement expert, shares in this article that “The pandemic of COVID-19 will be followed by a pandemic of complicated grief, because so many losses are disenfranchised”.
The term ‘disenfranchised grief’ was new to me. It refers to the losses that aren’t acknowledged, the ones that society has deemed as ‘small’ but hold significance to you and your life. When I think back to this past year, there were so many family events and traditions that were simply not possible due to covid, and so many missed opportunities I feel the loss of deeply still.
Some days I just feel numb by this feeling of loss, of uncertainty that lingers, and an anxiety about the future. Other days, I feel a waterfall of emotions pouring out of me after spending time with family or friends I haven’t seen in what feels like forever.
The term that comes to mind for me in all of this is ‘post-traumatic growth’. I learn about ‘post-traumatic growth’ after going through a rough season earlier in life when I was in my 20’s. I can’t help but come back to this train of thought now.
Post-traumatic growth as defined by psychologist Dr. Tedeschi is when: “People develop new understandings of themselves, the world they live in, how to relate to other people, the kind of future they might have and a better understanding of how to live life”.
Spring Crocus in full bloom
The OnBeing podcast has wonderfully thought-provoking interviews and is one of my personal favorites. Krista Tippett’s interview with Naomi Shihab Nye is one that I’ve kept coming back to lately. You can listen to it here. In it Naomi shares that she believes “all of us think in poems”; poetry is a form of conversation and allows us to view the world more closely, with greater attention and empathy.
Being in nature is one thing that really has helped me to stay feeling grounded this past year. I have been standing in awe of everything and the changing world as it becomes more alive again in the fullness of spring and the turn in to summer. In so many ways it feels as if we are on the brink of something new. I feel the last few lines of Shihab Nye’s poem “Jerusalem” encapsulate this state of our country and our world right now so perfectly as she shares:
There’s a place in this brain
where hate won’t grow.
I touch its riddle: wind, and seeds.
Something pokes us as we sleep.
It’s late but everything comes next.
Sunset at Battle Creek Regional Park
It’s late, but everything comes next.
Everything comes next. This is what I’ve been meditating on. The world cannot go back to the way it once was before 2020. For all of us, our lives have been changed in countless ways over the course of this past year. I think there is a sense of grief and loss that lingers, even as we do return to some semblance of “normal”. And, at the same time, we are given this opportunity to embrace the new, and accept all that comes with it.
This past year has exposed what has not been working for so many for far too long: inadequate healthcare, inequitable access to housing and jobs, unaccountable policing. The effects of racism and white supremacy that has permeated our systems and ways of being for far too long.
What is next?
What can we do to co-create a more just world not just for some, but for everyone?
The Center for Action and Contemplation has daily reflections, and one of those I’ve continued come back to in the past year has been taken from an excerpt titled “From Innocence to Knowledge” written by the late theologian and mystic Rev. Howard Thurman’s book “The Inward Journey”. In it he shares, “To dwell in innocence is to inhabit a region where storms do not come and where all the breezes are gentle and balmy…It is to live in a static environment which makes upon the individual no demands other than to be.”
However, he goes on to describe the process of discovering new information and how unsettling it can be and at the same time deeply life-altering and transformative.
“But when knowledge comes, the whole world is turned upside down. The meaning of things begins to emerge. And more importantly, the relations between things are seen for the first time. Questions are asked and answers are sought. Struggle encourages as a way of life. An appetite is awakened that can never be satisified…This process of moving from innocence to knowledge is never finished. Always there is a realm of innocence, always there is some area of innocence untouched by knowledge. The more profound the growth of knowledge, the more aware the individual becomes of the dimensions of innocence. Pride in knowledge is always tempered by the dominion of innocence”. – Rev. Howard Thurman
I do believe each of us is called to moments of reflection and rest and at the same time given the choice to act and speak up, especially after new information, ideas, or knowledge is gained. When we learn something new, we can’t see the world through the same lens than we did previously; we must act, speak, shout, and do our part to see it be made better. Too often, I have not done my own part to do this work of speaking out against racial injustice due to fear of making mistakes or feeling ‘stuck’ or not being sure where to start. But, even one first step, one small action, can have a ripple effect.
I’m ending this blog with a blessing and a call to action, for myself included.
May you find balance and steadiness in this time of change and transition.
May you know yourself and not be afraid of your own voice.
May you know how infinitely loved, wonderful, and powerful you are.
May you not be afraid to take risks, step up, and speak out if you have the privilege to do so.
To learn more and take action towards one specific injustice impacting the climate and indigenous rights’ here in the U.S. visit this website: https://www.stopline3.org/
It’s hard to believe we’ve been living this quarantine life now for 10 months now. I can’t help but feel a touch of nostalgia for the days of celebrating with family and friends in-person, filled with plenty of good food and great conversation. I miss the carefree days we left behind way back in March. I miss browsing inside bookstoresâŚand maybe getting sucked into reading a book in the store for an hour before buying it, toođ.
And yet, I’m certain I wouldn’t have grown as I did, and certainly would not have written this much. My goal at the very beginning of 2020 was simply to start writing again. When I first started writing this blog series I had no idea how many months, or weeks, I would continue. All I knew was that I had additional time on my hands I hadn’t previously had and wanted to make the most of it. I wanted this blog series to be a space to help me process my thoughts and reflections with the hope that it would be relatable for those reading as well.
Consequently, I have grown so much more than I could have hoped; in the bonds I hold with close friends, in the moments of laughter and tension Iâve shared with family, and in the continual process of learning how to treat myself with much more generosity and grace than I have previously.
Candles glowing in the early evening hours of Christmas Eve
As I shared in my previous post, winter is usually a time of anxiety for me. However, this year, in being able to work from home I’ve been able to avoid some of the dread that is accompanied with winter driving, and have found a lot of beauty, stillness and peace in walks.
A winter walk at Phalen Regional Park
I’ve been so inspired by different artists, authors, activists and faith leaders in my writing this past year. Thanks to quarantine life and having more time on my hands at home, I’ve found myself reading more books this past year than I had anticipated. Here’s a list of some of my favorites.
My favorite reads in 2020 (listed in no particular order)
The Night Watchman by Louise Erdrich â Historical Fiction
1919 by Eve Ewing â Poetry/Historical Non-fiction
The Downstairs Girl by Stacey Lee â YA Historical Fiction
How to Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy by Jenny Odell â Non-fiction/Self-help
A Burning by Megha Majumdar â political fiction
The Water Dancer by Ta-Nehisi Coates â historical fiction/magical realism
The Memory Police by Yoko Ogawa â Speculative fiction
As we begin 2021, I’ll leave you with a few songs that have inspired me this winter so far and this beautiful poem by renowned poet, Naomi Shihab Nye.
Before you know what kindness really is you must lose things, feel the future dissolve in a moment like salt in a weakened broth. What you held in your hand, what you counted and carefully saved, all this must go so you know how desolate the landscape can be between the regions of kindness. How you ride and ride thinking the bus will never stop, the passengers eating maize and chicken will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho lies dead by the side of the road. You must see how this could be you, how he too was someone who journeyed through the night with plans and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. You must wake up with sorrow. You must speak to it till your voice catches the thread of all sorrows and you see the size of the cloth. Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore, only kindness that ties your shoes and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread, only kindness that raises its head from the crowd of the world to say It is I you have been looking for, and then goes with you everywhere like a shadow or a friend.
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Stay curious. Stay awake. Be good to one another. Be kind to one another. May 2021 be a year of hopeful new beginnings for us all. And, may you always have someone who will walk by your side, even through freezing temperatures. đ
Lately, I have felt more like Iâm crawling than walking to get through another day of Zoom meetings. While I consider myself incredibly fortunate during this time to have a steady job, a home, a loving partner and family, I can’t help but feel the exhaustion, fatigue and anxiety that so many of us are feeling during this time. So much of living right now is just heavy.
My general mode of operandi when I’m stressed is to intentionally make myself busier â actually as busy as humanly possible. In college I perfected it to a T; I kept myself as busy as possible to try to fill the void of loneliness and depression. Every time this year I start to feel it again, too. The gnawing, aching sense of the summer, the world as we have known it to be waning, and darkness, both literally and metaphorically speaking, setting in.
This fall does feel differently than those before. Iâve spoken with many people where we both find ourselves asking âDid we even have a summer this year?â Time feels warped, out of the context of the usual trips and events that mark the change of the seasons. Time has stood still and stretched out long; and at the same time, itâs sped by at lightning speed.
Can both things be true at once?
Wild Cucumber plant seen at Lake Minnewashta Regional Park
When I think about the world right now, on the weekly Skype chat with my family or on the phone with friends, I always find these days thereâs a pause, a moment after bringing up the state of our climate, or our country, or our world that leaves no room for words â just uncertainty.
Uncertainty is no stranger to those who live in the upper Midwest. As someone living in Minnesota, we always find ourselves speculating âHow bad will the winter be this year?â or âWill it be a snowy one or an unusually cold one?â. What we are really asking ourselves though is: âHow are we going the make it through?â. How do we do it year after year, as we lose 30 minutes of sunlight by the day now? Thereâs a sense of drowning, or being baptized, into something you arenât certain you asked for. As the anticipation of winter arises, questions flood my thoughts like âWhat did I do to deserve this?â and âWhen will this be over?â and “Why the hell do I still live here?!”.
As a person who battles Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) every year during the winter months, it can be hard to look forward to the shortening days, bitter cold weather, and decrease in sunlight when you know depression is coming at you in full force.
Although it is easy for me to feel consumed by the darkness of winter closing in, I recognize the small acts I make daily can make a big difference. Remembering to sit by my SAD light every morning, attempting to exercise, eating healthy, journaling before the day starts, and taking medication are all tools that help me ‘make do’ with those long, long winter months here in Minnesota . There are days where I’m just not okay and can’t go out with friends (let’s be honest, this isn’t much of an issue this winter!), but I do the best I can with what I’ve got. All the while realizing that the winter and my mental health wonât be perfect, but Iâll make it through, and maybe be able to navigate a bit more easily than the last year.
Maybe thatâs all we can do these next few months, as winter approaches, as 2020 hurtles us forward into god knows what.
Take it one day at a time.
Find one thing each day that brings you joy, makes you laugh, or ushers in gratitude for those around you.
Sit next to a window filled with sunlight and do nothing for a little while.
Reach out to those you havenât talked to or seen in a while and just listen.
Sunset at Battle Creek Regional Park
Sarah Kay, one of the poets that really inspired me when I first stared writing more as a young adult, writes in her poem âHiroshimaâ:
âImpossible is trying to connect in this world; trying to hold on to others when things are blowing up around you; knowing that while you are speaking, they arenât just waiting for their turn to talk. They hear you. They feel exactly what you feel at the same time that you feel it. Itâs what I strive for each time I open my mouth: That impossible connection.â
Feeling heard and understood by friends, loved ones, and even perfect strangers, is one of the things that has been making me feel less alone right now. Just knowing that someone else is feeling weary and exhausted and anxious in these times is that ‘impossible connection’ that heals. Maybe, it has been for you, too.
Hereâs some other words (songs, poems) that have resonated with me recently:
“Making Do” by Lake Street Dive
“Autumn” by Holly Arrowsmith
“Lines Written In the Days of Growing Darkness” by Mary Oliver
Every year we have been witness to it: how the world descends
into a rich mash, in order that it may resume. And therefore who would cry out
to the petals on the ground to stay, knowing as we must, how the vivacity of what was is married
to the vitality of what will be? I don’t say it’s easy, but what else will do
if the love one claims to have for the world be true?
So let us go on, cheerfully enough, this and every crisping day,
though the sun be swinging east, and the ponds be cold and black, and the sweets of the year be doomed.
Walking path at Battle Creek Regional Park – A perfect, golden fall day!
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Despite the lack of control we face right now, there is a degree of power we each hold, especially if you are white, cisgender, or a U.S. citizen. Voting is a choice each of us who are U.S. citizens can make; and the results could alter how much we have to ‘make do’ with in the next few years, or decades. Reread Congressman John Lewisâs words if you need some encouragement on this: “Together, you can redeem the soul of the nationâ, and for everyoneâs sake, please vote.
Keep making do and taking good care of yourself and those around you, friends.
A few months ago my spouse and I decided to try growing some vegetables in a garden for the summer. At the time we had no real plans for the summer and had plenty of time on our hands.
It didn’t take long for the radishes we had planted to sprout and begin to grow, but the in-between period, right after they had sprouted and the waiting period before they could be harvested felt like it dragged on forever! In previous posts, I have mentioned that I’m not always the most patient person.
The whole process of waiting, watering and tending our plants, and waiting some more felt a bit underwhelming and uncertain. It wasn’t until I could finally see the change – the product of our patience and hard work – that I realized just how damn hard and exhausting growth and change can be! Nevertheless, the beauty, even small moments of it, is found within the process itself.
Harvested radishes. Look at these beauties!
All of this work gardening has made me think more about the growth process involved with being human, too. I’ve come to the conclusion that change is never easy, especially when it involves belief systems that we may have held and internalized our entire lives. Like a plant’s complex root systems, our own egos cling to the safety of the soil we’ve grown up in.
Transformation is hard work. It does not happen overnight; it happens each day, through the choices we make.
It takes time. It takes patience, and more patience.
It takes a willingness to surrender to the process of growth and an acceptance that you don’t know what things will look like on the other side.
It takes courage.
Lake Phalen at sunset
I’ve never been exceptionally great at listening. I was on the phone talking about this with a good friend of mine recently, reflecting on our struggles throughout our lives to not interrupt. Maybe interjecting into conversations has always been our tendency as the younger siblings in our families, to ensure our voices are being heard, and not drowned out by our older siblings!
At the same time, I have to wonder if our tendency to feel like we have to get our word in isn’t also influenced by our upbringing and our race, too.
The past 2 months I have been reflecting on what it means to be white in America and what it means to have power, entitlement, and privilege and to not even be aware of the power you hold or when or how it is wielded.
I’ve been taking some time to try to be a better listener. If you, like me, find yourself in a position of listening right now, I invite you to join me. It would be naive of me to say that simply listening to a podcast or watching a video is going to solve America’s problems, but I think listening and learning is a good place to start.
Here’s what I’ve been listening to, in no particular order:
While my time here has now come to an end, I want you to know that in the last days and hours of my life you inspired me. You filled me with hope about the next chapter of the great American story when you used your power to make a difference in our society. Millions of people motivated simply by human compassion laid down the burdens of division. Around the country and the world you set aside race, class, age, language and nationality to demand respect for human dignity.
That is why I had to visit Black Lives Matter Plaza in Washington, though I was admitted to the hospital the following day. I just had to see and feel it for myself that, after many years of silent witness, the truth is still marching on.
Emmett Till was my George Floyd. He was my Rayshard Brooks, SandraBland and Breonna Taylor. He was 14 when he was killed, and I was only 15 years old at the time. I will never ever forget the moment when it became so clear that he could easily have been me. In those days, fear constrained us like an imaginary prison, and troubling thoughts of potential brutality committed for no understandable reason were the bars.
Though I was surrounded by two loving parents, plenty of brothers, sisters and cousins, their love could not protect me from the unholy oppression waiting just outside that family circle. Unchecked, unrestrained violence and government-sanctioned terror had the power to turn a simple stroll to the store for some Skittles or an innocent morning jog down a lonesome country road into a nightmare. If we are tosurvive as one unified nation, we must discover what so readily takes root in our hearts that could rob Mother Emanuel Church in South Carolina of her brightest and best, shoot unwitting concertgoers in Las Vegas and choke to death the hopes and dreams of a gifted violinist like Elijah McClain.
Like so many young people today, I was searching for a way out, or some might say a way in, and then I heard the voice of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. on an old radio. He was talking about the philosophy and discipline of nonviolence. He said we are all complicit when we tolerate injustice. He said it is not enough to say it will get better by and by. He said each of us has a moral obligation to stand up, speak up and speak out. When you see something that is not right, you must say something. You must do something. Democracy is not a state. It is an act, and each generation must do its part to help build what we called the Beloved Community, a nation and world society at peace with itself.
Ordinary people with extraordinary vision can redeem the soul of America by getting in what I call good trouble, necessary trouble. Voting and participating in the democratic process are key. The vote is the most powerful nonviolent change agent you have in a democratic society. You must use it because it is not guaranteed. You can lose it.
You must also study and learn the lessons of history because humanity has been involved in this soul-wrenching, existential struggle for a very long time. People on every continent have stood in your shoes, through decades and centuries before you. The truth does not change, and that is why the answers worked out long ago can help you find solutions to the challenges of our time. Continue to build union between movements stretching across the globe because we must put away our willingness to profit from the exploitation of others.
Though I may not be here with you, I urge you to answer the highest calling of your heart and stand up for what you truly believe. In my life I have done all I can to demonstrate that the way of peace, the way of love and nonviolence is the more excellent way. Now it is your turn to let freedom ring.
When historians pick up their pens to write the story of the 21st century, let them say that it was your generation who laid down the heavy burdens of hate at last and that peace finally triumphed over violence, aggression and war. So I say to you, walk with the wind, brothers and sisters, and let the spirit of peace and the power of everlasting love be your guide.
“Where there is life, there’s hope” – J.R.R. Tolkien
When I think of change, of true transformation, there is always an outward manifestation of that inner work. I have been grappling with what I can do to take action for racial justice right where I am, and one first simple step was to sign a petition. It takes little time or effort, but it still requires purpose and action. If you feel compelled, I invite you to join me in signing these two petition below (if you have not already) to demand justice for Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor .
Facing the truth, in any part of life, is tough. When faced with pain on an individual level, itâs in our human nature to want to run from it, or fight it, or simply deny it and forget it ever happened.
Lake Phalen on a cloudy, humid May day
I think of all the times as a kid I ending up running from a problem or blaming someone else (likely my older sister, although it was likely not taken to be the truth!) or making something I did seem not nearly as bad as it actually was.
My point is, simply, facing the truth in ourselves, and in the world around us is difficult work.
It is also important work.
I have struggled to confront the truth, sometimes when itâs counted the most. Maybe, just maybe, you can relate.
Bleeding Hearts, as seen in my parents’ backyard.
This past week was spent in a rollercoaster of emotions. Sadness, anger, confusion, anxiety, more sadness, more anger. Repeat.
Maybe, you can relate to this too.
The truth is in this blog series I have largely been silent about race and the inequities exposed by the pandemic. Maybe, I thought, since it was all over the news already it could be skipped over. But, I realize now that was a mistake.
The truth is a black man named George Floyd, who was a well-known, funny and kind community member who lived in South Minneapolis where I work and have called home, was brutally, senselessly murdered in broad daylight by a white Minneapolis police officer.
Three other officers stood there and watched…and did nothing.
If you have been watching the news at all this past week, this is not news to you. And, yet I still feel like to not remember him, to not say his name, would be yet another injustice.
The truth is in Minneapolis black people are 13x more likely to die due to police violence than white people (as heard on Pod Save America by DeRay Mckesson)
The truth is….there is a lot of work to do.
âAmerica is struggling to figure out who we are in this time of crisis, and it is only revealing that we have a long way to go to become the land of the free and home of the brave.â â Kaitlin Curtice, poet, public speaker, and author of “Native: Identity, Belonging and Rediscovering God”
How do we heal? Where do we move forward from here? How do I, as a white person, confront my own racism?
I am not sure. I don’t have the answers to these questions. These are ones that have kept me up at night this past week.
But, I do have some thoughts and ideas and reflections on my journey.
Dandelions in the late afternoon at Battle Creek Regional Park.
I believe much can be learned from those who have gone before us, particularly from those who were contemplative activists, firmly rooted in a faith and fostering inner peace and at the same time committed to righteous action for the greater good. Howard Thurman is one that comes to my mind being one of the great contemplatives in U.S. history. Thurman met with Gandhi in the 1930’s, only to go on and counsel Dr. Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. as a quiet, yet powerful force in the civil rights movement.
A quote from Howard Thurman
âContemplatives are people who seek the whole, and therefore, live in liminal spaces. So, what then does it look like for us to come up against systems that oppress? We stand against those systems, not because we are looking for a good versus evil duality, but because we recognize that oppressive systems do not see the whole, they themselves are working in dangerous dualities that dehumanizeâŚ. We stand in these spaces not to claim rightness, but to claim wholeness.â – Kaitlin Curtice
To read Curticeâs entire article about contemplative activism, click here
If you are a white person, like me, who is seeking out ways to learn and grow more in your own understanding of race, consider some of these books, articles or documentaries below:
Video Clips/Documentaries
Bird-watching while black and Drew Lanham: Hope Is the Thing With Feathers are very short, engaging mini-documentaries created by National Geographic starring J. Drew Lanham, a professor of wildlife ecology at Clemson University, and Jason Ward, an avid bird watcher from the Bronx talk about being a ‘birder of color’ and finding hope in bird-watching.
“I Am Not Your Negro” This movie follows James Baldwin’s personal account of the lives and assassinations of three of his close friends: Medgar Evers, MLK and Malcolm X. I haven’t seen this one yet, but have heard only praise and that’s it is very powerful.
Articles and Books
“White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack” by Peggy McIntosh – this is less of an article and more of an activity to help sort through your own privileges. The first time I did this I was pretty startled by all the privileges I have never realized were privileges of being white. A great place to start if you’re just diving in to learning about race and privilege.
“The Long, Painful History of Police Brutality in the U.S.” by Smithsonian Magazine – this is actually quite a brief article that cover quite a lot. A good, worthwhile overview linking the history of the Black Lives Matter movement to the civil rights movement in the 1960’s
“A Different Mirror: A History of Multicultural America” by Ronald Takaki – This book is a great place to start if you are looking to re-educate yourself more fully on the history of the U.S. told through the lens of people of color instead of a white, male dominated one. Another historical account of the United States’ history told from the point of view of those largely omitted from history books is, “A People’s History of the U.S.” by Howard Zinn. It’s another thorough, practical and great read.
“A Good Time for the Truth: Race in Minnesota” edited by Sun Yung Shin, multiple authors – What is it like to live as a person of color in Minnesota? 16 of the state’s best writers answers the question. I love this book as each writer brings different lived experiences, but all address how “Minnesota Nice” often makes confronting racism, the nuances and subtleties of it even more difficult in the land of 10,000 lakes.
The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander – an eye-opening, sweeping historical investigative account told by a civil rights lawyer who went through her own personal transformation of seeing the criminal justice system as individual acts of racism to a well-orchestrated, intentionally harmful institution for black folks and people of color. As Alexander says âwe have not ended racial caste in America; we have merely redesigned it.â
Small Great Things by Jodi Piccoult – a fictional novel based on real-life events, Piccoult chronicles the lives of 3 people: an African-american labor and delivery nurse, a white supremacist, and a well-meaning, white woman public defender. She does a brilliant job of exposing the complexities of race, some of the daily injustices people of color face, and as always the ethical and moral dilemmas of just being human.
More Reads
If you’re looking for more reads than the ones listed above, I recommend checking out what’s been on my bookshelf these past few months as well. Ta-Nehisi Coates, Louise Erdrich, and Kao Kalia Yang are among some of my favorite authors whose characters and stories unfold within the realities of race in America.
“The journey of racial justice is a marathon, not a sprint”
anonymous
Rest and Finding Solace
“Meditations” Album by Jon Batiste and Cory Wong – I have been listening to this album as one takes medicine when they are sick. Listen to this. And unplug for a few minutes while you are at it.
My way of finding and creating some peace back in 2017: Mandala drawings and a collage
Homemade signs in our neighborhood in St. Paul: Justice for Mr.George Floyd
Remember you are all people and all people are you. Remember you are this universe and this universe is you. Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you. Remember language comes from this. Remember the dance language is, that life is. Remember.
May this coming week give you the strength and courage to continue confronting the terrible truths that must be uncovered within ourselves, and within our country, to become truly just and fully whole.
Take good care of yourselves, and of those around you too.
Author’s Note: This was written from my perspective as a white, cisgender woman living in the U.S. All thoughts, opinions and reflections are my own.
Waiting patiently to see what my succulent plant will do next!
I donât know about you, but patience has never been one of my virtues. If anything, being impatient is a trait I have been able to use and harness to my advantage from time to time.
So, being stuck at home not able to gather socially, go where you want to when you want to, or just be in the world as you would like, can be rather crazy making to say the least.
The past week and a half Iâve grown quite curious as Iâve watched a succulent plant I purchased at the end of April grow in a peculiar way. When I bought this from our local grocery store I assumed it was like any other succulent I had had. Of all the succulent plants Iâve owned I have never seen one sprout a tendril apart from its own spiky leaves. So, this long trendil that appeared to be preparing to bloom into something, became a source of speculation for me this past week and a half.
What would it become? Why was it doing this? Was it even a healthy sign? Had my not-so-green thumb mutated the plant to become a weird version of itself that the plant couldnât even recognize?!
Anyways, you get the point. The list of questions I had went on. Only time could tell what this plant would become!
Reflection off the waters of Round Lake
Lately, Iâve been feeling as if we are all thinking thoughts similar to what I pondered about this plant, essentially asking the same questions about this strange period of time we all find ourselves in and what life will look like after all of this.
What will become of our way of life? Will school, work, life ever be the same? What does ‘normal’ even mean anymore? Will we even recognize our old ‘normal’ after all of this?Was ‘normal’ even working for all of us to begin with?
With all these questions, and stressors of daily life in addition to the uncertainties right now, it can be difficult to find balance. Some days I do find my thoughts about the future and our current predicament drifting from fantastical to morbid in less than a few minutes. Some days do really just feel like everything is spinning out of control. That sense of powerlessness is exhausting and can feel debilitating at times.
Letâs just face it:Â some days (or months!) are just tough
This week I recently re-discovered a podcast called âThe Hilarious World of Depressionâ hosted by public radio host John Moe. I find in times of stress, it can be so helpful to get out of your own head and be reminded that you are not alone, and to laugh a bit after hearing someone else do the same in discussing their troubles.
Iâm not sure if itâs just me (which it totally could be) but I have really been loving historical time period novels or TV shows. Right now, Iâve been re-watching the beloved BBC series âDownton Abbeyâ and even though the characters are fictionalized, the events that happened during the early 20th century (i.e. sinking of the titanic, WWI, collapse of the social strata) are not. Iâve been finding re-watching this series right now to be strangely comforting, being reminded that we have lived through great tragedies and somehow made a way through to the other side is just a remarkable reminder of the resilience of the human spirit. And, even in a time where we may feel more disconnected than ever, it is totally and utterly possible that we will be more connected globally and as a society on the other side.
It is, of course, up to us.
Canadian Plum Tree blossoms
I stumbled upon some poetry readings by Wendell Berry on the podcast âOn Beingâ website’s page. Just listening to the sound of someone reading for a few minutes was for me as meditative and soothing as any bath or long walk outside. Take a minute or two to enjoy it!
The hills are alive! Virginia bluebells dot the hill to Lake Phalen
Now, back to that succulent! After several days of sitting around waiting and waiting to see what would become of my succulent plant I was delighted one morning to wake up and see two little white flowers had appeared.
With the help of the iNaturalist website/app, I was able to identify the type of succulent as a hawthorias, more commonly known as a “Zebra” succulent native to South Africa, Mozambique, Namibia, Lesotho and Swaziland. They tend to resemble aloe plants, but have a distinct difference in the small white flowers that bloom from the stem.
The hawthorias succulent aka “Zebra plant” in bloom!
I am reminded by these small, unassuming flowers, that life can be found anywhere. And, with a bit of patience (and maybe some gentle reminders from those we love) we can find ourselves pleasantly surprised by the new world and life around us.
A few weeks ago, when we were still in the early stages of our stay at home order in Minnesota, I was driving by a nearby lake trying to clear my head. It was then that I first realized one of the oddities of being physically distant from each other: no one else is around to laugh when you make a mistake, mess up, or are generally acting like an idiot!
How I feel at the end of every week in these quarantimes!
I saw a young woman trying very determinedly to stretch her calves by standing on a park bench, the bench clearly had the upper hand in this scenario, and despite her clear struggle to stay balanced, she toppled backward into the grass. In the few seconds after she looked to her left, then looked to her rightâŚand instantaneously burst into laughter. That woman, like so many of us these days, might be caught by surprise when we realize thereâs no one else around to judge us! Perhaps, in these current times with less of a (physical) audience at our disposal than we are used to, we can learn to be more fully ourselves.
Iâve been thinking back to that situation because for me it makes me think of what a funny place we find ourselves in these days. We are all just a bunch of weirdos trying to do the best we can. We are so used to having an audience or a group of people in front of us, whether it be family or friends to laugh at our own stupidity at times. But now, we are the ones who get to be delighted and entertained by our own weirdness. After all, recognizing our own stupidity and awkwardness is what makes us remember we are human.
We are all just a bunch of weirdos trying to do the best we can.
My weirdo getting creative in front of the camera!
I’ve been struck by the thought this week that with each loss we face, therein lies a new opportunity: the chance to try something new we have never made before with what we have left in our kitchens; increased time on our hands to revisit an old hobby; fully realize a day dream we thought we had put to rest; or just to spend more time in our sweatpantsđ.
I’ve been asking myself, like so many of us are right now trying to find solid ground on shifting sand:
What am I missing? What has been lost (at least for the time being)?
My answers: embracing family, BBQs, s’mores and bonfires, concerts, going to the library and browsing books, sitting in a coffeeshop and drinking up all their free water, getting happy hour and sitting on a patio, freedom to travel when and where I want to whenever I want!
I allow myself some time to stew and be angry and sad about the things I miss.
And, then I’ve asked myself:
What can be renewed? My answers: A weekly writing practice, attempts at meditation 3 minutes a day, sticking to healthy routines
What can be revived? My answers: walks in nature, learning to be more patient, cooking a bit more creatively than normal, buying things with more intentionally and purpose
What can be restored? My answers: Time spent cleaning and taking care of the space where I live, tuning off from Facebook and social media and tuning in to the landscape and neighbors around me more
I challenge you to ask yourself some of these questions, and remember none of us have the perfect answers right now.
Walking among the birch trees
This week, if I donât say so myself, my bird watching game was on point! Mallard duck at Lake Phalen Regional Park.
The Mallard again with what I assume is a rowdy teenage duck
This week I stumbled upon an incredible daily activity made available by Suleika Jaouad called The Isolation Journals. The idea for Isolation journals was first created when Suleika battled lukeima during her 20’s and spent “100 days” coming up with new ways to connect with family and friends and have something to look forward to. The Isolation Journals include different prompts for each day by different authors. It really is a fun and interesting way to approach journaling, and allows you to experience it by yourself while knowing hundreds of people are also writing that day from the same journal prompt!
A few days ago on day 28 of the “Isolation Journals” Ayodele Casel shared her own journey overcoming fear. The prompt of the day was: “Write about a time when your bravery or curiosity was stronger than your fear. If it moves you, dance it out.”
This performance left me with my jaw dropped!
It amazes me how being brave enough to try something new can lead to a totally new way of seeing things and being able to laugh at ourselves is oftentimes the most healing balm we can find! I have been re-discovering, like so many of us, that creativity and humor make grief more bearable especially during difficult times. For me, watching and listening to comedians like Conan O’Brien, Ali Wong, Tina Fey, Melissa Villasenor, Eddie Murphy, Amy Poehler (and so many more) makes me feel a bit more human, and a bit more hopeful.
Creativity and humor make grief more bearable.
A Canadian goose getting ready to take flight
With all the loss around us right now, letâs remind each other that itâs okay to still find things to laugh at, whether itâs birds or random people we see falling off park benches. đ
I spotted this Great Egret just at the right time to catch this shot. What a beauty!
Lastly, I would like to share 2 poems with you that I’ve been reflecting on this week.
I would like to start again with a story. The other day my partner and I woke up to clear, sunny skies and set out on a long walk that turned into a hike through a regional park in the area. The sun beat down on our backs incessantly, and without any other hikers around we were given the luxury of removing our cloth face masks for a few glorious minutes.
Battle Creek Regional Park, Saint Paul MN
As I mentioned in my previous post, when itâs spring and it reaches the big 6-0 in Minnesota everyone is outside! So, it was quite a treat to walk through the forest with only birds as our backdrop and the endless pines. We even ended up pulling out a blanket and a lawn chair and sprawling out in our small backyard for a happy hour before the sun set.
Skip ahead to Sunday and it was a totally different scenario. Flurries, gusty wind, less than 30 degrees blanketed by a grey sky. At least we had no plans or places to be. But, still. Ugh. It was a cold, snowy day that made you feel more like all the spring/summer clothes you pulled out of your closet less than 24 hours ago was a total waste of time, not to mention that it seemed yesterday was 30 days ago!
The snow just starting up (me grimacing behind the camera)
Now, I donât bring up the drastic shift in weather just to complain about it (even though Iâve been told this is talent among those who live in the Midwest đ).
It struck me that the extreme change in looking outside my window from one singular event, along with the feelings that came with that change, felt so familiar to the situation we find ourselves in today during these “quarantimes.”
Life looks different.
Life sounds different.
Life feels different.
Life is different.
Life is a bit more anxiety-filled/uncertain/ [insert your choice feeling word here] than it used to be.
This week I turned to places and people and ideas that bring me comfort to find a bit of solace in this strange, new way of life we are currently in. Just like âcomfort foodâ evokes a certain kind of ease that is both soothing and nostalgic, so do songs, conversations and practices. Hereâs the dose of âcomfort food for the soulâ I found myself savoring this week:
Comfort Listens
Music – My go to artist this week has been Chastity Brown. Her work is a wide range of melancholy, joy and quiet contemplation. Also, she is a local artist based out of Minneapolis with roots in Tennessee.
One of my favorite ones of hers when I’m in a reflective kind of mood
And, this! It is nearly impossible not to have the infectious joy (the good kind of contagious, mind you) rub off on you from listening to Coldplay’s Tiny Desk Concert featuring the Harlem Gospel Choir.
Podcast – âHome Cookingâ podcasthosted by Samin Nosrat and Hrishi Hirway
I recently discovered this podcast after watching Samin’s limited series on Netflix called Salt Fat Acid Heat. I thoroughly enjoyed “Home Cooking” for two reasons, first because who doesn’t want to hear about useful ways to use beans or lentils or rice and make it taste delicious? Second, Samin and Hrishi are down to earth and just plain fun to listen to. In the first episode, “Bean There, Done That” they spend a pretty significant amount of time answering questions from listeners who want help figuring out how to use split peas in a soup other than “split pea and ham” and are trying to find ways to get creative with what they have already in their cupboard. I love their fun, down to earth and no frills approach to cooking. You can check out the website and episodes for their podcast here.
There’s also a handful of other podcasts I’ve been finding a lot of joy out of that I wrote about in an earlier blog post you can check out here as well.
ComfortMind/Body/Spirit Practice
A few things I kept coming back to in this past week:
a) During regular times, folks are often too hard on themselves. Especially now, it is so easy to be hard on oneself for the ways these quarantimes have interrupted new year’s resolutions, goals and plans in general.
b) I am no exception!
c) Now, is a pretty good time as any to try to be a bit kinder, a bit gentler, a bit more forgiving to yourself
So, I decided to go on little meditative walk with the help of a Labyrinth.
For those unfamiliar with labyrinths, according to The Labyrinth Society, “a labyrinth is a meandering path [often in a circular design shape] with a singular path leading to the center.” Labyrinths have been used across religious and secular traditions for “personal, psychological, and spiritual transformation”.
I paused to read the path leading up to the labyrinth.
Then, I took a moment of prayerful silence before entering.
David Barton Community Labyrinth at Metro State University, Saint Paul, MN
As I stood at the center of the Labyrinth and looked around I noticed the sounds of the birds in the nearby trees.
They kept making music, kept watching, kept listening, kept living, anyways*. In spite of all the chaos and destruction and death in the world around them. Instead of tuning out, they kept tuning in to those around them in need. Instead of hoarding and fighting over food, they fed those around them and trusted there would be enough for everyone.
“Wow”, you might say, “that’s a heck of a lot to gather just by listening to some birds and going on a walk”.
And, I would say in reply, “Yes, yes it is”. But, maybe we need a little more sensitivity to the world around us right now. Maybe we would all do a bit better, be in a better mood, and be a bit kinder to ourselves, if we did.
May we all be as brave as the birds we listen to.
——————————————————————-
To find a labyrinth near you visit the World-Wide Labyrinth locator here.
*The sentence above (and this blog post) was largely inspired by a sermon on Easter Sunday by Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, Rev. Michael Curry. His sermon “It’s Easter, anyways” can be found here
If youâre reading this, you probably donât need to hear (again) about the importance of washing your hands, or a breakdown of what we could have done, what the current U.S. administration failed to do to help prepare us before this turned into a full blown pandemic. So, instead I would like to share a story and some lessons I learned from my week.
Lesson #1:âWhat the #?@:(?!â Life Right Now is Not Easy…For Anyone
This past Monday was a gorgeous, sunny 60 degree spring day here in Minnesota. When it reaches the golden big 6-0 here everyone and their grandmotherâs sister is outside, after all us Minnesotans have been cooped up for the past 4 months biding our time just waiting for one of these perfect spring days.
A view of the pond/stream at Phalen Regional Park
So, on Monday I decided after finishing up some work that I would take a nice evening stroll along the Mississippi River. The only problem wasâŚeveryone else had had the same idea! âš As I approached the area where I was planning on parking I saw more and more groups of people, biking, running, walking (all in shorts, mind you). I literally almost lost my shit. âWhat the #?@*# (choose your favorite expletive here)?!â Didnât these people know we are supposed to be social distancing? Havenât the hastags #socialdistancingsaveslives or #stayhome shown up on their social media news feed like 20 times a day? Alas, everyone and their grandmotherâs cousinâs uncle was out (yes, this may be a bit of an exaggeration). I parked my car, but ultimately decided it wasnât safe to go out. So, I turned around and drove home cranky and resentful that everyone else ruined my perfect springtime evening.
Later this week, and after a long venting session with my spouse where I refused to back down from my belief that I alone and not anyone else deserved a beautiful evening stroll, I realized something. I wasnât wrong in feeling resentful/frustrated/annoyed/ready to pull my hair out. Everyone is grappling with what physical (social) distancing means for their life and trying to come to terms with it in their own way. This is not easy for any of us â totally changing your daily habits, patterns and ways of being in the world is just plain tough. This week that realization hit me like walking into a low hanging ceiling, it caught me by surprise and stung for a few days after. It essentially took me until just now to realize how much I really was caught up in the moment.
I stumbled upon a graphic earlier in the week from the Episcopal Relief & Development and a quote from the renowned Elisabeth Kubler-Ross on grief that I found helpful:
Just looking at this quote and this “Emotional Lifecycle of Disaster” graphic reminded me that we are all at a different place in this and for all of us, this crisis does affect us differently. For some of us, yesterday might have been the roughest day yet, for others that was 3 weeks ago. For some of us stress might look like trying to help everyone and their uncle’s cousin while for others it might look like excessively stockpiling food and TP. But, the point is we are all struggling and coming to terms with this in our own way.
Compassion, not just for ourselves, but also for others can go a long way right now.
Lesson #2: How to listen and observe (while 6 feet apart!)
Since the end of March, Iâve been going on walks and runs outside at a nearby regional park.
Trees waiting to bloom
I donât know about you, but I have been realizing the subtle differences in interactions with people on my walks and runs. Typically, living in the Midwest, people tend to say hello or at least smile at pretty much everyone they cross paths with â since physical (social) distancing started Iâve noticed on my runs/walks how little this happened at first. As I would pass people from six feet away I would glance over to see if they were going to look and say a friendly midwestern hello. Most often than not theyâd be looking down or away, incredibly focused on not only physically, but also socially being distant. Itâs interesting because Iâm sure most people arenât intending to do this, but it seems the overall friendly exterior (aka âMinnesota niceâ) has taken a hit in some ways.
The past few days, however, I have crossed paths with more people saying âgood morningâ or just a simple âhelloâ. I wonder as I pass by folks what kind of day they have had, or how has their life has changed since March. Are they lonely and isolated at times? Are they getting driven crazy by their family members? How are they getting through this? Asking myself these questions about those I pass by on walks or runs has helped me in building a bit more compassionâŚand not trying to go outside when everyone else is has helped too!
A bird on the shores of the still melting Lake Phalen (any guesses what kind of bird?)
Iâve also been more mindful on my walks/runs towards the life around me. Birds chirping and singing songs to each other that I honestly have not really ever paid much attention to before make me wonder, âwhat are they saying?â. âCan they tell something is off with us humans?â. A friend of mine has a wonderful blog post on the different types of calls birds make and what they mean, check it out here.
In Jenny Odellâs article âHow To Do Nothingâ (from which her book is based off of), she references a book The Genius Of Birds by Jennifer Ackerman that describes just how intelligent birds are. She shares birds can recognize and remember human faces and recognize which of us are the âgood humansâ and which are the âbad humansâ; Jenny Odell goes as far as leaving peanuts out on her balcony for the birds to see how they would respond and if they would remember her as a âgood humanâ. Odell explains in her article that eventually the bird brought along its baby to eat some of the peanuts left out and began following her around outside of her home when she was on walks. This to me is utterly fascinating!
I have been finding during these uncertain times mindfulness and overall being more aware of the natural world around me, has brought a certain sense of calm, curiosity and purpose to each day. This week I noticed the bottle of bubbles I had sitting on my windowsill and decided it could be a fun, solo, mindful activity to do in our backyard. It ended up being a great 10 minute break, even though I may have looked like a total dork doing it, no one else was around to have an opinion on that, and I really enjoyed myself!
Bubble wand fully loaded!
I know for some of us it simply isnât possible, or safe, to go outside right now. But, I encourage everyone to find a way to unplug from the news for a bit and tune into nature â even if it means people or bird watching from your window. đ
Iâll leave you with a poem, some food for thought, and a meditation:
Eve Ewing
Seeds of Hope 