I’ve been struggling to find meaning and positivity these past few months. Everything has been tinted with heartbreak, anger, resentment. I try to remember compassion, and it is only with daily meditation that I can break from the negative feelings. It has, however, manifested in efforts to support my own community, to hold compassion in a general sense for the environment and my neighbors. On Sunday, we saw the fruit of our organizing efforts as our Writers Resist event here in Santa Fe, New Mexico, was beyond capacity. There was standing room only, then no room at all, and crowds buzzed outside or went in the side door to give donations. We raised so much money for New Energy Economy and Esperanza Shelter for Battered Families that to state the numbers would be bragging. I talked briefly with an old mentor, Greg Glazner, a wonderful writer and kind heart who was always my cheerleader in college, who supported me as a writer and a person, and just a few sentences with him brought me to my sanity.
Something big is happening.
At the start of the new year, during this week//end of reflection on civil rights, liberty, and sacrifice, I want to ask: What is important to you?
Our theme vibrating through thes event was, now is the time to be for something. I spoke with another activist who said, “You know I’m like, damn the man, now what? I need to dig a garden and feed my community.”
To take it further, my work treated us to a spin class at the studio I sometimes attend, and since it’s also a yoga studio we were directed to focus our efforts towards a singular love, to meditate on that person or action or dream.
So, what is it? What is the singular love on which you want to direct your energy? What is important to you?
I’ve been skiing lately. I got some free skis, so naturally I bought some boots, poles, and pants, and have been hiking up the mountain and and skiing down. Evan found a snowboard and has been doing the same. Sometimes we go together, sometimes not. I’m bad at skiing. Moreso, it isn’t important to me. But it is an exercise in effort, in pushing the rock up the mountain only for it to roll back down, and pushing it back up again (I am, of course, the rock in this scenario). And that is what’s important, setting into that rhythm of trying, even when knowing it will be hard, I won’t be good at it, and at the end of it all I’ll have to do it again. That’s what I set my meditation on during my class. There can be a beauty in spinning one’s wheels. Eventually, traction catches.
I’m ready to start telling you a story. It hasn’t happened yet, but I have a feeling it’s going to be big.
In March, I’m headed to South America to hike across the Andes. Stay tuned for more. I’m back.