There is a sort of magic in reading a book. Someone, maybe long dead, has perhaps expressed deep feelings or new thoughts or complex theories, writing out of their aloneness, and connecting with someone they have never met and may never meet.
And yet the impact of that shared space over a book can be life-changing. It can help you feel less alone in this big world. It can help you feel empathy for others in a way you may never have experienced without the book. It can open your heart and mind in new and wonderful ways.
I confess there are times I leave the conversation. Not bodily, but heart, mind, and soul. I drift. Such a time happened the other night. I was having dinner with a group of long-time friends. We were outside in one’s lovely yard which overlooks a golf course and the hills beyond. My wandering off, metaphorically speaking, began with a flock of ducks flying overhead across the darkening sky. And then birds broke into song all about us, flitting from bush to bush. It was such a joyful moment. And although I tried to call my friends’ attention to the ducks and birds, it maybe was just a singular moment for me, astonished by the joy in it all. A moment to savor.
Mary Oliver often captures such moments.
Consider her poem, What Gorgeous Thing about the ineffable joy in bird song:
I do not know what gorgeous thing the bluebird keeps saying, his voice easing out of his throat, beak, body into the pink air of the early morning. I like it whatever it is. Sometimes it seems the only thing in the world that is without dark thoughts. Sometimes it seems the only thing in the world that is without questions that can’t and probably never will be answered, the only thing that is entirely content with the pink, then clear white morning and, gratefully, says so.
There is a wordless something in nature that communicates both nothing and everything, and sometimes we just need to drink it all in. (And then get back to the conversation before you’re missed.)
It certainly changes things depending on your perspective. Someone who thinks of life as a contest is always striving, comparing what he has to others. The one who views life as a burden might sigh a lot. And so on.
But what if we thought of life as a gift? Unearned, given out of love, no strings attached. Something to be grateful for. Something to savor and enjoy but also something to treasure. Would that affect what we see when we open our eyes in the morning? Face challenges? Greet people? Pick a career?
Brian Zhand says:
Most of us are scripted to think that life is a game and the purpose of life is to win. But the divine truth is that life is a gift and the purpose of life is to learn to love well.
The truth is being here is a gift, an opportunity, a chance to do some good. Open your gift.
Life is full of hard choices. Particularly when you aren’t the one in danger. Making those tough choices, entering the fray, speaking truth to power, defending the defenseless are vital actions for our collective survival.
As Brené Brown says,
Integrity is choosing courage over comfort; it’s choosing what’s right over what’s fun, fast, or easy; and it’s practicing your values, not just professing them.
Practicing our values, not just professing them. What are your values? How can you bring that to bear in the choices confronting you today?
The world lost a great comedian last week. Bob Newhart, the mild-mannered former accountant with his disarming stammer and boy like charm, always delivered the funny.
Here’s a classic to enjoy in honor of his passing:
People with a sense of humor tend to be less egocentric and more realistic in their view of the world and more humble in times of success and less defeated in times of travail.
To be humble in times of success and less defeated in times of travail is a worthy goal because no matter what comes, there will always be ups and downs. Such is life.
How often do you admire someone but keep that thought to yourself? Perhaps someone took a risk, spoke truth to power or behaved well in a tough situation. You admired them for it but kept that admiration to yourself. How much good might that have done if you told them, perhaps given them a bit of encouragement to stand strong again? How much might your words give them much-needed support when they were feeling low?
Chimamanda Adichie encourages us to never admire quietly. She says:
If I admire something about someone, I tell them. We humans are so fragile. It’s important we give people their flowers while they are here. Never admire quietly.
Don’t be stingy with kind words and compliments. They could very well be the fuel that keeps those good deeds coming.
In the midst of technological connectedness, loneliness is ever present. That need for close human connection isn’t satisfied by clicks and emojis or political jousting. It requires a deeper sharing of oneself. And how frustrating to have stories to tell but no one to share them with.
Imagine what good you can do simply by being that person who can listen to another’s stories. To ease their loneliness.
Emily Dickinson captured this well:
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one lonely person
Into happiness again
I shall not live in vain.
Who do you know that might have stories to tell if only there was someone to listen?
Astonishing a mean world is quite the life goal. Flipping the script. Not buying in to the smallness, pettiness, and cruelty you see around you.
Imagine the ripple effects of such kindness.
Perhaps you’ve heard the story of the man and the starfish. In sum, a man is walking along the beach at low tide finding starfish that have landed too far above the water line to survive. He dislodges them and throws them back into the ocean. A bystander is astonished and scolds him, saying that he will never be able to make a difference as there are miles and miles of beach with hundreds of stranded starfish. The man responds, tossing another back into the ocean, “Made a difference to that one,” he remarks.
Making a difference doesn’t have to be a grand gesture. It can be quite small, perhaps only affecting the person in front of you right now. Perhaps the difference is choosing an unexpected response to cruelty. Perhaps the response is to not lose hope.
Hang in there. The starfish are right in front of you on your path if you choose to see them.
This moment we are in is but one in the collection of moments that make a life, a story, a history. Each moment building on the last, forward toward a powerful culmination. To stay hopeful and earnest in each moment, no matter how dire, is a testament to what we hold dear, to hope, to a belief that all things will ultimately work together for good.
As Howard Zinn says,
TO BE HOPEFUL in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness. What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places—and there are so many—where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction. And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.
Do not give up on the beliefs you have. To be decent, kind, not returning hate for hate, to speak truth to power, to retain hope for a brighter future, a future willing to work for. That is a marvelous victory.
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