Field Note #3: Coming Together in the Broken Places

...mending the cracks in my facade of normality

Photo by Roman Moskovkin on Unsplash

I am a foolish woman. Last weekend, completely bamboozled by a rare sunshiny day, I tossed all my winter gloves, hats, and scarves into the washing machine; when they had dried, I folded them neatly and put them all into their storage bin.

What was I thinking? Having lived in Michigan my entire life, I know very well that spring is nothing if not tremendously fickle.

The next morning, with a biting wind and a “feels like” temperature of 27 degrees, I needed every bit of winter gear I owned. And though we started our walk in sunshine, when we turned the last corner toward home, a gray pall fell over the earth and a barrage of icy sleet slashed against our faces.

Oh spring, wherefore art thou? This capricious weather may be within the realm of normalcy, but it exhausts me.

Of course it’s not just the weather that’s wearing me out. It’s – well – everything. The shock waves of all that’s happening in my country right now reverberate to the depths of my being. This week’s events have eroded my carefully curated set of habits and practices as if they were nothing more than a house of cards, erected in a desperate attempt to continue living a normal life in decidedly abnormal times.

I broke the “rules” of my self-imposed digital fast with internet scrolling before breakfast, and crept my way back into watching the evening news. I marked my contemplative morning walks with angry feelings beating a drumbeat to every step. I woke in the middle of the night with racing thoughts and a fluttering heart.

“Practice the better, practice the better,” I keep telling myself, referring to a favorite quote of Richard Rohr’s: “The best criticism of the bad is the practice of the better.”

But everything I’ve thought of as “better” – my writing, my small acts of living resistance, my ways of trying to be kind and generous, to live simply and in solidarity with those on the margins, to notice the beauty around me – all of that seems so useless. What even is “The Better” in times like these?

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When the ground beneath quakes but all the usual comforts fail, where do I begin to mend the ruptures on the path before me?

Once I might have sought healing in shopping bags filled with bright and shiny new “stuff”; or hours spent in front of the television with potato chips and wine. Those were the days of doing whatever I could to numb the worry, grief, or fear that had taken up residence in my spirit.

At some point along this path through life, I realized how futile these remedies really were.

Now I’m learning new ways, new methods, new materials to help heal those broken places. I’m remembering a lesson from kindergarten – stop, look, and listen. Listen for the invitations – those signals from my body, my mind, my soul – that tell me I need rest, hydration, quiet, companionship, purposeful activity, joy, beauty. Or the ones that feel like a gentle shove between my shoulder blades, nudging me in a different direction. Even those that urge me to take a long look at the reality in front of me; though it’s not at all pretty, I can see it through eyes of love, compassion, and courage.

And so I mix and stir the ingredients until I find a mixture that feels true to how I am to be in this moment. In this world.

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This morning the sun shines, and today the “feels like” temperature is 60 degrees. The earth is greening around me; wherever I look, pear trees dressed in their frilly white blossoms stand like a thousand brides dotted amidst the landscape. I made my first trip to the greenhouse, bringing home pots of colorful pansies for the front porch. I sip a second cup of coffee at the dining room table, a fresh breeze blowing in window beside me. I lose myself for a while in a favorite old book. I write these words to you.

Later I will make calls to my congressional representatives. Tomorrow I will stand with my friends at a rally in support of our democracy. I will do my grocery shopping at a small, local store instead of the big chain store on the corner.

This is the repair for the path, the “better” I must practice.

One day, the weather will change for good.