Things I Carry

...what can I do with the weight of the world

Photo by Tereza Rubá on Unsplash

Once upon a time, I had three large tote bags stuffed with the supplies I needed for my office job; my work as a choral accompanist at a local high school; and the music folders for the community handbell ensemble I performed with. Some days, all three of these tote bags would go into the car with me (along with a lunch bag!) as I shuffled from one job or activity to the other. I can still see them in my mind’s eye, propped against one another on the front seat of my car, and weighty enough to engage the dashboard light noting the passenger seat airbag was activated.

During those years it seemed like my life was literally parcelled out amongst those tote bags. I’d drive to my office for the morning, to school for the afternoon, and on to a rehearsal or concert with my bell group in the evening, grabbing the appropriate bag each time.

After a while, those bags became heavier than I was able to carry. I set them aside, one by one, along with the responsibilities they contained. Now, the only bag I carry with me is a small purse, strapped across my body and resting on my left hip.

I’m retired, but that doesn’t make me free of things to carry. It’s impossible to be alive at this moment in time and not bear the weight of its mental and emotional baggage.

The weight of democracy crumbling at my feet with individual freedoms and norms crashing to the ground like snow from an avalanche.

The weight of violence and injustice toward people of color and our immigrant neighbors as well as against the people who advocate for them.

The weight of friends and family struggling with illness, fraility, loneliness and loss of independence.

The weight of uncertainty about the future our children and grandchildren will inherit.

The weight of a changing climate, evident in extreme heat, cold, fires, and storms.

Even with all the life practices I count on as solid ground in this volatile world, even with the acts of living resistance that have become ritualistic in their regularity, even as much as I try to compartmentalize all that I carry in my head and my heart - even with all of that there are times when it consolidates into a crushing burden and I just want to lay something down.

Those are the times I look for counterweights, a resource I learned about from writer and activist, Shannan Martin. Counterweights are ways to balance the overwhelming heft of The Long Dark (as Francis Weller calls it), this period of time we’re living in with all its attendant grief and fear. They help me live at the intersection of bitter and sweet without drowning in either one.

If you’ve read many of my posts, you’ll know right away what my favorite counterweights are. Walking outdoors. Reading good books. Writing in my notebook. Spending time with my beloved grandson. Snuggling with my little dog. Sharing a cup of coffee and conversation with a friend. Tending my little flower garden. Watching the birds at the feeder. Smiling at a stranger. Helping a friend. Lighting a candle in the morning.

Simple stuff. But when I feel compressed with sadness, outrage, despair; when I feel deeply “distant from the hope of myself,” as poet Mary Oliver writes, I bring myself to the sanctuary of these practices. Maybe I put my phone in a drawer, pick up the book I’m reading and curl up in the little chair in my upstairs bedroom. I warm up the microwave rice filled heating pad a friend made for me, and place it on my abdomen, the weight of this small object comforting and grounding instead of suffocating. I stand in front of the slider doors that look out onto the snow covered back yard, feel my sock-feet firmly planted on the wood floor and breathe slowly and deeply, whispering with each exhale - I am here. This is solid ground. All will be well.

When I talk about wanting to build a toolkit for the living of these days, this is what I mean. It’s these deeply personal, deeply practical, deeply meaningful ways to call myself home. I can carry them with me anywhere. I can set down old ways and always seek new ones.

We can all only carry so much. We can all only do so much to make things better. It’s okay to lay down some of the weights of the world and pick up meaningful things to carry through these days instead. Small stones of goodness in our pockets, instead of tote bags heaped with rocks.

We – and the world – may be lighter for it.

Photo by Sara Bach on Unsplash