Getting Our Act Together

I don’t write about politics, and I’m not about to start.

Except to say this…

We the people have got to get our act together.

I live in a small rural town, and I’ve come to see political yard signs as one more way to divide us rather than inspire us to become curious about our neighbor’s perspective. If I actually did put one up for this upcoming election, I suspect mine would be in the minority of those displayed in the beautiful valley that I share with my goodhearted, and like me, patriotic neighbors. Rather than sparking curiosity, I worry that it would only further fan the flames of division that are threatening the country that we the people all love.

The truth is, it has become scary as hell to bring up anything political (with anyone other than those who “agree” with us). With family who lean in a different direction than we do. With friends who cast their sacred votes differently than we do for reasons that make good sense to them just as ours do to us. With our neighbors who identify with a different political party than we do. With colleagues upon whom we depend for a job well done, but don’t dare broach certain subjects around the metaphorical water cooler. With the stranger in line at the grocery store who, nevertheless, is a fellow citizen of this country that we the people all love.

But if we the people are going to get our act together, then it’s time that we the people put on our big boy/girl/however-you-identify pants, and start talking with each other. But because it’s scary, because it feels like a bridge too far, we don’t do it.

But what if we did, and where could we start?

How about with one simple question…

How are you feeling about this election?

It’s a question that doesn’t demand to know what party we identify with.

How are you feeling about this election?

It’s a question that doesn’t demand to know who we are going to vote for and why.

How are you feeling about this election?

It’s a question that doesn’t demand to know who we blame for the mess we’re in, or to whom we attribute the progress we have or haven’t made.

How are you feeling about this election?

It’s a question that invites us to get out of our ideological heads and into our human hearts. It’s a question to which there is no wrong answer, just my answer, your answer, their answer, all of which are true, and many of which I suspect are the same, even if for different reasons.

Almost all fruitful endeavors, conversations, inventions, solutions, and relationships begin with and are sustained by good questions. Which, when asked and received with a sense of curiosity and grace, can lead to the next question. And the next and the next, and the next, until before we know it, we’ve found ourselves on some common ground, even if only a sliver. And a sliver is a place to start.

For any of us who watched one of the conventions, we were challenged to stop complaining and “do something”. If we the people are going to get our act together, maybe it starts with each of us doing something that connects us rather than divides us. Like talking with each other.

So, how are you feeling about this election?

I’m so terrified that you asked, but here goes.

I’m feeling hopeful, optimistic, scared, and yes, joyful.

Hmm. Tell me more about that. and why you’re feeling that way.

I’m a little less scared and a tiny bit more glad that you asked.

I’m hopeful that it will lead us forward. That it might pave the way for us to address the very real challenges that we the people face, and that our children and grandchildren will face after we’re gone.

I’m optimistic that it will embolden anyone who feels that their party has been stolen from them to take ownership of it again, because everyone is needed for we the people to get our collective act together.

I’m scared that too many of us will choose party over country, vote against someone rather than for something, do nothing out of despair that their vote doesn’t matter or in protest against an imperfect system, rather than exercising their right to vote in order to perfect our union just a little bit more.

And, yes, I’m feeling joyful that we might actually have a chance to bring a lot of us, from both sides of the aisle, a bit closer together, which is where the shit we all care about actually gets done.

So, how are you feeling about this election?

Why?

“ Molly, how would you describe the meaning and point of your writing these days?” That wasn’t the exact question my good friend asked me, but close. I wish I could say I had a really succinct, juicy answer then, but I didn’t. And I felt kind of bad about that. Like I should have had an elevator speech kind of answer. Clear. Crisp. Concise. Compelling. I’ve been writing for a long time now, resulting in a book or two, and lots and lots and lots of posts like this, so you’d think I’d have figured it out by now.

However.

I’ve thought about that question a lot, and it has evolved into an even simpler one: Why do I write?

Well, for starters, I’m pretty good at it, and have a nice little award to prove it. I love doing it, and it fills my cup in a way that nothing else does. It is how I make sense of life. Somehow putting words on the page is how I find and express meaning from lived experience. It’s out of my writing that I find myself more equipped to ask better questions, to listen more deeply to others, and to sit with the pain that life inevitably brings my way and the way of those I love.

Writing, then, it would seem is for me more than anyone else. So why do I love hearing back from readers about something I’ve written, and am disappointed when I don’t? Which leads to another question. Would I still write if no one read it? I’m not sure. Another question worth pondering, and I’ll get back to you on that. No pressure, of course, to get back to me…

But bottom line, I’m a better person when I do it. Period. If you don’t believe me, just ask my husband. And being a better person seems like a worthy reason to do almost anything.

(With gratitude to DB for asking yet another beautiful question. Keep em’ coming.

Something

It is so easy to want to retaliate. To reciprocate with like for like. To strike back in order to defend ourselves in the moment. To give tit for tat. It isn’t a good tactic, but it sure feels like one at the time.

This morning over coffee, we had one of those moments. One of us brought something up. The other shared the frustration that “something” surfaced for them. Which then led the first person to bring up a different “something” that had caused them frustration in the past. Most recently the day before, although they hadn’t mentioned it at the time. Which meant that because it wasn’t expressed as a separate “something” then, it became tangled up with the other “something” now. All of a sudden the “somethings” and the frustrations around them were coiled up together, making it more difficult to actually get the to “somethings” that were asking to be addressed.

Thinking back to this morning it occurs to me that like every messy interaction that comes with every close relationship, there is wisdom to be found in the midst of the tangle. For instance, if I feel something, say something. Maybe not right at that moment, as sometimes a deep breath, a walk down the road, or a good night of sleep can clarify, simplify, and soften the message so that it can be expressed with respect and received with grace. It is such good, and yes, hard, practice to "say what isn’t being said”, because that’s usually where the truth hides out.

As the day and our conversation continued, we got back on track to address our respective “somethings”. And that’s nothing if not something to feel good about, especially considering that neither of us got rattled.

Re-stacking The Wood

There’s nothing much more satisfying than stacking firewood.

Piece by piece the wood that was once a tree that blew down in the wind, was blocking the view of the mountain for a neighbor, or that needed to be taken down due to disease or to create a better fire barrier, goes from the stack in the shed into a wheelbarrow and onto the stack on the back porch.

That firewood serves a purpose.

It fuels the fire around which we gather. It brings people together, as has been true for most of human history. Time together around a fire warms the collective, reminding us that we are not alone, that we belong to one another, are meant to live in relationship with one another and not left out in the cold on our own.

Stacking the wood is a collection of elements that make for a worthwhile project.

It is manual labor. Work done with the hands of humans. It is meaningful labor. Work that accomplishes something that matters. It is methodical labor. Steady and purposeful effort toward a desired outcome.

Today I re-stacked the firewood onto the stack in the shed.

It’s fire season and we will be away from home for a while. Wood on the porch under the eaves of the house could ignite in the event of a wildfire, putting our home at risk. Moving the wood, piece by piece, from one stack to another, I was reminded—by a friend who shares my love for stacking wood—of the pattern by which Richard Rohr teaches that all transformation takes place. Order. Disorder. Reorder. That’s how transformation works. And as much as we cling to our desire for order and want to keep things all neat and buttoned up, there is no skipping the messy middle disorder. It is only in the midst of the mess and jumble of the pieces that we are able to put life back together in ways that will better serves what life is asking of us.

Like it or not, we are in the midst of disorder on a national and global scale. Rather than gathering together around the hearth of the common good, we are increasingly a people divided by difference rallying around blazes fueled by fear.

Re-stacking the wood of the world is our collective task.

It is the manual labor that can only be done by human, the meaningful labor that has the potential to accomplish something that matters, and the methodical labor comprised of steady and purposeful effort towards a desired outcome.

Re-stacking the wood for the common good, might, just might, keep us from going up in flames.

How Do You Want Your Smoke?

Every square inch of our planet has a natural disaster threat. Ours is wildfire. It’s not a possible, potential, or plausible threat. It’s a real one. One that, left unchecked, has, can, and will destroy everything in its path. Wildfires can rage for days, weeks, or longer, and the smoke they produce can make life unbearable if not impossible.

Before we mucked with the natural wisdom and order of things, the earth knew how to take care of its own. Wildfire was a necessary part of that care, ensuring the burning away of what had to go so that what was meant to stay could thrive. Leaving that all up to nature is no longer an option. That’s where wise forest management and well-founded fire science come into play.

Enter the controlled burn.

Also referred to as prescribed burns, these fires typically burn away dead grasses, downed trees, fallen branches, and the thick vegetation that can make up the forest floor. It is the practice of intentionally setting carefully planned, targeted fires of shorter duration to better ensure the resiliency and health of the forest. And the health of all for that matter, since the health of the many is connected to the health of the one.

Controlled burns are currently being carried out in our neck of the woods, which while necessary, are not necessarily pleasant for those of us living in close proximity. The smoke levels vary. Sometimes the skies are clear and the air fresh. With a shift of the wind or a drop in temperature the smoke rolls back in, we can’t see our neighbor’s home less than 100 yards away, and need to wear N95 masks when we walk our dog. (After a quick search on Amazon, I’ve ordered a canine filter mask for her too.)

It’s nearing the end of day two of the closest burn, and as the last of the fire works its magic, the skies are blue and clear. While inconvenient in the short term, they are critical in the long run. If you’ve ever driven through areas where this approach has been carefully taken, the beauty of these forests is breathtaking. The understory is a healthy riot of green. The trees have room to breathe, stretch their limbs to the sky, and food for the animals that live there is abundant.

When it comes to ensuring a healthy forest, one thing is clear. Fires, wild or controlled, and all that comes with them, including the smoke, are part of the equation. The question is, how do you want your smoke?

What is true of the forest is true in our homes, hearts, and homelands. Rather than waiting for a wildfire to tear through our midst, leaving nothing it its wake, we are better served by controlled fires that burn away what has to go so that what is meant to stay can thrive.

One way or another, fires will continue to burn through forests. The question is, how do you want your smoke?

Bump The Sticker

WARNING: You may encounter triggering language.

I don’t usually go on a rant, but here goes.

Waiting to pull into the car wash, I had plenty of time to reflect on the bumper sticker on the car ahead of me. America. Love it or leave it. What does that even mean?

The week before, I tried to choke down my lunch while staring at the bumper sticker in front of me that declared, You should be grateful, you could have been aborted. What does one even do with that?

And how about these equally polarizing pearls of wisdom:

Proud to be Everything a Republican Hates

When I die, don’t let me vote Democrat

I think, therefore I vote: Democrat

Unvaccinated Conservative Meat Eating Gun Owner: How else can I offend you today?

For the love of whatever we might all hold dear, what are we doing? How did we become so divided from and at odds with our fellow citizens? How did we become so completely us vs them? Decide that we’re right, you’re wrong, and if you don’t agree with us, then you are the f-ing problem?

I’ll tell you one thing. Inflammatory bumper stickers aren’t helping us get out of the mess for which we are all, in part, responsible. Generally, they are statements of what the driver of that vehicle claims as the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

So help me God, I am beginning to see these types of bumper stickers as cowardly statements from which one can drive away, leaving no room for curiosity, conversation, connection, conversion, compromise, or collaboration. Which, by the way, are the only ways out from the rock and the hard place between which we are all stuck.

So let’s bump the sticker, roll up our Amercian sleeves, and get to work to building, re-building, building for the first time, take your pick, an imperfect country that we can all love in our own unique ways, and that makes room for and takes care of us all.

Thanks for listening.

Life Lessons

A friend once told me that I’m always looking for a lesson to write about. I decided to take it as a compliment.

It isn’t that I’m looking to teach others a lesson, believe me. It’s just that I still have so much to learn and life has so much to teach. Stuff just shows up, hits me on the forehead, and I can’t NOT write about it.

Recent cases in point:

A friend is in the process of putting new floors in her house. When I asked her how it was going, her face lit up as she answered, “They are beautiful!” In the past there have been some painfully dark days played out on those floors, but this is a new chapter.

New chapters call for new floors. New footing upon which to stand.

At another home, a new deck was built. The old one had to go as a result of some big-time excavation to replace old pipes. Much life has taken place on that old deck. Memories were made, early morning coffees shared, forgiveness asked for and given, games played, and meals shared. Family, friends, laughter, tears, and courageous conversations make up the beautiful story that is that old deck. That was then. This is now.

A new deck is a viewing platform from which to see with new eyes. Same view, different take.

See what I mean?

Life shows up, hits me in the face, and I can’t NOT write about it.

It’s the only way I know to get the lessons to stick.

Being Bridges

“Do you think faith is a gift or a choice?” asked my friend.

What a great question. One that I didn’t have time to ponder, as the answer showed up immediately on the blackboard of my mind. “It’s both. And practice is the bridge that connects the two.”

Practice is the bridge that spans the mystery that is faith, and upon which we find traction for our convictions, callings, and inklings. The bridge of practice provides a way from here to there without having to know all of the answers. If that’s not faith, I don’t know what is.

Ever since that conversation I’ve been preoccupied with bridges. I see them—and the need for them— everywhere. Over the course of our lifetime we will, time and again, find ourselves on one side of an expanse that feels impossible to cross. We’ll need a bridge

Anyone can be a bridge.

A bridge across which prayers are answered.

A bridge across which someone who is lost can find their way back home.

A bridge that spans a fear too terrifying to cross alone.

A bridge that makes it possible for opposing views to find common ground.

A bridge across which forgiveness travels.

A bridge that makes it possible to leave an old story behind and begin to live into a new one.

A bridge that connects us to them.

Of all the reasons we roam the planet, being a bridge might hover near the top of that list. Why are we here if not to create connections, span gaps, and provide a way where none exists. Like faith, being a bridge is both a gift and a choice, and it is practice that connects the two.

There’s a reason that armies destroy enemy bridges. It is to sever connection.

Let’s not let that happen. Let’s be a bridge.

(Written with gratitude to Caley for asking the beautiful question, because questions can be bridges too.)

Bridge Repair

The Hood River Bridge spans the Columbia River, and serves as a connection between Washington and Oregon. There’s lots of controversy about the bridge including what it costs to cross from one side to the other, the price of its upcoming replacement, the undue financial burden it places on those whose labor keeps our Gorge communities running but can barely afford to live here, and on and on and on. One thing that is undeniable is that this bridge matters. It’s necessary. It connects us one to another, and makes life possible in countless ways.

Recently, the bridge underwent necessary repair work to address deck fractures due to heavy truck loads. This meant that there were intermittent single-lane closures, usually lasting about 15 minutes, which meant drivers needed to allow additional time to make it to that doctor’s appointment, job, lunch with a friend, or whatever errands were on the list for that day. While a bit of an inconvenience, repairing fractures on a bridge that crosses a big body of water seems worth the trouble.

I didn’t expect the process to make an emotional impact on me.

But it did.

Pickup trucks were parked every so often, and in between each truck were two welders wearing helmets, goggles, and protective gloves, bent over their section of the bridge requiring reinforcement. There was no music accompanying their efforts, but the welders moved with the elegance and precision of those who have spent countless hours mastering the art of repair. A porta potty sat on the back of a flatbed truck located in the middle of the bridge, and flaggers directed traffic. Drivers were cautioned to drive slowly so as to ensure the safety of the workers, and to refrain from looking at the brilliant welding arc light that flashes as the welding iron worked its magic.

As I observed the process I suddenly had this lump in my throat. What I was watching was what I could only call a stunningly choreographed dance of collective human endeavor, and like it or not, regardless of our opinion about the bridge and how it is or isn’t being managed, we were all a necessary part of that dance. Because the bridge matters to all of us. And the bridge matters because connection matters.

Bridges, real or metaphorical, are what connect us from here to there. From one person to another. From one perspective or belief to a differing one. From one side of the political aisle to the other. And like the Hood River Bridge, at one time or another repair is needed to provide safe passage to the other side, and we all have a part to play.

So when encountering bridge repair, be mindful to proceed slowly and with caution for the safety and wellbeing of all involved. And don’t look directly at the welding arc, because there is some blindingly brilliant magic at play in the work of repair..

Shawshank Wisdom

It can all start to feel like death by a thousand paper cuts.

Aging.

It happens to the best of us.

With every new trip around the sun, passing day, and next breath, we’re older than the ones before. The process does seem to accelerate though. Injuries that used to heal quickly now take longer to mend. Joints that didn’t hurt yesterday make themselves known today. Checking things out to see what this or that might mean, or not mean, becomes a more common occurrence. One can tire of having to think about, tend to, and tolerate a body that isn’t what it was not so long ago. At least this one does.

However.

Given that getting older is here to stay, there’s a choice to be made about what to do with what we’ve got.

Open our arms wide in acceptance, or shrug our shoulders in resignation.

One is active. The other passive.

To accept is to welcome, receive, and participate in. To resign is to give in, quit, and withdraw from.

Acceptance is about taking life on. Resignation is about letting it go.

Or in the words of Andy Dufresne, “get busy living or get busy dying”.