Let It Snow

Don't get the wrong idea here.  I am a Floridian with a plastic pink flamingo soul.  I am not a lover of snow or a fan of the cold or a "winter person."  I will choose sandals over boots any day.  But after staying in my house for two days and watching it fall, I have to admit that I have developed a tentative, grudging admiration for that white stuff.

Two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen, one of the most basic formulas in the universe.  And somehow it has knocked out this hard-working city for at least one more work day and turned everything on its head.  It's living proof that there is, in fact, great power to be found in simplicity, that the small things really can be the big things.  Did I mention that no two snow flakes are exactly the same?

 Snow is amazing because it becomes everything.  The snow on my rooftop looked like bolts of fabric, the snow I shoveled fell like powdered sugar.  I saw pieces of snow like rocks and mashed potatoes and glitter.  It tasted like cotton candy, but colder and more nefarious.

As the snow becomes everything, everything becomes snow: asphalt and metal and branches and streets.  There is an air of whimsy to everything because nothing has a practical use buried under 2 feet of snow.  Cars and trees and signs and rooftops: it is as if all these things exist merely for the sake of holding up the snow in different shapes.  We are all familiar with the silouhette of the snow-man, but what about snow-cars and snow-benches and snow-bushes?  It consumes everything. 

Snow storms are one of the ways that Nature reminds us who is really in control here.  I watched the snow fall for around 36 hours and it did not stop, not for a minute.  The words that come to mind are unrelenting, unforgiving.  The snowfall turned my back yard into Everest, it is powerful enough to bury everything, it stops for nothing.  And yet for us humans, in our wonderfully human way, it is the stuff of sentiment and holiday cards and pure delight.  We are not the only ones.

But what I admire most is how wild and inconvenient and messy it is.  It covers everything and fills the in-between spaces we take for granted.  It blocks roads and closes offices and does not bend to anyone's political will.  And yet the newly fallen snow is a universal symbol for purity.  There are these enchanting moments when it is pristine and perfect.  Stunning and beautiful and awe-inspiring.  

 Life is that way too, if you're paying attention.  Difficult because it is so far beyond our control, but at moments wonderful beyond our wildest dreams for the same reason.  

Stunning and beautiful and awe-inspiring. 

Let it snow.

  

A Conversation with Rumi

"This being human is a guesthouse.

Every morning a new arrival

A joy, a depression, a meanness, 

some momentary awareness 

Comes as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all.

 Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house 

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

 He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent as a guide from beyond." 

-Rumi (b.1207-d.1273)

I met Rumi a few weeks ago in a peaceful place.  I was sprawled out on a bench by the water seeking comfort in verses.  At moments, I struggled to hear his words.  After all, even a shout hurled across centuries sometimes comes through as a whisper.  But at other moments, his voice rang crystal clear, advice on living well that holds true after nearly a millenium.  

And I whispered questions to him because I want to know how he got to be so wise.  But it seems that this sort of communication works in only one direction--forward.  I slip a quick thank you back into the centuries anyway, just in case Rumi is listening for it.

And I contemplate the small pieces of work I've done in this life and I wonder what I will someday leave behind--or rather, what I will leave in front of me.  Because I want what I suppose every writer wants: words that echo through centuries, words that hang on lips and tongues and at the tips of pens for generations to come.  

And though everything else might change--the place, the language and the names, the technology and the way we communicate, there is still so much truth and solace to be found in the written word.  Though our tragedies will become jokes and our names will be forgotten, may our words live on forever and may you know that you are not alone when the shame and malice come to call you on you, as they inevitably will.  I have been there and so has Rumi.  

If you listen carefully, we'll tell you all about it.

2015: A Year in Review

"All that is gold does not glitter.

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost."

-J.R.R. Tolkien

This past year I lived in 4 different cities on 2 continents: Florence, Prato, Orlando, Washington DC.  The question "where are you from?" has become more complicated than ever.  But I am taking a moment to reflect on this because it's a unique situation--it's worth reflecting on because I probably won't ever again be able to say that I called so many places home in such a short period of time.  It's certainly a privilege, mostly because of all the beautiful and wonderful humans that I've had the opportunity to meet and to love.  And I want to be clear that I would not change anything about the past year, even if I could spare myself the uncertainty and the frustration and some of the tears. Because the funny thing about the uncertainty and frustration and tears is that they teach you a lot more than easy routines, natural talent and instant success

That said, all the moving and changing and shaking up is exhausting.  My suitcases were my only point of continuity, the only things that came with me on every step of the journey.  I always thought of commitments as things that hold you in one place and therefore, as things that are inherently bad. But in the course of this past year, I found myself longing to stay in one place long enough to put down some kind roots, roots not so easily reached by the frost.  This is something that "older and wiser" people in my life had warned me would happen and I laughed at them up until the moment when I realized that it was true.  Everyone is on their own journey, but for me, this is a part of getting older, of growing up.  And I hope that 2016 will be a year of only one city, at least for me, at least for the purposes of living, at least for now.

"The bottom line is that we need each other.  And not just this civilized, proper, convenient kind of need.  Not one of us gets through this life without expressing desperate, messy and uncivilized need."

-Brene Brown, Rising Strong

But I have never done anything in a vacuum.  I have to recognize that I had a lot of help this year from a lot of people: friends, strangers and strangers who turned out to be friends.  I learned a lot about self-reliance and independence, but the more valuable thing I learned was how to know when you need help and how to ask for it.  Help in the form of friendship, help in the form a listening ear, help in the form of a ride (for myself and often large amounts of my stuff), help in form of a couch to crash on or a perfectly timed hug.  

While I couldn't possibly list the names of everyone who helped me over the past year-- if you welcomed me into your home or gave me a reference for a job or listened to me whine about my problems or drove me around or helped me move, if you told me "it's going to be okay," if you let me cry on your shoulder, if you shared your wine, if you asked "are you okay?" sincerely because you were concerned-- thank you.  Thank you from the very bottom of my heart.  I recognize that this past year, even more than usual, that I would not have made it through without the love and support of friends and family around the world.  I'm so grateful, so very grateful and I hope to pay it all forward someday, since I know that I could never pay it back.

 "O Master grant that I may never seek

So much to be consoled as to console

To be understood as to understand

To be loved as to love with all my soul."

-Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi

Another crucial lesson learned was about understanding context, about the things that make us different and why they matter or sometimes don't matter.  As a traveler, I am constantly in awe of everything, but I struggled to reconcile all the experiences I had, all the things I saw. I struggled to understand my own ability to live fully within two different cultures and to wrap my head around my own actions and biases.  It wasn't until I started to look for and find a greater context, the bigger picture and how this can change from place to place, situation to situation, person to person that I was able to begin making sense of it all.

It made me realize that I don't necessarily have to think of one way of doing things as being inherently better, that I don't have to confine myself to single way of thinking.  It's recognizing with humility that I don't know everything and there is always something to learn.  It's recognizing that no city or culture has a monopoly on answering the question of what it means to live well.  It's recognizing that the world is big and wide and long and beautifully and convolutedly diverse. Looking at the world this way reinforces the value of boundless curiosity, of asking questions (even questions that on the surface seem shamelessly stupid) and, most importantly, of seeking first to understand rather than to be understood.  

That understanding has brought me greater patience and sensitivity in working with people and a solid foundation for understanding different points of view and why two different, intelligent people, given the same information could draw a different conclusion.  Looking for a context that is significantly bigger than us and our problems is what gives us the ability to entertain an idea without accepting it, what makes it possible to empathize with another person, what makes us travelers and good citizens of the world.

And in all of these endeavors, as always, I am still decidedly a work in progress.  I am glad to know that there is still plenty of room for growth and plenty of work to be done in the new year.

So Happy New Year, dear friends, to you and yours.

In 2016, let's resolve to have some wonderful adventures.