You Are Here

We are on the other side of something. We don’t yet quite know what that means, but being 71 years old and having lived through some watershed events with global ramifications — the Berlin Wall going up, the Cuban Missile Crisis, the Kennedy assassination, the Berlin Wall coming down, 9/11, and COVID-19, to name some — I can say with confidence this election falls into that category, an event that draws a line between what we thought about the world and our place in it before, and how we are having to readjust our understanding now.

I won’t lie. My emotions have run the gamut from dread to sadness to anger, with a heaping side of confusion. It’s a loop I could get stuck in.

But there is no time for that now. In the midst of a seething helplessness, I return to what I know, what I've known for a long, long time, and that is that always and ever, love is the only antidote.

This morning I was reading some older posts about Rachel Carson¹ on Maria Popova’s The Marginalian and Maria’s comment on Carson’s book The Sense of Wonder jolted me. “Above all, it extends a reminder that the faculty for wonder is our most precious natural resource and our greatest responsibility to conserve,” writes Popova.

And this is where I end up for now, a sort of regenesis, I suppose, that we are here. We are here, and that in itself is a wonder, and we have been given to each other and this beautiful planet and the sky and the stars and the swirling galaxies, the swirling seashells, the tall marsh grasses and the elegant creeping fungi, the wild horses and the endangered rhinos and the cat in our lap, and the birds of the air, we all belong to each other.

A while ago I was asked what I do in times of despair, and my response was, “I feed the birds.” That was when I still had my sweet little country house, and the front porch was visited by chickadees, titmice, jays, robins, cardinals, bluebirds, sparrows, wrens, hummingbirds, the occasional tanagers, and once an indigo bunting. On sunny summer mornings and chill winter days making sure they were all provided for fed something in me. Maybe it sounds lame, but it is these small gestures of love that open the heart and reconnect me to the ultimate and necessary work that is part of our communal journey on this Pale Blue Dot.

By the way, I discovered this morning that BuzzFeed has shared my 2020 HuffPost essay, “I Found God, Became a Pastor, and Then Lost My Faith. Here’s What I Believe In Now.” I want to say a warm welcome to new subscribers who read it and felt some resonance. I’m so very glad to have you on this journey of wondering.

In a couple of days I’m going to share some information about a dear friend’s book that is coming out soon, a story of how courage and love can lead us through heartbreaking times. I think you will be as captivated by it as I was, as I am.

Today, I’m wishing you all peace in all the ways you are finding your way forward.

1. Because I’m now working on a new book about my mother and Rachel Carson and the planet and oceans and trees and I don’t know what else, please send help.