Wait for the Stars

The dark has fallen, 

But wait for the stars.

The darkness may be deepening, 

But wait for the stars.

Even if the clouds pour rain upon you,

They must soon pass, so wait,

Wait for the stars.

I know you fear the darkness you have already seen,

But this is not an endless nightmare.

Wait for the stars.

You are haunted by the dark of broken dreams,

But this is only the nighttime, 

Wait for the stars.

No matter how dark it is,

Or how dark it was,

There is always hope, 

Even if it is very small and very far away.

Even if it is only one faint star in the whole of the sky.

Do not let the darkness overwhelm you,

One star will always bring more.

Just wait.

Please wait.

Wait for the stars.

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Rest Gently Shadow my boy.  One day I will see you again in the stars.  Til then I will wait for grief to pass slowly like the nighttime.  I will trust in the stars even when I cannot see them.  Soon, soon one will shine and the light will increase and slowly the grief will fade.  

Jane Austen’s Persuasion and the Moral of Persuasion as a Virtue

Persuasion is a story about Anne Elliot and Frederick Wentworth who were in love eight and a half years ago.  Her friend Lady Russel persuades Anne that it's not wise to marry a penniless naval officer when she is only 19, so she refuses Frederick.  Eight and a half years later Anne's father has spent so much money they must move to Bath and rent out Kellynch Hall to tenants.  Admiral and Mrs. Croft, the sister of the now wealthy Captain Frederick Wentworth become the tenants of Kellynch Hall.  It's a story about pride, choices, persuasion, and second chances.  Or perhaps even third chances.  It's moving, emotional, and mature in a way that appeals to those of us who have lived through some difficult choices, that is to say, lived.

Part of the charm of this story, and one might argue, every Austen story, is the thoughtful way it deals with flawed traits.  A casual observer might say that Anne is flawed because she is too weak-willed, too willing to be persuaded to other points of view.  In fact, Frederick believes it at first when he is still bitter about being refused.  However, as the story progresses it becomes increasingly clear that persuasion, like any trait, has its good sides.  A person's strength is often their weakness.  So the story goes about telling us how the weakness of Anne at 19 is actually her strength at a more mature age.

The story of Persuasion tells us repeatedly that being capable of being persuaded to see reason and amend one's own position based on logic and rationale is a good thing, even when it has difficult consequences.  Those characters who cannot be persuaded to be sensible, who act only on feelings, end up feeling the consequences in visibly negative ways.  People who can't be persuaded end up: insolvent because they can't be persuaded to spend money wisely (like Sir Walter), friendless because they cannot be persuaded to see value in people outside of social rank and flattery (like Elizabeth), severely injured because they cannot be persuaded that their ideas are foolish and dangerous (like Louisa), or even alone because they cannot be persuaded to overcome their pride (like Captain Wentworth at first).

Persuasion as a Force of Good

Sir Walter judging the appearance of a naval man

At every turn success and well-being of the characters comes with the ability to be persuaded to see and act rationally.  Sir Walter and Elizabeth enjoy better society in Bath once they are persuaded to go there to live more cheaply and attempt to pay their debts.  Captain Benwick is able to rejoin the happy and lively world of the future once he is persuaded that he should read more prose and should think of moving forward now, not living solely in the past.  Only after he realizes that he must, does he find Louisa agreeable enough to pursue and marry.  Anne is persuaded that the Elliot pride is directly hindering her happiness and starts to act against it by fighting to maintain friendships her family does not approve of and ultimately trying to show Captain Wentworth her feelings.  Captain Wentworth is persuaded to overcome his pride and finally pursue Anne in Bath, and it is from that decision that his happiness ultimately stems.

Persuasion can be a moderating force.  It can help you balance out your tendencies towards pride, towards vanity, towards making rash decisions.  It can help encourage good behavior and ameliorate foolish ideas.  No person is without flaws.  This is part of the reason why it is important to have intelligent people around you who want good things for you.  These friends can help you balance out mistakes and misunderstandings with different perspectives and smooth out flaws in yourself with their influence, their persuasion.

Persuasion as a Portion of Duty - Material Considerations

At the heart of the story is that first act of persuasion by Lady Russel, which led Anne to be persuaded by duty and logic not to accept Captain Wentworth when she was only 19 and he was a young penniless naval officer.  Some people and adaptations think this was a bad thing, but Jane Austen tells us it was not.  Anne doesn't regret being persuaded to not accept Captain Wentworth when they were so young and he was penniless.  I think both Anne and Lady Russel were aware that Elizabeth was not likely to make a good match, none of the daughters were going to inherit the estate, they weren't even on speaking terms with the heir.  They had no dowry, considering that Sir Walter had spent every penny and was in shocking piles of debt.  It looked as though Anne would have to marry well to be safe and possibly care for her sisters once Sir Walter had gone.  Was it fair that she was therefore persuaded that love was not enough?  No.  But it was a very rational choice at the time.  Even if he had been prosperous straight off, if he had died immediately (a possibility in a war), she would have been left a widow.  We see in both Mrs. Clay and Mrs. Smith, both widowed very young, that such a situation leaves the women vulnerable and leads to some difficult choices for them.

  And Anne says that she considered it a duty to Lady Russel who she considered a mother figure, to listen to her advice in that matter.  She did not regret being persuaded in that case.  Anne tells Wentworth "I was perfectly right in being guided" by Lady Russell "to me, she was in the place of a parent.  I am not saying that she did not err in her advice." Only that "I was right in submitting to her, and that if I had done otherwise I should have suffered more in continuing the engagement than I did even in giving it up because I should have suffered in my conscience.  I have now, as far as such a sentiment is allowable in human nature, nothing to reproach myself with; and if I mistake not, a strong sense of duty is no bad part of a woman's portion".

Being persuaded not to accept Captain Wentworth before he had made any money was a wise decision at the moment that is was made at the behest of a person she considered a mother figure.  She regretted that it had kept them apart after Frederick had returned with money and a promising future in the navy, but not that she had been persuaded those eight and half years ago.  The reason this novel feels like it has a more adult perspective is because it is many ways concerned with analysing past choices and learning from previous mistakes, a thing all adults must do to grow.  It is possible to look back and think that a decision was the right one at the time but also regret what it's current consequences are.  To be able to say you were glad that you were guided by your parent figure, Lady Russel, but also that you know her advice was wrong.  And to blame neither yourself nor her.  That's a very difficult thing to do but is a part of having an older perspective on life.

Persuasion vs. Pride/Stubbornness 

As with all Jane Austen novels, this story has a subtlety and a nuance that I love.  It does not advocate for anyone to constantly be persuaded out of the things they want and should do, nor to be incapable of being persuaded to do the right things against what your current desires may be.  Jane Austen, this story demands that a balance of these qualities is necessary.

Captain Wentworth almost loses Anne because his hurt pride leads him to stubbornly not reach out to her when he returns that first year with money enough to keep her.  After they have finally reconnected at the end of the book he admits to her that it was pride that had prevented him from writing to her when he had a few thousand pounds a ship under his command.  They both realize they could have avoided the last few years of misery and separation if he had done so.

Captain Wentworth nearly loses Anne again when his pride, still hurt, eight and half years later, leads him to court Louisa.  He only learns his lesson when, at Lyme, he realizes that Louisa and her whole family are expecting him to offer Louisa marriage as soon as she is well.  He says he removes himself from Lyme to allow her to heal and lessen her attachment as much as is honourable.  But he was willing to marry her against his wishes because it was the right thing to do.  If the whole family expects an engagement, he is toying with Louisa's reputation and that is unpardonable because it could affect her chances for a happy future.  The moment he realizes he must balance his desires against the realities of his actions is the moment he grows as a character.  Luckily, Louisa and Captain Benwick become attached during her recovery and Frederick is free to pursue Anne as he wishes, swallow his pride, and come to find her in Bath.

Anne and Henrietta show different sides of the same decision.  Henrietta was almost persuaded by Mary's nonsense that she shouldn't marry Henry Hayter.  Jane Austen sets this up as an example of being too weak-willed and gentle.  She is not being persuaded against Henry Hayter for good and logical reasons.  Henrietta is being persuaded out of Mary's unreasonable dislike of him, and a foolish desire to continue flirting and being flattered with Captain Wentworth who is so dashing and charming and new.  She ought to have stuck to her purpose when there was no logical reason to be persuaded otherwise.  She learns this in time to win back her intended.  Then there is Louisa who is a foil to Anne.  She is too stubborn and heedless to be persuaded of anything.  This is a character trait that first attracts Captain Wentworth who is trying to forget Anne by courting someone completely unlike her.  Louisa who is too stubborn to even see reason (let alone propriety and duty) ends up unconscious on a pier, nearly dead because of it.

For Anne, being persuaded to give up Frederick at 19, was the right choice.  However, when they meet again, she is too proud to express her feelings, as is he and they suffer through a few more things before it all works out in the end.

Finding the Balance

When Anne and Captain Wentworth are reconciled and together at the end of the book he tells her how he finally had begun to see Anne's true character at Lyme when he had occasion to witness what being far too stubborn could be dangerous.   Captain Wentworth describes Anne as being the "loveliest medium of fortitude and gentleness"  At Lyme, he says he had "learnt to distinguish between the steadiness of principle and the obstinacy of self-will, between darings of heedlessness and the resolution of a collected mind. There he had seen everything to exalt in his estimation the woman he had lost; and there begun to deplore the pride, the folly, the madness of resentment, which had kept him from trying to regain her when thrown in his way."  Anne was in that elusive middle ground between firmness of character and capable of being guided.

Jane Austen urges us to consider that it is the middle ground that is ideal.  Being capable of sticking to your purpose but also knowing when logic must prevail over feelings.  Having both learned their lessons, Anne and Wentworth are now adults who have addressed some of their flaws and are ready to enter into a healthy relationship.  Anne learned that she must be more firm in her purpose now that she is an adult and refuses to be persuaded into marrying Mr. Elliot or from canceling her plans to visit Mrs. Smith for an impromptu visit of the Dalrymples.  Captain Wentworth learned that his pride and stubbornness were preventing him from being happy and he learns to act less on his surface emotions and more on rational plans to pursue his own real happiness.  Jane Austen argues the couple is happier for being reunited, "more tender, more tried, more fixed in a knowledge of each other's character, truth, and attachment; more equal to act, more justified in acting."  We know that Anne and Frederick have grown as people and will have a very happy marriage indeed.

More Jane Austen Please!

If you are interested in more discussion of Jane Austen, I have more for you.

For a start, you can see my ranking of every movie adaptation of Persuasion on this page here.

And if that's not enough don't worry you can see my discussions of the movie adaptations of all the other Jane Austen novels and even, a mad attempt at ranking them all together.  Why did I do this?  I think I must be crazy.  Oh wait, we already knew this.  Anyway...

To see my ranking of Every Jane Austen Adaptation, go here.
To see my ranking of all the Pride and Prejudice adaptations you can go here.
To see my ranking of all the Emma Adaptations you can go here.
To see my ranking of all the Sense and Sensibility adaptations you can go here.
To see my ranking of all the Mansfield Park Adaptations you can go here.
To see my ranking of all the Northanger Abbey Adaptations you can go here.

For my discussion of the Lady Susan Adaptation (Love and Friendship), you can go here. 

To see my ranking of all the "Not-Quite-Austen's" you can go here.

I have a whole page dedicated to Jane Austen where you can find my rankings of different movie adaptations and essays etc.

All Things Jane Austen

Hope Writer Challenge - Reimagine

The last topic for the @hopewriters writing challenge is Reimagine (#hopewriterlife)

Ah yes, reimagine.  What can I say?  Of course I imagined 2020 differently.

We all did.  We all of us had a rhythm and a plan for our lives that didn't involve being stuck indoors and suddenly conducting our business and entire social calendar through a video chat.

I've watched people struggle putting desks together on their own in order to try to accommodate a home office.  I've heard people ask for prayers as they set up Google classrooms for kindergartners saying "God is my only tech support".  None of us imagined the world this way, or were prepared for it when it came.

So when I reimagine 2020, I naturally start by thinking about my original plans.  I think about the way I had mundane plans for doctor visits and a few weekend plans to see friends.  And I begin to question if my plans haven't changed for the better in some ways.

I'm more aware of and focused on my neighborhood. It's becoming a community again. And I have been able to help address some needs there I might not otherwise been aware of.

And as I think about how I want this year to progress, I've been thinking about what goals, writing or otherwise, I want to accomplish.  The conclusion I've reached is that I want to be more bold.  I need to stop prepping, stop organizing the supplies and just do it.  I am skilled enough.  I am ready.  Whatever isn't perfect I'll edit and work on once I've sat down and accomplished some things.

That is my goal, to put into action some bolder plans than I might not have imagined myself doing at the start of this year.  The world has paused for a moment and I've used that pause to reflect on what I really want to achieve.  To reflect on what I really want the future to look like for myself and our world.  I hope you can all step out into a bolder better 2020 as well.  The future is what we make of it, let's make it a good one, a bold one, a better one. 

Hope Writer Challenge - Reconnect

For the sixth day of @hopewriters writing challenge (#hopewriterlife) the prompt was Reconnect.

I Reconnect is an incredibly important theme this year. As we reimagine how our 2020 will look in the future or what it may have been in a different version of itself, reconnecting is at the core of it.

As we all entered lockdown, with very different flavors and inflections based on where we lived, we all had to reimagine connection.  In isolation connection is more important than ever.  But we had to reimagine it and how to reconnect.

I have personally found myself reconnecting with old friends that live far away.  I love them dearly, but the distance often keeps our lives rather separate.  Now that all communication and connection is digital it seems easier to reconnect with friends from out of state.  It's just as easy to get an out of town friend on zoom as it is to get your close neighbor on a zoom call.

With less outside activities demanding our time, there is less competition for our focus, and more time to schedule for friends.  Time zones seem to matter less when you're in all day.  And while I don't want or expect my friends to keep their schedules open indefinitely, it has been a lovely change to reconnect with good old friends at this time.

Some of our built up rhythm will carry with us into the rest of the year even as restrictions lift.  In part because we have reimagined how we connect with one another already.  My friends and I have started a quarantine book club.  When we go back to our outside activities we may not be able to zoom call each other all the time as we have been regularly.  But we will keep up our digital bookclub.

Sometimes all you need for reconnection is a start.  As we strive to reclaim a sense of normalcy we find ourselves not just imagining, but also reinventing the way we connect.  And I think that having put so much time into reconnecting we have enriched the days and months to come, whatever they may hold.

So, find ways to reconnect in a positive way.  Call someone you care about, tell someone how special they are to you.  Have a phone or zoom call with people you miss.  Enrich the rest of your 2020 with positive and meaningful reconnections. 

Hope Writer Challenge - Restore

Today's prompt for the @hopewriters writing challenge is Restore. #hopewriterlife

I cannot tell you how words and stories may restore other people. I can only speak to my experience. I can only tell you what words do for me.

Sometimes the world is too much and the messages of doubt and fear and inadequacy overwhelm me. They begin to reinforce those intensely negative thoughts my inner critic tells me when I'm not paying too much attention. This inter critic is insidious, it won't engage when I answer back with logic because it knows it has nothing to say.

But it whispers dark fears in my ear when I am not on my guard. And sometimes it's blows land and I'm left reeling, wondering if it's right. That is the moment words are the most critical. I have to find the right ones to join my cause. Recruit the write poetry and friends to stand with me as I prepare for battle.
And for me, I must always do battle on paper. I must write.

You see, the critic thrives on emotion and in the dark corners of your mind where logic can't illuminate it and it can loom shadowy and unopposed. If I drag that inter critic into the light and put it on paper it doesn't stand a chance. The arguments don't hold up. Spoken in dark whispers, "you are worthless" or "you're unnecessary" can be weighty and can coil around you and feel inescapable. Such sentiments prey upon your emotions.

When you put those critiques on paper and engage with the ideas, it takes a little of the weight and sting out of them. So for every dark emotional thought that I'm worthless, that I'll never be a writer and my work is rubbish, that I'm a terrible person (the worst in fact); I make the effort to find at least one argument against them. I do help people and many people rely on me for support. I am capable of many things. And even if I wasn't, every human has worth. I may not be published yet, but I'm not quitting. I am a writer and no writer is perfect, that's what drafts and editing are for. I'm not a terrible person. I'm certainly not the worst ever. Historical examples of worse people abound. And I do what I can. I'm only human but I'm not a bad one. I'm kind of a decent person actually.

Just like that the tide of emotional darkness turns. In the battle for my mind, I drag my opponents into the light and expose their poison and trickery. I defeat them with carefully planned logic and words. Healthier words, truer words, more positive words.

Half the battle is knowing that you're in it and the other half is perseverance. You do not restore yourself in an instant with a flick of your wrist like magic. Restoration is a process, a journey, a series of determined actions.

For me it is important to change the story whenever I feel overwhelmed and belittled. If I feel obligated to attend a party that will be challenging for me because certain attendees make me feel small; I change the story. I look at myself and say "you have a choice. You are choosing to attend this party because you are larger than fear. You are the Queen and you have magnanimously decided to allow your enemies to attend. Pay them no attention." I might still be anxious, but making a conscious choice to turn the story around makes me feel less trapped by circumstances. I feel less small.

Remember that your life is greatly shaped and altered by the story you craft for yourself. Do not let it be created entirely by the critic who's views are false. Make sure you combat it with truth and hope. If you struggle to find the right words, augment your story with poetry that touches your soul. You can borrow someone else's words to help lift your wings.

You are the hero of your own story. No, you cannot change what has come before but you always have a chance to decide what happens next. You can pick yourself up and go about the important process of restoring yourself, put yourself back together with hope, words and perseverance.

So find good words. 

Find great words. 

Write your own words and don't ever accept defeat. 

Imagine a better future and fight for it.

Hope Writer Challenge - Remember

Today for @hopewriters writing challenge #hopewriterlife the topic is Remember.

When we talk about remembering it is important to keep in mind that memory is not perfect. It is perfectly possible to forget something that felt momentous at the time whereas seemingly insignificant things can linger for years to come.

I find that it is almost more important to record the little things that happen. The small moments that mean so much in life because life is not a straight forward journey. For me, I'm making sure to record the little things that surprise me during this time of global pandemic. I want to remember in years to come the things that made me smile in the midst of tragedy, the moments of friendship that lightened my load and encouraged me. I want to record for posterity the things that surprised me during this time and the things that I learned.

I used this double photo (in a spinning double sided frame) for today's image because I feel it represents life both in its journey and its singular strength and beauty. There are things I wish I could forget about this time, burdens I do not wish to bear. This frame sits on my desk to remind me that life is a journey much like a spiral staircase. It's as much about going sideways and around as it is about going up. Progress in life is often accomplished by going many steps sideways before you go forward.

On the other side is a photo of two buildings from two very different ages, both beautiful. It is straight lines and reflections. These buildings tell me that strength and beauty look different in different times. Every age of your life holds a different piece of your truth. Your strength and beauty grows and changes with time reflecting your progress, your journey. You are no less strong or beautiful for having different shapes and emphases in different ages of your life. Even as you reinvent yourself, it is built upon your old strength, just as the older building is reflected in the windows of the newer one.

May this remind you, as it does me, that even if you're different from the other buildings, you are still beautiful. You are still strong. You just need to keep following your own lines. Be your own building, for that is where your strength and beauty lies. 

Remember that and it will help you through the tough days when all your steps go sideways and you cannot see the end of the winding stairs. 

Remember too, that even when nobody around you looks like you, you are strong and beautiful and that your steps will wind upwards slowly even when you can't see it.

Hope Writer Challenge - Reach

An enormous Italian Renaissance style sunset over my house for the #hopewriterlife, writing challenge for @hopewriters about Reach.

Reimagine 2020 with an Idea of Writing Reach and Change

Italian Renaissance Style Sunset over San Diego

The moment I begin to reimagine this year I start by imagining it without cornonavirus.  My very next thoughts are of comparison, reflecting on the deep differences we see between now and the years we've known of late.  So, for me to reimagine this year with the themes of writing and reach in mind I must compare my present with the recent past.

Writing for me has always been something I must do on occasion when I can't sleep.  My mind runs mad with stories or turns of phrase that demand to be recorded.  Sometimes writing is how I process my world and thoughts, and it's the only thing that keeps me from falling to bits.  All of this is to say that writing had been a deeply internal process for me and reaching any sort of audience with my writing has been a rather new thought.

Only in this last year I stated to notice that there is a part of me that wants to be seen and heard with my writing.  And as much as it scares me to bare pieces of my soul to the world thus, there has been a nagging thought that it is selfish of me to keep these pretty turns of phrase and hopeful midnight musings to myself.

I don't exactly have grand dreams of reaching an audience for myself.  There's a large part of me that's still frightened to be seen.  But when I think of the purpose of my writing, especially now, I think it is my purpose, my duty, to offer help with words in any way I can.

In these strange times I've been writing again, for a data center company of all places; offering hope that people and communities can and will take care of one another in these days of doubt and fear.  In this unlikely place, I have found the opportunity to bring messages of the way that our infrastructure connects us, instead of focusing on our distance.

That is not to say that I don't feel fear and doubt myself.  I too have been overwhelmed. I have had my share of anxious nights.  I have cried for myself and those around me, feeling our losses and our hardships keenly.  I simply choose, whenever I feel such emotions, to seek out stories that acknowledge pain and still uplift.

I have in my search found hope in the strangest places.  I have found large companies using their considerable Reach to send messages of hope, connection and perseverance.  I have seen neighbors help one another, offering the help and services they can.  I have seen people donating food and masks and supplies where they can.  I have seen people writing letters to friends and holding video chats to check in with one another.  I have been invited to free painting classes and seen many strangers advertise free counseling and tutoring during this time.  We are all offering what we can.

And it may not be seen as a lot by the eyes of the outside world, but together when we all offer what we can to anyone we can help, we all make the difference.  My reach my not be large.  The five masks I helped make may not be enough.  And the words I can offer may not be groundbreaking.  But together, that is where we have magic.

For the reach of one person is small, but with many hands and more helpers we can reach so much further. If I can help one person who can then help two more, together we can make all the difference. Doing our bit is all we can do. Even as we may feel isolated and alone, even as we feel powerless, if we find one way to help someone else shoulder the burden of this time we are doing our bit. And together we can change the world. 

Together our reach is infinite and we are unstoppable.

I wrote this on May 12th and I think it's more true than ever.  As I reread it this week knowing what turmoil we are in trying to address the blatant racism and tragedy we have all seen it only rings more true.  Individually we may be small, and our reach unimportant.  But together, with all of us doing one small thing, we can make the world a better place.  Together our reach is infinite and we are truly unstoppable.

Hope Writer Challenge - Reimagine 2020 - Rewrite

Hope Writer's hosted an Instagram writing challenge to reimagine 2020.  The challenge had a different topic every day for a week. And the first day's topic was Rewrite.  I wrote about all of this on Instagram on my profile @madderhattery, but I'd like to repost the writing here because I think we need more words of hope these days.

Reimagine 2020 - Rewrites

Spring Blossoms in Chicago - photo by The Madder Hatter

As part of the Hope Writer's challenge I'm talking about Rewrites today.

As much as we may wish to change the things that have already happened, we cannot.  What we can do is take this unprecedented turn of affairs, this global pandemic, and use it to rewrite our lives.

Everywhere I look I see neighbors meeting and growing closer during this new distance.  Being stuck at home has forced us to look closer at our communities and see the very real things going on in our own backyards.

Sometimes, we get so caught up in the rhythm of our daily lives that we don't ask ourselves if it's the right rhythm.  This forced pause has caused us to look inward.  We can't run from our thoughts and doubts when they are the only company we keep.  So I think it's time we face them.

It's time to take the giant blank slate of our future and reimagine it.  How often have you heard someone shout down your dreams because they couldn't ever be?  It's just the way the world is.  Yet, here we are living in a world nobody had imagined.  It tells you something; some of the largest most unavoidable things about modern life are entirely arbitrary.  And not only can we change them, we can change a lot of them all at once in the course of a few weeks.

So take up your life and examine it.  Listen in the quiet for what you've always known you wanted and use this pause to start fighting for it.  The future can be rewritten, no matter what course it was on before.  Take a moment to learn from your fear and anger what it is your heart really wants.

Don't put off that project, career change, or dream.  Start down that path today.  Nobody can say what the future will bring, but it certainly won't hold the things you didn't bother to fight for.

You are the author of your future.  Pick up your pen today and remember that coming together (even when that means staying apart), is what makes us stronger.  Remember that there is always something you can do to help both yourself and someone else.  And remember that every single one of us will help shape the future.   So make it a good one.   Make it a beautiful one.  Make it a loving, accepting and hopeful one.  Join me and rewrite a better future for all of us.

A Whole Tree of Spring Blossoms in Chicago photo by the Madder Hatter 

I wrote those words about the global pandemic just a few weeks ago, but I think they take on new relevance now considering the racism and injustice we've all seen this last week.  Even reconsidering it all I want to leave you with the same words.  

Join me and rewrite a better future for all of us.

Making Art When Your Heart is Broken

There is a beautiful quote by Shane L. Koyczan:

"If your heart is broken, make art with the pieces." Shane L. Koyczan

When my heart is broken that's what I try to do.  I try to pick up the pieces and bravely find beauty.  I turn my sadness, my brokenness, my trauma into art.  I write of darkness and hope.  I write of crying and grieving.  I write of carrying on even if that means sitting down to cry.  

I have recently realized that part of this need to create art with my brokenness is because I have far too many feelings to leave them bottled up inside.  They well up, they overwhelm and then they overflow into what I do.  

This is Strach the Opossum, he is currently reading the Highly Sensitive Person and some Poetry by W.E. Henley and doing a bit of journaling.

I'm reading a book called The Highly Sensitive Person: How to Thrive When the World Overwhelms You by Elaine N. Aron, Ph.D.  In it she has some very interesting research that talks about sensitive people.  Roughly 20% of the population is sensitive.  It is a real, measurable and scientifically proven trait.  And yes, we do feel everything more deeply.  This has to do, in short, with mirror neurons.  The way that mirror neurons work is that if you watch someone else kick a soccer ball your brain will have activity in the same area that moves the leg etc.  Because even just watching someone else do something, your brain processes the movements and so forth, so you feel a tiny fraction of what they are doing or feeling.  

They've done lots of research that I won't bore you with here, that proves that highly sensitive people have much more activity in their mirror neurons.  What does that mean?  That means that when you tell us a sad story, we empathize much more deeply than 80% of the population.  We really do feel it more.  You can read more about her book and blogs on the Highly Sensitive Person Website.

What that means for me is I feel everything so intensely that it often overflows or overwhelms me.  In the last few weeks I've been struggling to re-contextualize many of the struggles I've had all my life with this new knowledge that I'm not just "weak" or "too sensitive", that I'm actually processing and feeling more than 80% of my fellow men.  So, I'm frequently up crying about a story that someone has told me, hours after they've forgotten it.  I have trouble sleeping during this time of intense injustice and death.  I fear for the lives of everyone struggling with the unseen menace of Covid-19 and the insidious disease of Racism.  And I feel it all so very deeply that I can't sleep.  

So, I must do something. I often carry the burdens of other people's sadness long after it's healthy for me to do so.  I wrote about a person I met only once and couldn't stop thinking about in my post The Loneliness of a Stranger.  Often I feel sad for people I can't help.  I worry about people I'll never see again.  And I sometimes catch myself feeling glum about abandoned objects.  I personify them and feel sad for their loneliness.  It's too much.  So I write.  I write about the sadness and I write about hope.

I've written multiple posts about the heart and the heaviness that can live there.  I've written The Heart is the Final Frontier, and When a Glass Heart Shatters, and Mending a Heart of Glass.  In those I talk of hardships and how I dealt with them, the way I grieved and my new theory that it takes nine months to rebuild and repair a heart and I think it's no coincidence that it's the same amount of time it takes to create a brand new heart.

I've written of hardships but also of hope, of love and support.  I wrote about rekindling broken dreams in Stars in the Darkness.  

I make art with my heartbreak.  If it helps one person feel less alone it was worth sharing.  If it is only read by me, but it allows me to sleep, it's worth writing.  

And lately I've decided to try to make more positive beautiful things to fill the world with joy.  Don't get me wrong, I'll still write about sadness and darkness.  I think toxic positivity is a blight.  It denies us the true depth of feelings and the ability to heal through grief and sitting with and working through our sadness.  You cannot just plaster a smile on some things and pretend you don't need to feel.  It's not healthy or productive.  But that being said, while I do need to cry and grieve, and talk about my sorrows, I always want there to be hope.  Just like I wrote poetically about the journey through happiness, depression and back in Winter Without Happiness.  I still talk about the darkness, but I don't leave it there, I try to always end with hope.

So, of late, I have been trying to fill the world with hope and joy and beauty.  I'm trying to take my fears and my anxieties and acknowledge them but gently put them to the side and make beautiful things anyway.  I've been trying to write a book and it's hard and I'm nervous about not being good enough.  What if I don't do the story justice?  What if I write it poorly?  What if I don't portray my characters fairly?  What if I really don't have any idea what I'm doing and it all fails horribly?  

This is my writing buddy, the opossum named Strach.  He looks capable doesn't he?

If you had to characterize my inner fears and nature as an animal, I'm an opossum.  I'm a terrified baby opossum, with my mouth open swaying back and forth from terror.  About to pass out from fright.  It's not pretty.  It's pathetic really (in a melodramatic and slightly comical way).  So I ordered myself a tiny plush opossum friend to sit beside my computer when I try to write.  I've named him Strach, the Czech word for fear.  Whenever I get nervous I look at Strach and I pet him nicely, talking to him softly with compassion, and I reassure him and my fears, and then I keep writing. 

And this is so common for all creatives to have crippling doubts and horrible unspoken fears of unworthiness.  I've been trying to address this inner fear, this inner critic, this inner doubter with calm logic.  Because these overwhelming fears don't hold up with logic.  What if I can't do justice to the story?  Then I will make edits until I do.  What if I write it poorly?  I will learn to write better through practice and I'll make edits.  What if I don't portray my characters fairly?  I'll have readers help tell me how they feel and I'll write a second draft.  What if I really don't have any idea what I'm doing and it all fails horribly?  I can only fail if I stop trying.  I'll learn what I don't currently know and keep working on it til it works.  I like to address these because there's usually a secret fear under those that comes out last.  For instance, it'll go something like.  What if I'll never be good enough?  Or, I don't know anything!  And you feel so much better if you say, I am good enough to try and I'll keep learning til I get there.  Or, I know lots of things!  And I can always learn more.

So, I'm trying to gently set aside fear and anxiety and hurt and write of hope and beauty.  I'm trying to make art with all the broken pieces of my heart.  

And if it takes me an entire lifetime of creating beautiful things to make up for the pain and sorrow I've witnessed, then it will be a life well lived.  

Little Things that Surprise me Most during this Covid-19 Outbreak: Elastic Shortage and Pigeons

Everywhere you look the world has changed.  It almost feels weird when you find an aspect of your life that hasn't.  Almost nobody goes to work anymore, working from home and trying to find unique ways to do your job or keep up with your friends is now the norm.  Schools are doing distance learning.  People are cooped up indoors.  All over the world there are empty squares and streets.  And little things that nobody ever thought of are now big.  And somehow the big things we all worried about three weeks ago seem small.

My mother and I were both feeling a bit like we were useless trapped inside.  But now we are coordinating through the phone and email with a neighbor who runs a local food bank in need of masks.  Mom and I are now busily looking up patterns and sewing fabric masks to help volunteers hand out food to the people who need it.  The numbers showing up at this local food bank have swelled from 160 a day to 400.

People have lost jobs and income.  People are in need and frightened.  And we are all doing our best.  Making masks from home with scraps of fabric piled in the attic.  There is an elastic shortage.  We used all of ours and now there seems to be none anywhere.  People across the country trying to sew masks to help first-responders are using hair ties and headbands for elastic.  An elastic shortage.  I would never have guessed.

And it's the little things that keep surprising me.  I saw a post on Instagram of the pigeons in Spain flocking to the only person on the street.  Nobody is out so they have no food to scavenge.  I have never felt sorry for pigeons the way I did when I saw them desperately following this lone human, begging for food.

A small piece of my heart broke for them.  Not even the pigeons, a seeming constant in every city, are unaffected by the global pandemic that is bringing our world to a halt.

Everywhere I look I find another thing that surprises me about the way our world has changed.  It makes sense, the way that streets being empty brings the wild animals out into the cities.  But it doesn't make the world any less surprising as every day seems to bring tiny revelations of our newly altered world.

We are all doing our best.  Fashion houses in NYC as well as individuals with sewing machines are churning out masks.  We know they aren't as good as N95 and surgical masks, but they're all we have now.  And we are doing all we can.  The fact that everyone is coming together, online, through tutorials on YouTube and through Facebook's Covid-19 Support page Community Help is a bright ray of hope.

The news is now almost entirely fact driven informative pieces relaying the situation on the ground to those who need to know.  I don't see the judgemental and hateful partisan things I once did.  Legitimate problems, calls for aid, and the way that people are trying to lift one another up are in the news now.  And for the first time in years I read the news with hope.  Hope that I'll find real information.  Hope that I'll find answers to questions I have.  Hope that I'll see humanity fighting it's hardest to become better.  Because faced with a global crisis we are more than ever all connected even as we sit in our houses all alone.

Stay home.  Stay well.  Stay connected.  Continue hoping and helping.

Hope and Helpers in the Darkest Hours of Covid-19

It is hard sometimes when we live in such uncertain times to not find ourselves bogged down emotionally by the ever present threat of overwhelmingly bad news.  It is not possible to stay unaware of the threat, nor would it be wise to be totally ignorant of the coming dangers.  But how does one stay positive in such an environment?  As we watch with concern the risks our healthcare professionals are subjected to as they fight unprecedented hospitalization rates with dwindling supplies of personal protective equipment (PPE) and come to dread the daily death toll it is hard to keep from feeling anxious.

I am personally in a vulnerable category, or rather two of them.  At the moment my body is busy fighting off Lyme Disease, a battle I've been fighting for over a year now, and my immune system is already over taxed from that effort.  I am also someone with what I call weak lungs, I have asthma, and all my colds and illnesses attack my lungs and linger there far longer than other people's trifling colds.  All this makes me genuinely nervous about my ability to recover should I get Covid-19.  So, I stay home, limit my contact with the outside world and sanitize everything.  But sometimes I still stay up at night wondering about the future.

So, I've had to ban myself from reading news outside of occasionally checking on California's new measures to prevent spread and a few updates.  I can't read anything about the state of doctors, hospitals or anything else pertaining to our current health crisis at night or I won't sleep.

And I've had to implement this one very simple and seemingly effective rule.  Every time I see something that makes me worry I have to hunt down something about those people who are trying to help their fellow man through this crisis.  I can't prevent my inboxes from filling up with upsetting articles and news from concerned friends.  But I can deliberately hunt down information that restores my hope.

Mister Rogers, apparently learned from his mother to "look for the helpers" in every crisis.  If you haven't seen the new movie with Tom Hanks as Mister Rogers you should.  It's a perfect message for such days as these with darkness pouring into our world and everyone hiding indoors.  Whenever things get rough and scary, anywhere there are bad things happening, in the middle of the darkness, there you will find the helpers.  The doctors and nurses rushing in to help everyone even though they are exposing themselves.

Check out this article in the HuffPost for more on Mr. Rogers.

He advised talking about facts, not letting a child's imagination conjure up even scarier realities.  And that's a good message for those who descend into a news world designed to build hype and scare people into reading further and further with less and less information and facts.  Media often thrives on hype and emotion and facts fade away.  Don't let that become a part of your experience of this crisis.  We are stuck at home in some ways feeling very helpless in the face of a global pandemic.  While we are not all children, the feelings of helplessness and fear are universal and can be combated in much the same way you would soothe a child.  The difference being that you are soothing yourself, your own inner child.  Don't watch sensationalized news.  Remind yourself of the facts.  Tell yourself how you and all your family and neighbors are working to keep each other safe.  All look for those people who are helping in the crisis.  Focus on the hope and find ways to be a helper yourself.

Because the helpers can come in any form.  The helper can and should be you.  You may not be a doctor or nurse.  You may not be able to help in any way that you think is meaningful, but you can always do something.  The researchers at William and Mary pooled all their PPE and sent it to local hospitals to help keep doctors and nurses safe.  My mom is busily sewing fabric face masks that she'll drop on a neighbor's porch to use at the food bank.  The local food bank is overwhelmed with people who need their help, but the volunteers don't have any masks or gloves to use while they work handing out food to the public.

Two ladies who volunteer at the Old Poway Park (now closed for safety of the community) have sent round an email to all the other volunteers saying that if anyone needs help, or knows of anyone who does, they can contact the Poway Neighborhood Emergency Corps.  These two and a team of others from the community are willing to pick up groceries and run to the pharmacy for anyone who cannot, or does not wish to go out and get exposed.

And even if you can do none of those things, sharing your beauty and art with the world is enough.  The tenor Maurizio Marchini, quarantined in Firenze sang Nessun Dorma from his balcony.  And even if he can do nothing else, the fact that he shared his gorgeous voice and this song with the people who cared to listen it was enough.  All over Italy people are trying to bring joy to one another through little things.

The world is actually full of helpers.  And it is important to know the upsetting facts about the dangers we face so that we can respond appropriately by understanding what to do to keep everyone safe.  Learning about senior hours at the local grocery store and telling your elderly loved ones about it.  But as you look up the articles warning of danger also temper that understanding with hope.  Look for the helpers.  Find the hope in the darkness, where people rush in despite risks to their personal safety, where people try to bring each other joy during these hard times.

Find one good thing for every hard one you face.  If you worry about the death toll, cling to the numbers of those who have survived.  If you worry about the elderly, cling to the hope of the 101 year old Italian man who survived Corona.  If you are worried about the safety of your community, remind yourself that everywhere people are trying to help neighbors by staying home to limit infection, by making masks from scraps of fabric in the attic, and getting groceries and medicine for those who cannot risk going out.

Find how you can help make the world better.  

Don't give in to the fear and panic.  Find a way to help someone else through it all.  Be one of the helpers who gives in the fight against the global pandemic.  Maybe you can share you gifts from your balcony or through the internet.  Maybe staying home is your act of helping. 

Join us, and stand with us, as we do all do the one little thing we can to be kind, to be strong, and to survive.

My Phlebotomist and My Living Metaphor Morning

This morning I woke up and everything was as though I was living in a metaphor come to life.

How to begin?  Let's see, I've been having a bunch of tests run.  So, this latest one involved a mobile blood draw person who came to my house.  Modern technology being what it is, my personal, mobile phlebotomist showed up this morning and promptly got lost.  He called me from nearby, unsure of how to find me.  In his defense many people get lost on the way to my house.  They see the dirt driveway and assume it can't be mine and call from the road confused.

So I woke up and got a phone call that went something like this.
"Hello?"
"Hi, this is your phlebotomist"
"Hi"
"I'm trying to find you.  Are you at the construction?"
"Ah, no, I'm one driveway further up the hill.  I'm the dirt driveway right before the giant rock and the gate is open for you."

I then went out to meet him, but let me digress for a moment.  How hilarious is this idea?  Can you imagine if I was working a construction job and I called my personal mobile phlebotomist to come out to the construction site?  Because I'm now imagining that I'm a massive lumberjack looking man, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, wearing a hardhat and having my blood drawn in one arm while I jackhammer one handed with the other.  Or smoke constantly with the cigarette between my teeth while I bend rebar with one hand and my phlebotomist ties a little elastic cord around my other beefy arm.  I think it's a hilarious mental image.

I can just imagine these guys having their blood drawn while working, can't you? - "F-327-CVFriant Dam Construction" by Bureau of Reclamation is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0 

Ok, now back to what actually happened this morning.

So he sets up and it seems that phlebotomists, not unlike dentists, tend to fill the silence with a bit of chatter.  The distinct upside being that you can actually talk and reply in this scenario.  He asked about my job, I said I was working in a museum.  He asked what I do.  I said I was a glorified secretary but I was staying in the history field since I was a history major.  And he began talking about how much he loves his job and how much that makes a difference.  Do what you love he says, and it won't matter how little the money is.  And then I look at my arm, in this living metaphor, feeling very much like he's implying that NOT doing what you love is to have the life literally drained out of you.

And then he started talking about how you just have to be open to opportunities.  That sometimes things are just first steps and you never know what will come from it.  That it's important for me to work in a museum and be open to the possibilities that can flow from there.  Again I look at my arm as he continues to fill vials.  Once a door is open, things flow through.  Maybe it was just the blood loss, but it all felt very surreal and dream-like.

"Don't quit your day dream" by Lindsay_Silveira is licensed under CC BY-ND 2.0 

Then we were all done.  He pet my dogs and said you could tell they were happy.  He said when he was little he wanted to be a dog and his dad told him, "you don't want to be a dog, you want to live life like a dog".  And with that last bit of wisdom, my phlebotomist departed.

So, there I was contemplating my mobile phlebotomist wisdom of the day.  Such a nice man.  And I ate breakfast and felt tired and I decided, no offense to my phlebotomist, who was amazing, that the world is full of bloodsuckers (metaphorical you know) and with that I went back to bed for an hour before work.

The Loneliness of a Stranger

The smell of coffee and cigarettes clung to her with the same loneliness that drove her speech.  A rambling collection of things were strung together in a strangely proud, and yet deeply lonely, conversation.  No, conversation is the wrong word.  We didn't converse so much as she talked and I listened.  I had gathered almost instinctively that she just needed to be heard, seen.

She told me that her Mom had passed and she was looking to become reconnected.  I am guessing that was where her loneliness originated.  She recounted a story where she and her mother had walked into the museum when it was closed but a meeting had been going on.  They were graciously allowed to wander the museum while the meeting continued.

She told me of the way she was only just realizing that all the places she likes to visit in Mexico and the US have turned out to be Kumeyaay sites.  She feels she is being drawn to them.  Maybe it's because she senses the deep roots of community in those places and she is drawn to them now that she feels alone in the world.

An intelligent woman, it rankled her in the way a familiar sadness does that she needed assistance when she couldn't reach a taller shelf.  Perhaps too it chafed at her that I was not less informed on the subjects in which she wanted to be superior.  It seemed important to her that she prove herself to me as someone who is well informed.

All I really know is that a day later I'm still contemplating the loneliness of that woman.  I feel her loss and sadness keenly and in my own way I'm grieving for her.  Sometimes I feel as though I see more than people intend for me to see.  Sometimes I think I can see right through a person to their deepest pains when they talk.  Is that a gift or a curse?  I can't do anything to help this woman, but maybe listening was enough.  We all have different roles to play in each other's lives, maybe yesterday she simply needed to be reminded that there are people in the world who will still listen.

I Am Purple

Recently, in the process of working through The Artist's Way, I was asked to do a bit of self-reflective writing.  The task was to pick a colour and write about yourself as that colour.  I picked my favorite colour and was really surprised by how much this writing task spoke to me.  This is what I wrote:


I am purple.  

I am red and blue simultaneously. I'm Royal, rare, at times misunderstood or undervalued. I'm work to understand or create but I'm elegant. I'm distinguished. I'm irises, dreams, warm grapes in the summer.

Purple Iris photo by Melinda Wilson 

I'm complicated, a blend of hot and cold mixed with abandon and passion. I'm quiet and ferocious by turns. I'm the subtle smell of lilacs and the intoxicating smell of lavender. I'm curling Iris petals and unfurling, lavender, velvety roses.

I'm refined and a wild spirit. I'm ethereal, magical and indefinable. I'm bold and shy. I'm the sort of complex that dusk and magic are made of. Real and romantic.

Purple Irises in Colonial Williamsburg photo by Melinda Wilson

I'm a wild Violet growing amidst the cracks of a sidewalk. I'm an Iris in a formal bed lining the path to an ancient stone Manor house. I'm immutable stained glass in a cathedral and fleeting hues in a sunset over the ocean.

I'm plums with sour skin and sweet flesh. Rich smooth color. I'm silk, velvet and satin. I'm flowers and fairytales. I'm fragile hope and vibrant strength.

Purple Flower in Geneva by Melinda Wilson

Winter Without Happiness

Happiness was my lover before the dark times.  Together we laughed through carefree, barefoot days and her hair sparkled in the dappled, spring sunlight.  Our lives were tangled up in the soft intimacy of quiet comfort, secure in each other and our places in the world.  Every activity, no matter how mundane, was made more beautiful with Happiness in my heart and by my side.  We felt certain our days would carry on as blissfully as the summer roses unfolded in the mornings.

Photo via Flickr "roses" by Samantha Forsberg is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 

Autumn brought with it a hint of the dark times to come but we bundled warmly and laughed in the crisp winds that playfully threw up leaves for us to dance in.  Happiness found beauty in the smallest things and the bite of the rain on a sharp edge of the wind simply reminded her she was alive.

Photo via Flickr "autumn and you" by cherry-vn licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0 

The dark times descended with a powerful suddenness that was inescapable.  Brooding clouds swept low with the same fateful thunderous wind that tore Happiness and I asunder.  Straining to reach each other and being dragged off by the dark, roaring winds of change, our hands, the last things to be torn from one another, our lonely, empty hands, haunted my memories.

Dragged reluctantly into a private war I fought many lonely, cold and dark battles.  I walked barren paths without companionship and the warmth of hope.  I had lost Happiness to the vast, lingering darkness.  What hope was left for me?  I wished for her sake she had found someone to share her days with and all the while I resigned myself to the lonely gloom being my continued lot in life.  I was a prisoner of the darkness and there was no hope of escape.  Memories of Happiness would float unbidden to my mind in the small hours of the lonely morning.  Bitter loss accompanied the heartbreaking longing I felt for Happiness.  I had once found perfect and beautiful ease in her company and the loss tightened my chest with memories of the dreadful, inescapable moment when I lost everything for which I cared.

Photo via Flickr "darkest path" by Mrs Janet R licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0 

Somehow, amidst threats of still worse ends, I was released from my captivity.  I cared not that I was free; life was wearisome without Happiness.  Aimless wandering down tangled and dark paths seemed to lead further into the darkness.  My loneliness and lack of hope were complete.  I trudged on with tearful footfalls amidst the overgrown, winding way.  The fates were nudging me forward to better days though the overgrowth served to hide the gradually lightening skies from my view.  Hopeless and weary I moved with unnoticing and heavy tread through leaves that Happiness, had she the misfortune to walk this road, might have found beauty in.


Suddenly, it seemed so suddenly, my path ended in a town I no longer recognized as home.  Did it feel familiar because I had been here before or because all days were tinged with a familiar bleak and weary tint?  I cared not.  Tales wound through town of a worn out, empty husk of a person who had wandered through the darkness so long they no longer remembered the light.  One such tale reached Happiness.  She mourned for this broken soul and something began to glimmer in her mind, the first hint of hope that it might be me.  If the darkness could relinquish one soul it could relinquish me.

Photo via Flickr "roses" by PHOTOPHANATIC1 is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0 

In a way my inner darkness was a spectacle.  Intriguing and self-contained it was a safe danger that drew spectators with its mystery.  Slowly pieces of my tale circulated in swirling dark eddies through town.  A poor soul, parted from Happiness, doomed to walk a weary world alone.  The story of my loss finally reached her and a whispered name of who I used to be.  The wind brought it to her ear.  The wind also whispered to me, Happiness, was all it said.  But somehow I knew that she was in reach.  I began to weep; all the tears I had not dared to feel in my loneliness and all the hopes I barely dared to believe could no longer be contained.  I shed my black mantle and walked haltingly to stand in the sunlight.  I will look for Happiness again.  And ever since Happiness heard my name, she has been running through the streets trying to find me.

Photo "Spring" by Madder Hatter licensed under CC BY 2.0 

“Ever since happiness heard your name, it has been running through the streets trying to find you.” Hafiz of Persia

*******************************************************************************

This short story was inspired by the quote from Hafiz of Persia “Ever since happiness heard your name, it has been running through the streets trying to find you.”

It struck me suddenly that I've grown up thinking of Happiness as a teasing woodland spirit who is ever fleeing from your grasp, at her best, and at her worst, as never showing her face so that you doubt her existence.  I loved the idea of Happiness actively seeking you out.  This beautiful quote immediately reminded me of parted lovers and thus this story of parting and longing and hopeful reunion was born.

Photo via Flickr "Italian roses" by Steve Batch UK licensed under CC BY 2.0 

It is not for me to write about the reunion.  This is because you and I, we are each of us the protagonist, and the story of our separation from Happiness may be similar, but the story of our reunion with Happiness will be as unique as we are.  All I know is that Happiness is trying to find you and it is up to you to step outside into the sunlight and write your own reunion story.