Trying To Find Balance

...when the whole Earth seems to be tipping over

Various memories come to mind.

The small folding bridge-table, covered by a tablecloth that touched the floor on all four sides when I was little and my parents still lived together (they didn’t play bridge).

When I woke terrified at 2 AM today, I pictured myself crawling underneath that table, as I did when I was a small child—hiding there. Feeling momentarily safe.

This is such a scary time.

I’m feeling the opposite of confident and empowered now. I feel a huge, aching sense of loss. And yet, for me personally, nothing has changed.

How is it possible to lose one’s sense of equanimity, so quickly?

When I lie awake at night, I try to remember the feeling of Nana’s gentle hands on my face. Nana calling me “Maideleh.” Papa’s approving smile and soft eyes when he looked at me throughout our time on this planet together: the unconditional love that both he and Nana always gave me.

They were my first life-boat. I never had any other babysitter. They were my respite from my parents’ sturm und drang—always there for me, bathing me in their love.

I was a very lucky girl.

I’m trying to find the right balance between staying informed as our political nightmare unfolds—and keeping my spirit safe. The right balance between compassion and self-protection.

Reminder to myself: Once upon a time in California, I gathered these flowers in my garden, arranged them, and took this photo. I know how to nurture beauty. Mother Nature is my stalwart friend. And I will defend her with the fierceness of a mother bear.

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

Are We Ready To Defend Democracy?

That old tape has been playing inside my head: “Not good enough, Barbara!”

It could be that my job in life, my job as a poet, is simply to feel. If that’s the case, I’ve been doing a very good job with that, my whole life long.

As a fiction writer, I’ve also hoped—somehow—to be a catalyst for the courage and optimism that lurk inside all of us. I think I’m particularly well qualified for this task, given how afraid and hopeless I’ve felt at various times throughout my life.

My love for the people I love crushes my bones. My gratitude for those who love me is boundless.

Looking out my window the other day, I saw a small brown bird look at me—and I told myself that all these terrors and tragedies of human life are of no interest to the natural world, whose creatures are simply living their lives as comfortably as they can. Finding the food they need. Launching their DNA as seeds or spores or offspring that will keep their part of the conversation going even after death.

I keep needing to remind myself to breathe.

A bear crossed my path, about 20 yards ahead of me, as I hiked for a second time today up the built-in StairMaster that is the Connecticut road we’re living on. It was a sign, according to indigenous wisdom, of being at a crossroads—and needing clarity and courage. Of needing to set stronger boundaries and to protect my energy.

I do love this world and knowing that I’m part of it, right now, in this 71-year-old body, a witness to the glorious spectacle of life on Earth.

I have a job to do right now, a job that’s really only of interest to myself and my literary agent.

Give me the strength and tenacity, oh patron saints of writers, to do what I need to do and do it beautifully!

I know it’s silly, but the little hearts you leave here mean the world to me. Go to the SubStack app (it’s free) to give me a heart or make a comment that everyone can read.