Hitting Overwhelm

And receiving grace notes in the dark

Hello Friends,

Today I sit at my desk and look down a hallway that feels empty: no art on the walls, no books on the bookshelves, no family photos and mementos on the hall table.

As of this morning, this house that I have lavished so much love and care on is no longer mine; I am simply inhabiting it for another week until the movers come. I should be packing up pots and dishes in the kitchen. Or organizing the proliferation of boxes in the garage.

Instead I am sitting at this laptop feeling completely overwhelmed by this move, which I chose and which I believe is right for me, but still.…

Everything else feels like it is falling apart. The earth is warming at an alarming rate. Humans and other species are dying in Gaza and around the world from wars and destruction and the loss of homes and food. My beloved country, which once at least tried to offer a beacon of hope around the world, is now descending into a maelstrom of greed and fear and anxiety.

I want to hike off over the far ridge and never return.

But I can’t. I have work to do, light to shine, compassion to practice, love to give.

The grace notes that have come my way in the past 24 hours remind me to breathe and reach out—there is strength around us, and inspiration in nature.

Plains pkicklypear blooms in vivid magenta, a bold announcement that life thrives, despite all.

First grace note

Stephanie Raffelock’s poem in her Creative Eldering newsletter reminded me that I am not alone, and we are stronger together:

just walk with me, please,
until i find my footing.
hold my hand—
i swear i won’t let go.
we’ll feel our way
through the dark.

—Stephanie Raffelock, “PIVOT”

What can we do?

Resist. Shine our light, practice generosity and love and compassion and terraphilia. There is no one answer, but if we each listen to that small, still voice of the sacred within, if we reach for each other, hold each other and give ourselves grace and kindness, we persist.

Walking together, we will find our way.

Grace note number two

Yesterday morning, when I tried and failed to focus on a piece of writing that I need to finish, and I found myself doubting why I even call myself a writer when most of my work was published before digitization and is not available on the internet, and half of my books are out of print—meaning my work has basically vanished without a trace—I distracted myself from those death-spiral thoughts by checking my email.

And up popped a message from a teacher-educator at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science:

Hi, Susan

I just wanted to write a short note to thank you for your work. I just became familiar with it when I read your amazing on-line article you wrote about the shrubs of the San Luis Valley. … After being a naturalist for many years, I appreciated learning new and interesting things about some of our favorite shrubs. But most of all, I appreciated your great writing style.

Thank you, T

Thank you, T! Your email lifted the spirits of this overwhelmed and anxious writer.

And then, as if to ensure I got the point, came this email last night:

Hi Susan,

Your book, Bless the Birds, is such a beautiful gift that I will cherish and reread throughout my life. It taught me so much about what death can be, how it can be tender and how we can find beauty in the living everyday with love, care and intention.

… Thank you, truly for sharing your and Richard’s story. The good, the sad, the difficult and the joyous, it was all so moving and lovely, and I will carry the lessons it taught me throughout my life. I believe it will help me to live my life with more love, more intention, and more kindness toward myself, the earth and toward every living thing I come into contact with.

Thank you truly, J

Thank you, J; thank you, universe.

I am humbled and awed by these messages, and by the reminder that each of us has something to share. We never know when it will reach someone just when they need that knowledge, inspiration, encouragement or bit of love and light.

I am still overwhelmed, still anxious, still exhausted from the state of the country and the world—and this move. But I am reminded of why I am reaching for my dreams, why I work to be vulnerable, authentic and to write from my heart.

Because each of our voices matters. Because together, we can feel our way through the dark. Together, we can heal each other and this world.

Hold my hand and I will hold yours….

Blessings, Susan