Pandemic postcard #13: Anti-racism as a practice

There is no anti-racist certification class. It's a set of socioeconomic traps and cultural values that are fired up every time we interact with the world. It is a thing you have to keep scooping out of the boat of your life to keep from drowning in it.  -- Scott Woods

It's been another monumental week in America as we wrestle with our trio of pandemics: COVID-19, the recession, and our collective awakening over racism. So many of us now feel the urgency of taking a hard look at the complacency and privilege we have enjoyed for so long. Until two weeks ago, I sometimes thought my anti-racist studies were done, that I had graduated and gotten that certification of allyship. Now, I finally understand that anti-racism is a lifelong practice I must undertake together with every other white person.

We will now--hopefully--be giving this issue its due for some time to come. So just as we can't revert to lax hygiene routines, we must now figure out how to make anti-racism a daily practice. I want to define and pursue that practice for myself. You should, too. No one else can do it for you.

For some people, anti-racism will mean being a physical presence in the streets, calling the structures of power and abuse to account. For others, there will be a more inward journey of reading, writing, reflection, and learning. For many of us, it will mean increasing our support of black-owned businesses and black artists. Perhaps the key thing I've learned this past week is that addressing white supremacy must be an embodied journey--one we inhabit not only in our heads, but in our hearts and in our souls, for privilege and racial harm are deeply lodged in our DNA. (Thanks to the conversation between Resmaa Menakem and Krista Tippett from last week's "On Being" for this knowledge.)

Last Friday night, there was a Black Lives Matter protest at a large park near me in Seattle. I didn't attend, but I wound up there on my early morning walk the next day, as I do on many days. The names of people of color who'd been killed by police were chalked every few feet around the half-mile path around the park. I said their names aloud as I circled the loop in a kind of walking meditation. It felt like a start in what I need to do. Writing this post is another step.

Although I've been reading rafts of essays about racism and privilege and white supremacy over the past fortnight, few statements boil the issue down as well as the passage from Scott Woods that I quote at the top of this post. (You can read the whole 2014 essay it comes from here.) If you're viewing this blog on a desktop, you can scroll down to see a 3-D collage I made in 2016 at the end of a year in Wellspring, a program of deep spiritual reflection I've done twice through my church. It's centered on "a palette of practice" that features the tools and values I try to use regularly in my life. The collage hangs on the wall over my desk, so I see it every day. I took my Sharpie this week and added the words "Bail out your boat."

God of our Being, Spirit of Light and Life, help me see and address my privilege every day. Help all my white brothers and sisters begin to reckon with this reality, one step at a time. After 400 years, we may finally be getting a chance to set things right. Let's not turn away now.

More will be revealed (again)

I'm moving today--or at least starting a move that will unfold over a few weeks, since I'm not going far and I still have work to do settling Tom's estate. My new address will be the 21st place I've lived in my life and the sixth in the past seven years. (You read that right: Boise to Oakland in 2012, Oakland to Seattle in 2013, then two apartments in Seattle, then here with and without Tom--and now back to Seattle. )

The house I'm leaving has never really felt like home, except when Tom was here.  His presence was strong in the first weeks after he died, but soon this too-big-for-one place felt empty, even with the volumes of stuff I'm still sorting through eight months later.

I could write more about that (and I will), but this is a post about my next stop, a tiny studio apartment/townhouse hybrid I've mainly chosen because it's on the ground floor (for a relatively easy move); in a walkable, transit friendly neighborhood; and I was able to sign a short lease. It's possible--maybe even likely--that I may move again before the end of 2019.

Or it's possible that this new, tiny place will be just enough, just what I need. It's inexpensive by Seattle standards, possibly cheap enough that I can afford to leave for a few weeks to go somewhere warm each winter if I decide to stay in the Northwest.

Or I may feel a pull to move one more time, either in Seattle or to somewhere else, ideally somewhere I might live for more than a few years. It's also possible I may decide to claim no fixed address at all--to fully embrace my peripatetic ways.

As you can tell, I really have no idea. This year will be about trying to sort that out--trying to divine my own wishes after the most intense year of my life.

Although I write infrequently here, I journal every day. I'll be starting a new journal to accompany this move; I decorated it a few days ago. The photo above is from the New Internationalist calendar a few years ago. The ticket stub from an Elizabeth Gilbert lecture a few years ago has my favorite quote from that night: "Be a highly disciplined half-ass."  The poem is by Jan Richardson, a favorite of mine since I first heard it in UU Wellspring a few years ago and an especially apt one for this new season of discernment:

Travel the most ancient way
of all:
the path that leads you
to the center
of your life.

See you around again soon.

Many, many thanks

Sixth in a series for #UULent2018.

Today's UULent word is gratitude. As I've noted a few times, I'm taking part in UU Wellspring--Spiritual Practices at my church. As befits our spacious Unitarian Universalist faith, we are encouraged to try any number of practices to see which ones work best in our lives. Back in January, we were encouraged to begin a gratitude journal: basically, to take time every night before bed to write down five things for which we were grateful that day.

I've fitfully kept gratitude journals before, as far back as 2005. This time, though, I've done it faithfully nearly every day since starting January 3. Two weeks after I started, I wrote, "This was a good exercise. It helped me recognize how grateful I am for my life as it is right now and that little things mean the most."

I like the idea of going to sleep with a grateful heart, but I've found that it's easier for me to write my gratitudes as part of the quiet mornings I enjoy most days: often before I read a while, sometimes after. Either way, it helps set the stage for a grateful day.

Gratitude journals past and present

More will be revealed

Third in a series for #UULent2018.

Sometimes in life, we choose things without really knowing why, trusting that we'll figure it out as we go along. Such was the case for me when I signed up for another year of UU Wellspring--a program for spiritual deepening--late last summer.

The first time I applied to be in Wellspring, for the 2015-2016 session, I was extremely intentional about it. I'd heard great things about the program from past participants, and I went into it feeling it might be useful as a discernment tool. Wellspring was helpful as I addressed the question of whether to stay in a job I liked but did not love, and it wound up being valuable in many other ways.

Still, when I got an email last spring asking whether I wanted to sign up for a year of further inquiry into spiritual practices, I demurred. I didn't think I'd have time enough to focus on what Wellspring ideally requires (a friend likens it to "graduate school for the soul," albeit without tests and student loans), and I was thinking about taking part as a mentor in my congregation's Coming of Age program. But another call for Wellspring went out late last summer. They needed a few more people to sign up if it was to proceed. I decided to go for it, and I'm glad I did.

Two-thirds into this year's program, Wellspring continues to give me a widening and deepening palette of spiritual tools. My final project for the 2015-2016 year was a collage featuring a "palette of practice," on which I included the many components I use on my eclectic spiritual path. (You can see it at the bottom of this blog's home page.) They include gratitude, nature, partnership, music, community, walking, meditation, attention, hospitality, and discernment.

Those are all still in play for me, but it's interesting to watch how they wax and wane. For example, two months ago, our Wellspring assignment was to begin a gratitude journal--something I've done occasionally over the years, but never faithfully. For whatever reason, I'm able to do it more regularly now, and I'm getting a lot out of it.  If I had to redo my palette now, I think I'd add one practice that doesn't seem to fit in with those I drew two years ago, and I'd call it "possibility"--as in, being open to possibility. In fact, I'd probably rename my work a "palette of practice and possibility."

In addition to our twice-monthly sessions and in-between homework of various kinds, Wellspring participants are asked to meet at least monthly with a spiritual mentor. At each session, my mentor asks whether I want to choose a little angel heart stone from a basket she has nearby. Most have words on the back, but the one I chose last week had no words: just the angel, arms outstretched, with a spark for the heart. It's the stone of unlimited possibilities, my mentor said.

Possibility is something I've written about before and something I sense stirring for me again. As a writer and editor, I must constantly think about where to place my professional energy and whether or not I'll earn money in the exchange. (That's not something the average mechanic or doctor or plumber needs to consider when plying their skills.) At times, this makes me resentful when I choose to write for no pay (as I do here on this blog, for example), or for less than I ought to earn. I also know that as someone who has freelanced most of my adult life and as someone of modest means, I'll need to use these main skills of mine for many years to come, for love or for money, ideally for both.

It's here that the sense of possibility keeps me going--that, and the flexibility I have as a self-employed person. Hearkening ahead to another word coming up on the UU Lent calendar, I find myself more curious than I've been in a while about where my writing may take me, and I feel open to possibilities I have not considered.

Learn more about UU Wellspring here. And if you'd like to support my work, consider buying a copy of Surely Joy (the book!) or even hiring me as a writer or editor for your project. You can learn more and reach me via LinkedIn. 

Fall housekeeping

Last spring, after Seattle's rainiest-ever winter, I was done with rain. I never wanted to see it ever again. But then we had one of our driest, hottest summers ever.

So yesterday, when it rained much of the day, it felt sacramental. And especially at a time when people in other regions are suffering the after-effects of forest fires, hurricanes, and earthquakes, I will not begrudge whatever weather comes our way.

As much as spring always feels like a fresh start, so does fall. With our smoky skies cleared and our streets washed clean, with a new school year underway and baseball season winding down (giving me a little more free time since I am a seating host), autumn is one of my favorite times of year.

Today, I say farewell to two young women who have been staying in our Airbnb these past few weeks as they (successfully) looked for an apartment of their own. It's a challenge and an adventure to move to Seattle these days, so we were happy to give them a launchpad. We'll welcome our next guests in a few days -- but first, I'll enjoy the quiet of the space myself for a while.

Tonight, I begin a new session of the UU Wellspring curriculum I enjoyed the church year before last. I look forward to Wellspring as another opportunity for personal spiritual deepening, as well as the opportunity to walk now through next spring with a small group of kindred spirits.

I find that I blog a little more often during Wellspring, and I now have a little email subscription widget at the top right corner of this blog, if you'd like to see everything I write on here. (Don't worry; it'll still only be a post or two each week at the most.)

One more housekeeping note: I've been compiling a book-length collection of things I've written here and elsewhere over the past 25 years. It'll probably be out before the holidays, so watch this space for more news on that.

Wishing us all a lovely fall ...

A few more words on being and doing

Sometimes, I think I am the world's laziest blogger. Or maybe I'm the smartest; I'm trying to reserve most of my writing for occasions I'll get paid for it. But no one's going to pay me for this list of what I've done so far today, in no special order, so here goes:


I woke up, made coffee, and read another chunk of yesterday's extensive New York Times article on one woman's voyage with dementia. Later, I sent a few emails and did a bit of research for an article I'm writing on a similar topic.


While making and eating some oatmeal, I listened to sports talk radio to get some perspective on the Mariners' season so far. (I have a part-time job at the ballpark now, but with the team on the road this week, I have even less scheduled time than usual.)

I took a walk. My first stop was my neighborhood city park, where I like to play something that looks and sounds like this, installed in the newly renovated playground last year. My tax dollars at work! I love it.

After that, I continued on down the residential street and saw a half-dozen other folks out enjoying a mid-day walk in the sun, many with their doggies. I made my way to our neighborhood's small commercial district, where I stopped at the library to pick up a book on hold; at the thrift store, in search of something I want for my Wellspring art project; then passed through the leafy grounds of Lake City Court, a green public housing project I love to traverse whenever I get a chance.

I got home and brewed some ice tea, and noticed one of my favorite phrases (and one germane to this topic) on one of the tea bags, so I took a photo and 
made an Instagram post about it.

Then I wrote this post. 
Next, I am going to have a late lunch ... or perhaps it is an early dinner ... read some more ... and listen to the ballgame while I putter around the house a bit.


Last week, I met with my Wellspring spiritual companion. She mentioned my last real blog post of more than a month ago -- I told you I've been a lazy blogger! -- and how she especially liked the part about the shift from doing mode to being mode. I agreed and said that very idea has been ringing in my ears ever since, too. To recap author David Levy distilling the words of psychologists Zindel Segal, Mark Williams, and John Teasdale:


Being mode "is characterized by a sense of freedom, freshness, and unfolding of experience in new ways. It is responsive to the richness and complexity of the unique patterns that each moment presents." In doing mode, on the other hand, "the multidimensional nature of experience is reduced primarily to a unidimensional analysis of its standing in relation to a goal state."


It's been two months since I left the professional-grind track. Being mode is how I am these days. I'm getting stuff done, but my random acts of productivity seem much more incidental than central to my existence.


Some days, this way of life still feels weird. Other days, especially on a summer-vacationy-day like today, it feels like one glorious Calvin and Hobbes cartoon. It's sure as heck a more healthy way than I've lived much of my adult life. I'm eager to find ways to keep at it.

Hearts full of soul

It's the first Sunday of #UULent. On my Instagram feed, I am posting a photo each day to represent the word of the day. On Sundays, we are called to reflect, embody and enact the word, too. And of course, today's word is love.

I woke up this morning with the famous 1st Corinthians:13 passage in my mind, "Love is patient, love is kind." There's more before and after that, as you've likely heard at many weddings, but really, the first two phrases of that fourth verse say it all.

Love is patient. 
Love is kind. 

The rest is commentary.

I've been in love a few times in my life. Today, my sweetheart, Tom, and I celebrate our third Valentine's Day together. For us, love is patient, kind, frequently passionate, rarely prickly.

Most of all, it's companionable.

This box arrived last year filled with chocolate-covered strawberries. When it was empty, I decided to fill it with memories. It's filled over the brim already, and we're just getting started.

Romantic love is wonderful, but today, I'm also feeling love for my daughter. When I arrived at church, the early service not quite done, I opened the door and saw a mother quietly nursing her baby, just the two of them alone.

"That's true love," I said to her. I mentioned having happy memories of that experience, then noted that my "baby" will be 22 this year.

"They sleep through the night by then, right?" We both laughed.

Maybe not, but it's not for me to know. My daughter is living her life. It's the life I gave her; it's now fully her own, but she'll always be part of me and vice versa.

And there is even more love somewhere. As people gathered for the service, I happened to see -- and talk with -- a half dozen or more people with whom I've shared a bond in our faith community, through a Covenant Group last church year and Wellspring in this one. Shining faces, smiles and waves of recognition. I've only been part of my current congregation for two years, but I feel the love growing there. As usual, the more you give, the more you get.

Love starts within, and it ripples outward. May it ever be so. Meanwhile, got a date ... have to run ... :^)

(A) few words about prayer

Since September, I've been part of a UU Wellspring class -- and a big point of this post is to say that if you are a Unitarian Universalist interested in spiritual deepening, you may want to consider Wellspring, too.

Last night's topic was prayer. I am not going to say much about the session because in Wellspring, we create circles of trust, and I will invoke that for myself as much as for my fellow Wellspring travelers. I'll say this much: I arrived at the session with a full and somewhat heavy heart, grateful that prayer was the topic.

I pray daily, never kneeling, sometimes with my eyes closed, but more often with them wide open in wonder. And because I spend so much of my life working with words, for me, words in prayer are often beside the point.

So it was harder than I'd have expected when we were asked to take a few minutes and write a prayer during our session. Still, because "I am who I am," I wrote three. The first:

I pray because
I pray because it helps me find the stillness
I pray because I am too much with myself
I pray because I am thankful
I pray because I want to pay attention 
I pray for strength
I pray for peace
I pray because

Looking at that, the poet in me liked the repetition, but the editor in me thought, "too many I's."

My next one:

Spirit of life
give me stillness
give me strength
give me reason
give me love

Then my editor went back and changed the gives to grants. You see how it can be terribly difficult to be an editor, to continually be getting in my own way ... even in prayer, for god's sake.

Here's what I finally came up with:

Prayer is something 
when words fail me
when I finally get out of
my head and into 
my heart.
It's an experience
of gratitude ... and longing
and love.
Sometimes it's my senses
working overtime.
Sometimes it's me sitting still. 
It is marvelous.
It is essential. 
It is enough. 

We took turns reading our prayers. One of the prayers was sung. One had exactly one word.

Wow. 

Exactly.

Amen.


UU Wellspring

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