Today is the day we honor the life and work of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, born January 15, 1929. What would he make of what we've made of our country?
Winter's dark days give us ample time for reflection, and an excuse to make the most of the light. Here in Seattle, we've had a spectacular holiday weekend: dry, clear, warm all three days. Such a gift.
For a long time, Tom and I have wanted to make the short trip to Whidbey Island to hear our friend the Rev. Dennis Reynolds preach at the Unitarian Universalist congregation he serves there. Yesterday was the day we finally made it, and it felt like we were meant to be there. Dennis was likely not the only minister who'd planned a sermon about Dr. King and found himself rewriting it late last week in the wake of words spoken in the White House.
But the bones of Dennis' message remained intact, and they were the bones and sinew and soul of Dr. King and other prophets, ancient and modern, who tell the truth. "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that," King wrote. More than ever, King's words urge us on toward commitment, and Dennis spoke of modern prophets, including the Rev. William J. Barber, who continue to carry a message of nonviolence, justice, and advocacy for the poor. Dennis finished his sermon with the entirety of Langston Hughes' "Let America Be America Again." Starkly juxtaposed against the past week -- but in fact the past year, the past decade, our entire history as a nation -- the 1935 poem is as relevant as ever.
America will be, but we're not there yet.
And yet hopeful signs abound. Here are a few others I've found just in the past week:
I read the Rolling Stone interview with Bono, then sat down to listen to Songs of Experience. My favorite song on the new U2 record remains the first single, "Get Out of Your Own Way." It starts as a plea for a woman to leave her abuser; it ends (in the segue to "American Soul") as a call for a singular country to fulfill its destiny. It's #metoo meets man-splaining, perhaps, but it's also the world begging America to become America.
Rick Steves has a new blog post about how his own family immigrated to America from Norway--at the time, "a miserable place to live...a land without promise." They arrived in Duluth, Minnesota, with $20 and thought of it as the Promised Land. We are and always have been a nation of immigrants, Rick adds, noting that while we may have a leader who fears and loathes immigrants, "I believe America is more American than that -- and that we're waking up." (Disclosure: I am a contract editor for Rick's guidebook division, and I feel blessed to be aligned with his company and his world view. Travel is the best way to trump ignorance and fear.)
Finally, after seeing it on so many Best-of-2017 lists, Tom and I watched the movie Mudbound last week. Based on a novel by Hillary Jordan and directed by Dee Rees, this Netflix original film is the story of two families living in the Mississippi Delta in the middle of the 20th century. I loved it on many levels, but especially for its rich detail of the inherent worth and dignity of nearly all of its many characters--and for how it shows us the possibility of leaving our bondage, not just the shackles of slavery, but the chains of thought and habit that keep us spiritually enslaved.
On this MLK Day, I believe we can rise up. I believe we can keep bending the arc of the moral universe toward justice. I believe that together, we can help America be America again.
Monday, January 15, 2018
Monday, January 1, 2018
Sunday, December 31, 2017
The new year dawning
I love odd, meandering dreams. I don't have (or remember) them often enough, but I woke up from one today just as a minor plot point had been revealed: There was a new "Wayne"--that is, Mike Myers was no longer the affable cable-access show host in Aurora, Illinois. Someone else would play him.
As if! I'm not sure where that came from, but my waking mind moved next to the idea of shedding one's skin. That's as apt a metaphor as any for the last day of 2017, and it's when I knew I needed to get up and write something.
New Year's Day is often a time when we commit to something new. I've recently begun a new practice I plan to continue in the new year: reading an essay on paper (not online) first thing most mornings, then writing a bit (also on paper) about what I've read, and maybe just a bit about what's happening in my life, too. I've mostly been reading works at random from The Best American Essays 2017. I'll recount a few themes from memory:
A woman pieces together the fragments of the worst industrial disaster in U.S. history, at Hawk's Nest, West Virginia, where hundreds of men digging a tunnel died slow deaths.
A man with cerebral palsy recounts acting in The Wizard of Oz as a boy, and meeting one of the Munchkins from the famous film.
A woman works a low-wage job in a hospital ER while paying off the five-figure debt she incurred trying to take her own life.
Two young men in Harare, Zimbabwe, try to raise money to come to college in America. They have scholarships, but they need travel funds and living expenses.
A woman and her two daughters abandon their life in California to seek a new one, with new identities, in Colorado. (This one had me at its early mention of that kid-lit classic The Monster at the End of this Book.)
A young couple from the Midwest leave their hipster town for life in a very cheap backwater along the Great Lakes.
I dream of someday reading for fun many hours each day. But since I must read--and read closely--for my work as an editor, I rarely take time each day for leisure reading. These early-morning sessions are my attempt to do that, and I love how the essays give me glimpses of how other people are living--and often how they're shedding their skins to do or be or see something new. To grow.
In last night's dream, I also remember recounting to someone the blogs I've written over the years. Well, today actually is the third anniversary of Surely Joy. I started it as a resolution of sorts with two posts at the tail end of 2014, and while I don't write here all that often, I'm grateful to have somewhere to write.
Happy new year, and may 2018 be a year of new insights, growth, and of course joy for us all.
via GIPHY
As if! I'm not sure where that came from, but my waking mind moved next to the idea of shedding one's skin. That's as apt a metaphor as any for the last day of 2017, and it's when I knew I needed to get up and write something.
New Year's Day is often a time when we commit to something new. I've recently begun a new practice I plan to continue in the new year: reading an essay on paper (not online) first thing most mornings, then writing a bit (also on paper) about what I've read, and maybe just a bit about what's happening in my life, too. I've mostly been reading works at random from The Best American Essays 2017. I'll recount a few themes from memory:
A woman pieces together the fragments of the worst industrial disaster in U.S. history, at Hawk's Nest, West Virginia, where hundreds of men digging a tunnel died slow deaths.
A man with cerebral palsy recounts acting in The Wizard of Oz as a boy, and meeting one of the Munchkins from the famous film.
A woman works a low-wage job in a hospital ER while paying off the five-figure debt she incurred trying to take her own life.
Two young men in Harare, Zimbabwe, try to raise money to come to college in America. They have scholarships, but they need travel funds and living expenses.
A woman and her two daughters abandon their life in California to seek a new one, with new identities, in Colorado. (This one had me at its early mention of that kid-lit classic The Monster at the End of this Book.)
A young couple from the Midwest leave their hipster town for life in a very cheap backwater along the Great Lakes.
I dream of someday reading for fun many hours each day. But since I must read--and read closely--for my work as an editor, I rarely take time each day for leisure reading. These early-morning sessions are my attempt to do that, and I love how the essays give me glimpses of how other people are living--and often how they're shedding their skins to do or be or see something new. To grow.
In last night's dream, I also remember recounting to someone the blogs I've written over the years. Well, today actually is the third anniversary of Surely Joy. I started it as a resolution of sorts with two posts at the tail end of 2014, and while I don't write here all that often, I'm grateful to have somewhere to write.
Happy new year, and may 2018 be a year of new insights, growth, and of course joy for us all.
via GIPHY
Tuesday, December 19, 2017
'How not to make everything worse'
Those were the all-capped words on the opening slide of Karen Yin's keynote talk earlier this fall at the Northwest Independent Editors Guild's Red Pencil Conference. "Thank you to the Guild for asking me to come talk about everything that's wrong with the world," said Yin, founder of the Conscious Style Guide, noting that life today seems like one horrific event after another. "There's no give and we're all getting crushed," she added.
Yin is also the creator of the AP vs. Chicago website, which hashes over how different sources treat things like spaces with em dashes and whether or not to use an apostrophe after a proper noun ending in "s." Yet as Editors Guild president Jill Walters noted in introducing Yin, "Nobody's really going to care if you split an infinitive on Twitter." Larger things than grammar are at stake in our world right now, and Yin offered ideas on how editors can conscientiously foster compassion and healing in a world that seems set on rage autopilot.
Among what she said: Toxins in our communication enter our system and create trauma. Handling language mindfully is part of our job. Yin proposed this four-point set of guidelines: Tell the truth. Don't exaggerate. Be consistent. Use peaceful language.
It is so easy to be pissed off all the time these days. I used to think of anger as righteous. Now I see the ability to keep my rage in check as its own form of resistance, not to mention a robust spiritual practice. It's the best I can do. Call out injustice, then cultivate calm.
It's heartening to see signs that the tide may be turning -- and of course the light is coming back soon, too. As Karen Yin told our editors' gathering, we can choose not to make everything worse. We can choose compassion and kindness, even as we share truths that must be told.
Yin is also the creator of the AP vs. Chicago website, which hashes over how different sources treat things like spaces with em dashes and whether or not to use an apostrophe after a proper noun ending in "s." Yet as Editors Guild president Jill Walters noted in introducing Yin, "Nobody's really going to care if you split an infinitive on Twitter." Larger things than grammar are at stake in our world right now, and Yin offered ideas on how editors can conscientiously foster compassion and healing in a world that seems set on rage autopilot.
Among what she said: Toxins in our communication enter our system and create trauma. Handling language mindfully is part of our job. Yin proposed this four-point set of guidelines: Tell the truth. Don't exaggerate. Be consistent. Use peaceful language.
It is so easy to be pissed off all the time these days. I used to think of anger as righteous. Now I see the ability to keep my rage in check as its own form of resistance, not to mention a robust spiritual practice. It's the best I can do. Call out injustice, then cultivate calm.
It's heartening to see signs that the tide may be turning -- and of course the light is coming back soon, too. As Karen Yin told our editors' gathering, we can choose not to make everything worse. We can choose compassion and kindness, even as we share truths that must be told.
Thursday, December 7, 2017
Surely Joy: The Book
I'm very happy to say that Surely Joy is now a book, too.
For some time, I've been meaning to put together a collection of my writing. The first chapter dates from 1993, an essay for my hometown paper, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. The last is a previously unpublished piece I wrote especially for the book. In between, there are selections on parenthood, politics, music, and movies, along with a few travelogues and love songs to libraries.
Sunday, November 19, 2017
Holiday feasting ... and films!
Two timely thoughts heading into Thanksgiving week:
I love this article from today's Seattle Times about a local cookbook author whose book has blown up in Japan. Bethany Jean Clement recounts how Kathleen Flinn's book, The Kitchen Counter Cooking School, was published in Japan with the hilarious title The Magic Cooking Classroom that Changes Bad Girls' Lives. As Flinn told Clement:
My editor and translator’s take is that in Japanese culture, women are expected to be able to do it all — have a career, be an immaculate housekeeper, a fabulous mother, a diligent daughter and an amazing individual with extensive hobbies, and a talented cook,” Flinn says. Dryly, she observes, “This may sound familiar to American women.”
I am not much of a cook, but this story is funny--and it makes me think even I might want to take a knife-handling class at Tom Douglas' Hot Stove Society. (Flinn has another book titled The Sharper Your Knife, the Less You Cry.) The article also has five tips for fearless holiday cooking, so if you are in charge of the holiday feast and feel some trepidation, you'll feel better after reading it.
I love this article from today's Seattle Times about a local cookbook author whose book has blown up in Japan. Bethany Jean Clement recounts how Kathleen Flinn's book, The Kitchen Counter Cooking School, was published in Japan with the hilarious title The Magic Cooking Classroom that Changes Bad Girls' Lives. As Flinn told Clement:
My editor and translator’s take is that in Japanese culture, women are expected to be able to do it all — have a career, be an immaculate housekeeper, a fabulous mother, a diligent daughter and an amazing individual with extensive hobbies, and a talented cook,” Flinn says. Dryly, she observes, “This may sound familiar to American women.”
I am not much of a cook, but this story is funny--and it makes me think even I might want to take a knife-handling class at Tom Douglas' Hot Stove Society. (Flinn has another book titled The Sharper Your Knife, the Less You Cry.) The article also has five tips for fearless holiday cooking, so if you are in charge of the holiday feast and feel some trepidation, you'll feel better after reading it.
Tuesday, November 7, 2017
A good time and place to think
Late fall is here. It's getting dark early. This is the season where, up here in the far left corner, in America's most well-read city, many of us get ready to burrow into our books.
My sweetie and I started an Airbnb space a few months ago, and it was booked solid from summer into early fall. Fewer people travel to this part of the world in the rainy season, so we have lots of dates open on our calendar for the next few months.Our place is close to Seattle but it feels far away from the city. It's modest but comfortable; my goal is for it to mirror the philosophy I write about here on Surely Joy, and for it to be a welcoming spot where you can rest, reconnect with nature, and hear yourself breathe.
Right now, we have a couple staying while they're in town on business; they have two weeks in our space for the cost of about three-and-a-half nights in a downtown Seattle hotel. But we also welcome people staying for long weekends or even just a couple of nights. And although no one but me has used it as a writer's retreat, I have a feeling others would enjoy it for that purpose, too.
Check it out if you need a place to stay near Seattle, or a place to rest and rejuvenate. If you're a first-time Airbnb user, use this link and you will save $40 on your first Airbnb stay of $75 or more. Thank You Gracias Merci Dank ~ Julie
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