Day 1504 – Day 1515
One of my favourite past times is to bring my work to a sunny cafe and work in public. There is something social about working in a public place, when the work we are doing is solitary (like writing) or we simply lack colleagues. The energy of the world around me, rather than distracting me, keeps me motivated to work.
Writing these posts is another kind of way to be private in public. Writing publicly is not as enjoyable as simply soaking in the public ambience while I write, and I’ve written before about how this public practice challenges me and has been costly to me.
I decided, when we hit 1,500 days of gratitude, that I’d start to thin out the previous posts. I think a selection of previous posts (and perhaps that selection will change over time) will offer readers enough of the journey to interest readers, while reserving some of my privacy.
Seasonally, I withdraw in the winter, but this is more than that. Right now, in North America, everyone is processing some pretty heavy emotions based on the politics that we are seeing playing out. Globally, we are being made aware that science is making a last call for us to save ourselves from the worst impacts of climate change. It’s all pretty dire. And, as the holiday season is now firmly nestled in Canada with our Thanksgiving celebration behind us, there is the end of year family gatherings and personal reckoning that begins now.
Like many, I’m processing a lot. And while I want to remain authentic, I don’t want to share all of my thoughts and feelings with the world. The most authentic thing I can do, then, is admit this. I’m mindful of people’s privacy but I know that I suffer the same challenges as any non-fiction writer. Because we write about our lives, we inevitably write about events that people in our lives can identify. People look for themselves in what I write. In the past, one sentence, that didn’t identify anyone in particular, was taken as cause for offence and a friendship was terminated. I made it clear that I meant no harm in writing that one sentence, but my offering was rejected. It’s possible the person personalized the entire essay as being about them, which it was not, and when people are looking to be offended in life, they will surely find opportunity at every turn.
Everyone is on edge right now, and I find myself getting writer’s block for fear of offending others in my expression of the way I see things. I’m writing about myself, and my experience, and while I don’t identify people in my posts, I have a right to write about my experience, even if it does not match anyone else’s or if it does not reflect as grandly upon someone else as they think it ought. Anyone concerned about how I might characterize my experiences should probably not be reading my writing – fiction, non fiction or otherwise. Censoring oneself is the death knell for a writer. I’m no longer tolerant of needless drama in my life.
When I was once asked why I write, I answered that writing was my pathway to truth. Truth is different from fact, as we know. Truth is a private matter, and is dependant on one’s perspective. But it is to truth that we look to make meaning out of our lives. And while I am committed to resist any pressure to self-censor, some things we experience are complex and require a lot of processing. Last week I wrote a 1500 word post but chose not to publish it because it lacked clarity: unprocessed and complex feelings were sort of half blended in to an unclear narrative. I had not yet found my own private truth in all the complexity.
Truth seems to be the battlefield of our post-factual, modern times.
Many of us carry battle wounds. I’ve had several people come to me this weekend with rage or depression. Although I am not a minister to anyone with whom I work or have personal relationships, I try to be of service, offering a compassionate ear and some comfort. For me, I am fortunate that I have a spiritual practice that can take me beyond the noise of the moment, and it is in that Oneness that I find solace, as well as re-affirm my sense of purpose. For others, who are not spiritual, I’ve advised extreme self-care, to let go of the uncontrollable, and of course, to re-focus on gratitude.
When life seems so complex, I return to gratitude for the simplest things.
Today I am grateful for the sunshine. It is warm and soothing on my skin and it gives me joy to feel these last autumnal rays before the cold winter and rains set in for good. I wish that the Thanksgiving holiday had been a sunny one as I have much clearing of my garden to do. Instead, I took it in turns, between rain showers, to make soup from my garden vegetables and to pull the last of the plants out of their pots on my balcony (a not insignificant feat). I’ve expressed my gratitude to my plants for their bounty as I compost them into fertilizer for next season’s crop. I am thankful that most of my family was able to gather for a meal, and that I had an extra day of rest and solitude, which I feel I deeply need, right now. And most simply, I am grateful for the soup I made in that time. It nourishes my body, so that I have the energy to continue to wake up and be publicly grateful, even as I do the harder and deeply private work of soothing and nourishing my spirit, in these difficult and complex times.