Be quiet for gratitude.
Give yourself time to notice the privileges sent your way today.
Not everyone is so fortunate.
When you see how lucky you are, you show up humble.
When you see how lucky you are, you can listen and connect.
Lose sight of that and in one breath, one single moment, you become the asshole in the conversation.
Today I am lucky for the friends around me, for the earth and sand I walk on, and for the ocean I draw deep healing from. I am lucky to have access to community, to food, to new ideas and skills, and to resources immeasurable. I went to bed feeling safe, and I walked down the street yesterday feeling safe. This body, this skin, this spirit, this life – all are a privilege. I am so unbelievably lucky.
Hello privilege.
Be quiet for pain.
Sit still long enough to connect with your own pain today.
It’s a privilege to have time to sit with your pain and the ability to share it.
Time to grieve and to heal.
Making time within yourself to hold space for the pain of others.
Not everyone is so fortunate.
When you hold hands with your own pain, you can sit and hold hands with others in pain.
When you move while aware of your own grieving, you can recognize grieving and pain – not evil – behind the anger, rage, and fear you encounter.
Lose sight of that and in one breath, one single moment, you become the asshole in the conversation.
Today I cry for Amal, my friend helping and moving severely wounded children, and bodies, daily in Gaza.
Today I cry for the family of my neighbor who died of cancer this weekend.
Today I cry for the family of Michael Brown, burying their son. I cry for the pain I hear in the voices of black parents, for the systemic racism that continues to plague my country, and the violence and deaths that arise because so many white people can’t see it, let alone have extended conversations about it.
Today I cry for the children of Robin Williams, burying their father. I cry for the stigma around depression and mental illnesses that results in people suffering and dying alone instead of getting help.
Today I cry for my exhausted father, finally admitting that caretaking for my mom, who has Alzheimer’s disease, is too much for him. Cry for the man who is too tired to even pick up the phone to get help.
Today I cry because members of my family—adults I have always looked up to—have turned on each other over the last wishes of my beloved grandparents. That the people who taught me to love can also be filled with hate.
Today I cry about my own helplessness and failures. My failure to share how amazing my Palestinian friends and my Jewish friends are, to talk about how kind and loving my protestor friends and my police officer friends are. My failure to explain how amazing I think each of my family members are to each other, despite our many flaws.
Today, like all days, I cry for the distance between us.
I cry for the loss of connection.
I cry for life extinguished, pointlessly, and far too soon.
I cry for trying hard, when it really matters, and for failing.
For the frustration of showing up with tiny hands to shovel a gigantic mountain of crap.
Hello pain.
Be quiet for joy and humor.
Reflect and notice the joy and humor sent your way today.
It’s a privilege to feel joy, to have a sense of humor.
Not everyone is so fortunate.
Every time you laugh an entire universe of new possibilities opens up.
When joy brings you to tears, a renewed you springs forth, ready for action.
You can bring laughter and joy to others – even these total assholes, right now – if you are in touch with your humor, your joy.
Lose sight of that and in one breath, one single moment, you become the asshole in the conversation.
Today I got to sleep late.
Today is warm and sunny.
Today I get to write something new.
Today a friend made me laugh out loud.
Today I heard my mom and dad laugh together on the phone.
Today I thought about visiting my amazing sister.
Today my dog and cat woke me up by purring in my face (my dog purrs too, she modulates her growl to mimic the cats because she thinks purring is so cool, which it is).
Today my friends are laying 2.9 miles of hopscotch path around our Seattle neighborhood for a gigantic play event this weekend, an annual neighborhood event that I had a hand in starting.
Today I’m having dinner and seeing a movie with women friends.
Today my husband comes home, and he’s bringing an old friend with him.
Tomorrow we will attempt to catch and eat some crab in his honor.
Hello joy.
How to be heard by a total asshole…
If you are unable to see how lucky you are.
If your pain is not recognized and acknowledged.
If you cannot feel or even remember joy today.
If you have no time or energy for reflection.
Then you are the asshole in the conversation.
From my perspective, there is nothing else that you possibly could be.
So be the asshole. Bring it. (although for God’s sake put any weapons down first)
And then listen to yourself.
Be quiet and listen to yourself and hear your perspective, really hear it, patiently, as if you were listening to your closest friend.
Only an asshole would begrudge you this moment, when you are so far down that you could not possibly be anything else but a total asshole right now.
Hello asshole. Hello.
“Today I cry because members of my family—adults I have always looked up to—have turned on each other over the last wishes of my beloved grandparents”. Only a few turned. 🙁
I’m sorry you have to hurt so much. I am glad that you can write it down and get it off your chest. Love you.
Love you too. 🙂
Thank you for such wonderful words to remember. My gratitude is endless today because of you.
Thank you Sue.
I;m grateful today that I get to read and reflect on your words and thoughts via your fantastic sister. Thank you, Lori.
Thanks Donna!