Hope and Wonder

I just started re-reading Carter Beats the Devil, which has been my favorite book for 17 years. (I hate doing math like that.) It's my favorite largely because of these two quotes, which ring a bell deep inside me every time I read them:

"Charles was unsure of what to do next -- he wanted more badly than ever to be taken over by genuine wonder."

and

"What I mean is, the world is an awful place, isn't it? Magic makes it less awful for a moment or two. ...If I can shake the world off a man's shoulders, I feel better."

I haven't written here in a while, for a lot of reasons, but I've been thinking about writing a Hope and Wonder post for almost as long. Hope and Wonder are the two things at the core of my being that sustain me when things are at their worst. That thing people have called strength? Confidence? Bravery? Nope. It's all Hope and Wonder. It's why I love the books and movies and sculptures that I do. Why some nights I just look up at the sky and marvel at the stars. (As Van Gogh put it: "For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.")

A few months ago, I was telling my writing partner about an experience I'd had back in May. My friend Mary asked me if I wanted to go to see Robert Moody's last show as director of the Portland Symphony Orchestra, and I said I would. It was a good show and then there was a Q&A with him afterward. Toward the end, he was talking about how he'd thought he'd have two more shows, but then his dad died and so he had to miss the second-to-last one. And then he started talking about connection. It seemed interesting to me that all that was happening on the anniversary of my dad's death. In the car on the way home, I was listening to a mix of Icelandic bands and Agent Fresco's "Eyes of a Cloudcatcher" came on -- the lead singer, Arnor Dan, wrote it about his dad dying of cancer. I was by the farm where I pick up my CSA and the stars and moon were so bright and clear in the sky, and I just started crying -- not out of sadness or even catharsis, but just being moved by feeling that connectedness that Robert Moody had talked about. So, I went home and I wrote a little note to him saying all of that and that I was grateful to have had that experience and sent it to him c/o the PSO.

Em's response included this passage that I thought was so beautiful, I made a painting of it and sent it to her:

But. There's the moon, isn't there? And sometimes it's clear and bright and we're all made of the same molecules, so really, even when I feel awful, I'm the moon staring at the moon. I'm bright and clear. If just for a moment.

I am the moon. For Emily.

And there it is again, those bells that ring so deep inside. THAT is why I GISH.

This is my fourth year GISHing. This year, I took the week off. I'm not sure I accomplished more than I have in the years when I could only take a day off during the week, but I think being on vacation this week allowed me an opportunity to reflect more during the hunt.

I got to appreciate spending time with friends -- caroling on a beach in stupidly hot weather, getting full of glitter while jumping on a trampoline, getting awakened in the dark of morning to "Eye of the Tiger" and SO.MANY.GIGGLES, handing out water in even MORE stupidly hot weather, having a giggle fest with a large group of skater friends, meeting a former co-worker at the local library to teach her adorable kids about cost-benefit analysis, setting aside my GISH-work to sit on the floor and play with my friends' kids (and that moment when her daughter crawled into my lap and asked me to read to her!). And there were GISH-adjacent things, too: Sending an email to a friend of a friend, thanking him for doing his thankless job (and the nice reply I received); writing notes to tell people I love them and am thinking of them, and sending them off with fun stamps. The whole time, I couldn't help feeling so grateful that I know so many good, kind people who are willing to be silly with me. 

And that brings me to the part where the world is an awful place. It is. And we keep making the same mistakes over and over. There are *children* in concentration camps in the United States right now. The Rohingya people are being decimated this very moment. And those are just two of the starkest examples.

During a 100-day period in 1994, between 500,000 and a million Rwandans were murdered. One survivor (who took in six orphans from the genocide) inspired a fundraising effort for this year's GISH. In four days, my friends and family raised $1,000. THAT is magic. The world is still an awful place, but that kind of magic makes me feel better. It makes me hope that we can all choose to be better, to do better.

I have been running around all week, getting projects done around the house, completing GISH tasks, getting awakened at 4:30 in the morning.... I'm tired and achy and not at my best to return to work on Monday. So, I've scheduled a day of self-care tomorrow. As I was thinking about it, I thought "Self-Care Sunday" should be a thing. Maybe I'll make it a thing from now on. (It seems like a brilliant idea, given how crazy things are at work these days and the need for some extra fortification before any work week.)

So, here's my takeaway from this year's GISH: Just be as kind as you can be, to as many as you can be, including yourself. You'll be amazed at what it makes you feel. (Hope. And wonder.)