Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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an army of love & we will survive

A quick word of encouragement before we all pursue our own strange and unusual Pandemic style New year’s Eve celebrations.

This week on the treadmill I rewatched Searching For Bobby Fischer, and a scene near the end of the movie reminded me of something Jessica said this summer.

The scene was when the little boy was nearing this climactic championship chess game and nervousness had overtaken him. He was no longer playing for the love of the game (a whole other excellent topic), and he was terrified of losing to the new prodigy on the block, a very real possibility. Slowly, the camera showed us that not only had his Mom and Dad found their common ground and rallied to support him together; but also his speed chess friend from Central Park (presumably a bad iunfluence) and his more disciplined, traditional teacher (highly competitive and previously sworn off of attending touranemnts) had come together. All of them were there cheering for him, supporting him, hanging on every move, and fascinated by his magic. But the best part was that they all clearly, finally, loved him regardless of both the outcome and his methods; and all of their personalities assembled and combined to become this formidable wall of Love.

An Army of Love, is what Jessica called it back in June.

Two or three days after her Dad died, observing the constant and drenching tidal wave of support she and Jocelyn were receiving from loved ones from whom they had previously been alienated for so many long years, she said that she suddenly saw everyone as an Army of Love surrounding her and her sister. I soaked that up and told her gently that we have always been here, all along.

I believe firmly that we are, each of us, buffered and strengthened by an Army of Love; maybe we just need to look around and see it. I believe in supernatural forces that protect us, inspire us, make us better. We can survive anything. We can draw on the various strengths and gifts of the Army of Love dedicated to our well being. We can also live in ways that make us worthy of being in someone else’s Army of Love, for their survival and well being. We are made for community, and we all thrive in it.

Okay, that’s it for today. Thank you from deep in my heart for reading here all year long, friends. Thank you for sharing your stories and listening to mine, for being such strong, shimmering conduits for Love. I wish you all the very best of the coming new year. You will survive anything.

“Infect em with love”
XOXOXO

I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together…

Did the title of this blog post make you sing I Am the Walrus? Good. Good, good, very good. I love that about you.

Dulcie is annoyed at no longer being the darling of the farm. Seraphine is fussing with Romulus, who is easily cowed down by her. Meh is bright and chipper, oblivious to the conflict.

Let’s talk about loneliness and connectivity.

My Mom asked me recently how I got so good at being alone. It’s a new problem for many people, this coping with the discomforts of extreme, open-ended social distance, and I could feel the weight of her question.

My first response, internally, was to begin outlining the thinking habits and reframing disciplines I have learned over the years, all the tricks and time management strategies that have helped me feel more productive, more fulfilled, less alone in the short term .

Blah blah blah

But as I brainstormed my overly long answer to her really sweet and important question, it slowly dawned on me that the answer to how do I get better at being alone is nothing close to how do I further insulate myself so that I feel less alone (because that’s all most such efforts are, at the end of the day, fillers and illusions). Rather, I think, the answer is to realize that we are not that alone after all.

I’m about to tell my sweet mom this, and though she isn’t much older than me, she is is still my elder and she is certainly wiser. I expect her to smile and say thank you sweetie, but maybe inside she will cringe, thinking her firstborn has completely discounted how alone so many people are feeling right now.

So let me share this much first: I have felt alone too, many times, often for long stretches of time, never knowing when some terrifying storms would end. I have felt alone in my unique schedule, way back when I was stay-at-home-hobby-farmer-mom alienated from her young daughters, especially back before we had Klaus and when my husband traveled a lot. I have felt alone in the midst of private, complex grief scenarios and in weird life circumstances and in hobbies and failed career efforts and religion quandries and all kinds of stuff.

I am not alone in feeling alone, and neither are you.

Without a doubt, pandemic has ushered in a whole new level of loneliness for many of us, even if we are mostly healthy, but especially if we are struggling with the virus (or fear of it) or depression or limited finances, or social conflict, or other very real stressors. Because loneliness is not just a question of proximity to other warm bodies; it’s about connection.

Even introverts, who recharge with regular bouts of solitude, still need to see and connect with people occassionally.

My assertion that we are not as alone as we think is more than a hopeful platitude. Connections are everywhere, we just have to see them. Following are a few links to things that have helped me so much. I hope some of it helps you too!

ONE… Read these two books:
The Book of Joy is full to bursting with not just encouragement, but well defined explanations for human behavior and lots of luscious mind exercises and meditations for everyone, regardless of your religion. Archbiship Tutu’s anecdotes about UBUNTU were life changing for me. Me= We. I am a person through other people. Everybody, Always by Bob Goff is a shorter, softer read but just as nourishing, a beautiful reminder of the many ways we can stay connected to people through Love.

TWO… Listen to this podcast:
The Anthropocene Review, an episode that aired on May 25 of this year, titled You’ll Never Walk Alone. Jessica’s boyfriend Alex recommended this to me several months ago, and while I have listened to and enjoyed other episodes by this production, for some reason I let this particular episode sit in my downloads, unplayed, until today. It turned out to be the perfect moment to receive the beautiful, intricate message. If you can give 15 or 20 minutes to one podcast soon, make it this one. We are not alone. Not in the world, not in our failures and short lives, not even in grief, no matter how it feels from time to time. We can keep walking, no matter the cirumstances.

THREE… Watch this Netflix special (just the first episode):
I started this docuseries on the treadmill a few days ago and was hooked. The first episode about Doc Rivers, NBA coach, had me wishing I was seated with a notebook handy, it was so filled with good stuff. He shared a pivotal moment in his coaching years with the Boston Celtics, when a stranger introduced him to the concept of UBUNTU (same as above, with Archbiuship Tutu). She told him to research it for himself, to learn it, and he did. He said that she was right, that it’s not a word but a way of life, and it transformed his basketball team. 35 minutes, friends. Give yourself this gift.

also a family ohoto, before llamas, circa olan mills era

If you are feeling lonely or disconnected, please reach out to people. Please find ways to remind yourself that you are woven into the fabic of community, and you can feel safe recognizing and opening up to a variety of connections. They don’t have to be perfect relationships to be deeply, beautifully nourishing. In fact, the weirder the connections, maybe, the better?

Ha. I don’t know.

But I do know that we are designed, programmed, and forever meant to be in flow with others, not alone, not independent. We affect each other whether we like it or not. We feed and are fed by others. We are bouyed and cushioned and lifted up and then caught, safe and sound, by actual people and their human efforts. You are a person who is needed by some other person, by many people in fact. And your needs will be met in large part by other people just like you, probably even people who don’t realize they are meant to help you. Back and forth, inward and outward, forever and ever.

Connectivity.

Okay. I am closing for today. Much to say soon about those aforementioned thinking habits and disciplines, ha!

I love you Mom.
Coo Coo Ca Choo
XOXOXOXO

in a continuum, where does the story begin?

“The good news is that the heat seems to be exhausting our five million grasshoppers. Wait, let me back up…”

I was around nine years old, barefoot and in the middle branches of Mom’s mulberry tree, right there on the west edge of the house against our neighbors’ driveway. My hands were stained black with the wonderful inky juice, my skin brown from summertime and my hair probably tangled in the back. I was worried that something deep and important was wrong with me because I could never figure out the correct beginning of any story. I was fundamentally flawed, though I didn’t know the word fundamental yet.

I marveled at how people could just dive in and tell any story fluidly, discerning with confidence how to begin the tale and what details to include. To me, to my nonstop thoughts and conveyor belt lines of questioning, every beginning was really just the middle or end of something else, everything was very literally connected. Nothing, not even in fiction books, had a believable and well formed boundary.

It’s why I still have trouble telling stories. I never know where to start. What history can be excluded, can just be trimmed away as if it didn’t happen, as if it doesn’t matter any more.

What details matter not just to me, but also to the listener or reader? What details would be missed, if I attempted some economy? What precious context supplies the understanding that makes all the difference?

Nothing happens in a vacuum, and no man is an island. We all affect each other, and we are all affected by each other. That’s not a flaw; it’s part of our wonderful design.

As for how you tell me stories, tell me everything. Leave nothing out. I want to hear it all, even if it barely seems relevant. I want to understand the background stories, the moods and flavors, the weird implications, the spider webs of complicated stories that led up this exact moment.

The grasshoppers are numerous, but they are slowing under the weight of Oklahoma summertime. And the tomatoes are thriving. Tonight we ate a pretty delicious galette made with a few of those tomatoes plus fresh garden basil and a parmesean-cornmeal crust.

And we sat with and loved on our friends whose story is changing. Not suddenly, and not in a vacuum. I do not grasp where it begins, really, and maybe they don’t either. Tonight, though, we have this part of it, of this one part of a big and complicated story that is far from over. This moment in a continuum, this chance to do the next right thing.

I very much wish that someone would have told me, at nine, barefoot in that mulberry tree, that it’s ok to not know where a story begins. No one knows. We just get to dive in right where we are and pour ourselves out lavishly.

“You never know how hard it will be.
You never know when it will end.
You can’t control it.
You can only adjust. And, he added,
No one gets through it on their own.“
~Angel, Born to Run, Christopher McDougall