jillsalahub

1. Morning walks. I don’t like to think about what my life would be like right now without Ringo or some other dog that needed to be walked first thing every morning. I’m pretty sure there are some days it would be almost impossible to get out of bed. But I do have him and those walks are medicine. The naps we take together on the couch later are a close second, but also depend on him being there.

2. Aimee Mann. I’ve loved her since high school, since ‘Til Tuesday, and continue to adore her. Luckily, Eric likes her too, so any time she comes to Colorado, I know he’ll go see her with me. I think we’ve seen her about 6 or 7 times now, maybe more? This week we saw her one night in Boulder and the next night in Fort Collins where we also had the company of some friends. Her opener was also really good, really funny, so not what I expected when he stepped on stage. Both shows were a good reminder that music can be medicine and as hard as it was to be up and out late two weeknights in a row, it was so worth it.

3. Practice. There was a puppy in yoga again this week. My Friday morning writing sangha is one of the things keeping me soft and sane, more than usual, along with my morning meditation practice.

4. Self-care, as in taking care of myself. I was on a roll for a bit but taking a shower was harder this week, (one of the ways my depression shows itself). I was able to keep moving, resting, feeding, and hydrating my body in most of the other ways and was happy for that. That + practice + reading/listening to podcasts/watching TV + good friends + my tiny family are what keep me going, keep me from giving up.

5. My tiny family, small house, little life. A home filled with laughter and love and some plants and lots of books and a couple of dogs was all I ever wanted. Now that I have it, I never want to be without it.

Bonus joy: making art with Janice, roasted vegetables, good TV (I watched the limited series Breath of Fire on HBO this week and it was really good), listening to podcasts, keeping the house cool enough I can still wear a hoodie and socks and cuddle up under a blanket (Eric turns it back up as soon as he gets home), videos from The Dodo, the Merlin app which helped me identify a flock of tiny bushtits this week, soft bread, toast, soup, the sound of the owls in the dark of early morning, seeing one of my favorite yoga teachers out “in the wild,” Bluetooth speakers, texting with Chloe’ and Chris, gummies, clean sheets, my weighted blanket, down pillows and blankets and coats, wool hats and sweaters and socks, ink refills, blank pages and a good pen, that one shade of blue, walking through piles of golden leaves, glue stick and scissors, indoor plumbing, electric cars, other people’s kids and dogs and gardens, kindness, grocery shopping, my infrared heating pad, libraries and librarians and books, poetry and poets, reading in bed at night while Eric and Ringo sleep.

1. Truth: I’m in shock, still. It’s not that I am surprised by the outcome of the presidential election. It’s not that kind of shock. What I feel is the kind you experience after a trauma, something akin to being in a car wreck or getting a cancer diagnosis. It feels a lot like the beginning of COVID, in those initial days of the quarantine when everything first shut down and we didn’t really know what was going to happen, how many we were going to lose, when or how it might end — if ever. I feel that same terror of those early days, that same urge to stock up on toilet paper and stay far away from people. At times I feel helpless, hopeless. In these moments, it’s extremely difficult to keep going, to not shut down and give up.

2. Truth: I’m disappointed in the process, in people. Just one personal example: our across the street neighbors have rented here for about six years with their two kids and four dogs, (renting because even though they both work, they can’t afford to purchase a house), and have up to recently we’ve considered them really good neighbors. The wife and I have each other’s numbers and text from time to time. She tells her kids, one in junior high and one in high school, that if they are home and their dad is gone and she’s at work (she’s a caregiver at an assisted living facility) and anything happens, if they need help or a safe place, to come to our house. This past summer when we went to Oregon, we hired their son to mow our lawn (we knew he’d do a good job because his dad keeps their yard so nice), even loaned them a key to the house just in case. When we got back, along with the money we’d promised we brought some cool fossils we’d found for him on the beach and gave his parents a gift certificate for groceries because we knew they’d helped take care of things, had kept an eye on our house for us while we were away. On the morning after the election, I looked across the street at their house, and this is what I saw.

When they first moved in, we had a yard sign up that I got the first time DT got elected, so our beliefs and values are no secret to them. That sign got worn down by the sun and weather and essentially crumbled in my hands one day when I went to adjust it. I hadn’t been in a big hurry to replace it. After much thought about how to respond to what felt like a very personal message, considering this was the view out my front window, I bought a new flag — and made sure it is in clear sight of the neighbors.

3. Truth: The only way forward is to take care of ourselves and each other. A prophecy from Hopi Elders in June 2000 offers this call to action:

Where are you living?
What are you doing?
What are your relationships?
Are you in right relation?
Where is your water?

Know your garden.
It is time to speak your truth.
Create your community.
Be good to each other.
And do not look outside yourself for your leader.

…

The time of the lone wolf is over. Gather yourselves! Banish the word “struggle” from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.

We are the ones we’ve been waiting for.

Howard Zinn also offers advice on how to do this in his response to the question, “You ask how I manage to stay involved and remain seemingly happy and adjusted to this awful world where the efforts of caring people pale in comparison to those who have power?”

One (or more) wish(es): May we stay tender and strong. May we maintain our sense of humor and allow for joy. May we keep our hearts open. May we act from love. May we protect those in need of help from whatever harm comes their way. May we continue to love our neighbors, no matter how hard they make it. May we maintain our sanity in the face of madness, and offer our wisdom and compassion to a world that needs more of both. May we ease suffering — in ourselves and in the world. May we never ever give up.