I have mild hoarding tendencies—nothing serious, but sometimes I find it difficult to discard items for which there may be some future use. My biggest problem is paper—articles I’ve saved for future reference, notes and handouts from conferences, and scraps on which I’ve scribbled brilliant, budding ideas that I hope will grow into mature, wise, and literate prose. One of my goals during this period of enforced isolation is to tackle the piles and files and miles of paper. I try not to be overwhelmed by the magnitude of the task, but to devote a certain amount of time each day to purging, sorting, and deciding what stays (and where!) and what goes.
“The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.” (Dr. Seuss)
While much of the country suffered through the bitterest winter ever, we in the Seattle area watched wide-eyed, sympathetic, and thankful for our own temperate winter. By our household’s unscientific analysis—the frequency of having to thaw the water in the birdbath or replace frozen hummingbird water—it was a mild winter, indeed.
But early February brought us both humility and snow—lots of snow. More snow than most of us have ever seen in these parts. For an area as hilly as this, even an inch or two of snow can wreak havoc. And when it’s 18-24 inches, with brief thaws that then refreeze to create sheer ice slides, all but the most essential services come to a standstill. Kids have missed a week or more of school. To compound the problem, the fact that snow is such a rarity means we have limited snow removal equipment and it concentrates on the main roads and arterials, leaving the side streets and remoter areas to fend for themselves. Continue reading →
“A musician must make music, an artist must paint, a poet must write, if he is to be ultimately at peace with himself. What a man can be, he must be.” (Abraham Maslow)
I have collected quotations for many years—inspirational quotes, humorous ones, profound, wise, and enigmatic ones. Hundreds of them are tacked onto cork board that lines one wall of my home office. Many are yellowed with age or so faded that I can barely read them. I often find myself standing in front of this assemblage and reacquainting myself with wise thinkers and thoughts, with ahas that speak directly to the heart of an attentive life. It’s always a pleasure to find a new quote and squeeze it onto the wall. There will be no Marie Kondo-ing of this space.
One quote that found me a couple of years ago, and was also immediately given both wall space and a spot on my writing desk, is by Sean Thomas Dougherty:
“Right now, there is someone out there with a wound in the exact shape of your words.”
“Do not be dismayed by the brokenness of the world. All things break. And all things can be mended. Not with time, as they say, but with intention. So go. Love intentionally, extravagantly, unconditionally. The broken world waits in darkness for the light that is you.” (L.R. Knost)
Today, September 25, is the official publication date for my book, A Year of Living Kindly. I wouldn’t be writing those words if it weren’t for you. Really. And I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. And offer you cake.
When I started this blog in January 2015, my intention was to explore kindness in both scholarly and experiential ways, and—I hoped—become kinder as a result. I chose to blog, thinking it would keep me accountable. After all, if I had an audience for my intentions, it would be both noticeable and embarrassing if I abandoned my “year of living kindly” around the ides of March.
“I cannot live without books.” (Thomas Jefferson to John Adams)
Many years ago, a friend gave me a paperweight with that Jefferson quote inscribed on it. It has sat on my desk for more than two decades. I suppose it is a bit of exaggeration to say one cannot live without books. Maslow’s hierarchy did not lump books with food, water, oxygen, or shelter. Had they been mentioned at all, books might have been relegated to the levels where belonging or self-actualization reside.
Less poetic, but perhaps more precise would be to say I cannot imagine a life without books.