Don't postpone joy

on returning to love

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A song I’m loving:

Movement, 35mm film

I didn’t prepare a letter this week, or work on one ahead of time. I gathered the links you’ll find at the end and picked out the photo, the rest of my draft space blank until now, 6:56am. This month has been, and will continue to be, very full. But instead of skipping altogether, I want to practice practicing and share what came up for me after my husband gave me a gift yesterday. I spent the morning in San Francisco (more on that in the coming weeks) and came home to this sweet button he found at an estate sale, from what I would guess is the 70’s, that brought tears to my eyes. “I immediately knew I had to get it for you,” he said.

Don’t Postpone Joy.

Don’t postpone joy. Don’t postpone joy. Don’t postpone joy. This instruction, this advice, this direction… it is one I have long needed and one I want to keep so close lately. Maybe I’ll wear it over my heart. I look at the news and see a parent reunited with their beloved child while another parent grieves their dead child. I drive downtown and see numerous folks without homes along the way. I reckon with the continued shock and heartbreak of severed relationships, of the growing warmth of this planet, of unnecessary cruelty, of trans beloveds being attacked in legislature and in closed hearts, of the illusion of separation seeming to grow and grow and grow. There are so many things happening every day that feel so far from the essence of joy.

When I notice hope, joy, and love feeling harder to access, I turn toward my teachers. I turn toward those who guide me back, who lead the way, who have, for years and years, reminded me of my own internal compass and of who I want to be in this world.

I’m re-reading Active Hope by Joanna Macy and in it, she says, “If the world is to be healed through human efforts, I am convinced it will be by ordinary people, people whose love for this life is even greater than their fear.” Every great teacher I turn to for wisdom, for guidance, for where to go and what to do, always seems to return to hope. To joy. To love. Even in the midst of endless aches.

Mariame Kaba says Hope is a discipline.
adrienne maree brown says Perhaps humans’ core function is love.
James Baldwin says If love will not swing wide the gates, no other power will or can.
bell hooks says Only love can heal the wounds of the past.
Thich Nhat Hanh says The more you understand, the more you love.
Mother Teresa says The problem with the world is that we draw our family circle too small.
Prentis Hemphill says It is only through love that we are ever really changed.
Robin Wall Kimmerer says Even a wounded world is feeding us.
Carl Rogers says People are just as wonderful as sunsets if you let them be.
Ram Dass says We are all walking each other home.
Pema Chodron says Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.
Mary Oliver says My work is loving this world.

Some of my loves, together

I am asking myself, how can I return to love, even in this grief and anger? Even in this heartbreak, this deep ache? How can I remember the way I want to be in this world, the energy I want to see more of? How can I stay connected to the expanse of my own heart, to my capacity to stay with the hurt of others instead of rejecting it, to my willingness to witness the full breadth of humanity that each of us, every last human, is made of? How can I turn toward love when it feels easier to turn toward judgment or criticism? How can I invite in connection, rather than run from it? How can I invite in joy more fully when it arrives, when it’s already here? How can joy help me remember how I want to tend to my aches, to the aches of this world?

I will touch anger and hot, hot rage while remembering love. I will say things I don’t mean and feel things I wish I didn’t feel. I will project and judge and criticize before I remember loving is just so much more effective. I will practice hope and joy and love imperfectly because imperfect is the only option. I will get activated by what others say. I will forget how I want to be in this world many times, no matter how much I practice. I will witness others forgetting again and again, this forgetfulness being one of the reasons we find ourselves in such a polarizing and fear-filled society, I believe.

Yet I remain committed to practicing. To remembering, no matter how many times I need to circle back or be pointed toward the path again. I remain committed to planting hope and joy and love in the places pain grows. I remain committed to unlearning the individualistic, scarcity-filled narratives I was fed. I remain committed to feeling it all as a way of accessing true connection. I remain committed to seeing others through the eyes of love, even when I feel my heart trying to close the curtains on their humanity. I remain committed amid my mistakes and missteps. I remain committed to remembering what my teachers show me, what they point me toward, what they remind me of. Don’t postpone joy. Stay close to hope. Love is the only way.

As always, thank you for being here.

△ Beyond moved by this podcast series with the beloved Joanna Macy

△ Reading Prentis Hemphill’s new book and it’s, as expected, spectacular

△ Shira’s words, always

△ “Now I must let it change me”

△ A potent business witchery coven offering from Rachael Maddox

△ Looks inspired by my favorite movie growing up (tied with Now and Then)

△ The heartache of stunning books getting banned

△ The radical queer photography of Joan E. Biren

△ A special morning in the SF Botanical Garden that I’m sure I’ll have more words for soon. For now, these —

A whole field of beauty, just existing

With care,
Lisa