Come with me into the woods where spring is advancing, as it does, no matter what,
not being singular or particular, but one of the forever gifts, and certainly visible.

Mary Oliver

I love the notion of forever gifts in this first week of spring. Like the morning and tides. Like the color green and the quiet when snow falls. Like a cat’s purr and Chanel #5. Yes. They are each on a list of constants and visible to me. We all have our list of forever gifts. Our lists of the constant and visible. Gifts that see us through the falling apart and back together. Gifts that see us through births and deaths. Gifts that stretch infinity with their perfection. Gifts made of imagination, desire, and source.

Today, I will name my forever gifts. Holding each thought, I will allow it to move through me and guide my feet and hands. My forever gifts will surround my work in meaning and reverence. My forever gifts will embrace darkness and light and remind me to breathe through it all. My forever gifts will connect the Holy — during this holiest of times, for many — with my words and actions. 

What I Keep Learning

The Kindness of Strangers

I have always appreciated the kindness of strangers. Early in my blogging days, I wrote about having dinner with strangers. I would often eat alone at restaurant bars and strike up conversations. I would connect with the most fascinating, random, and anonymously open people. There are no strangers in a world where we are all simultaneously isolated, distracted, longing, and connected. We breathe the same air. We experience suffering and joy. We need to be seen and loved.

This week, amidst writing, pitching, and building — an exhausting exercise in silence, fear, and doubt — I spoke with a kind stranger. After four attempts to connect, I talked to a grant officer at a foundation whose work I deeply admire. He did not have to take the time to speak with me — to get to know a little about me and my work. We talked for about a half hour about how our interests intersect. We discussed the foundation’s mission, the structure of its granting process, particular programs, and how I might become involved. Toward the end of our conversation, he asked if I had any questions. I asked how I might support his work, and he replied, “That is a beautiful question.” He said to keep doing what I am doing to contribute to creating loving spaces in this world. That gentle affirmation reminded me that our words matter. Listening matters. Connecting matters. Kindness matters. He did not offer me a job. He did not make any promises. He affirmed my journey.

Artificial Intimacy

I listened to Brené Brown’s Unlocking Us podcast episode this week — a conversation with Esther Perel exploring (what she calls) “artificial intimacy.” Brown framed the discussion in the context of living life beyond scale. Specifically — my take on Brown’s frame is that technology, in all its manifestations, creates the desire and capacity for us to live outside of real human connection. In describing artificial intimacy, Perel goes so far as to suggest that she has thousands of friends but no one to watch her cat. The breadth and speed of technology create the conditions for artificial intimacy in which we substitute real human connection with something else — likes on a post, views on a video, shares of an image, and followers on a page. Brown and Perel suggest intentionally seeking real human connection, creating opportunities to gather with others and live through the messiness of face-to-face interaction to maintain or regain our connection to one another as a response to artificial intimacy.

Thinking about artificial intimacy is important right now for many reasons. Much is said and written about how divided we are as a world. What we pay attention to. What we ignore. The conversations we have. The conversations we silence. The truths we hold. The truths we deny. Brown and Perel assert artificial intimacy creates binary understanding. Artificial intimacy allows the muscles of understanding to atrophy. We never learn — or forget — how to love one another, imagine big ideas like peace and justice, or create and not destroy. 

Little Green

Joni Mitchell sings, “Just a little green/ Like the color when the spring is born.” Spring is about a little green. A little green of hope. A little green of change. A little green of growth. A little green of possibility. A little green of as if. A little green of I am. A little green of not yet. A little green of reverence. A little green of grace. A little green of music.

Little green light is different light. Little green time is different time. Little green air is different air. Little green wisdom is different wisdom. Little green breath is different breath. 

We learn from little green. We learn about life’s impermanence. We learn about the strength of scar tissue. We learn that life is beautiful and hard. We learn that seasons move in perfect time.

Paying Attention

1. Joni Mitchell’s “Little Green” from Blue — one of my favorite albums.
2. Jasmin Paris Finishes Barcley Marathons — Inspiration.
3. Esther Perel on New AI — Artificial Intimacy — Brené Brown’s Unlocking Us podcast.
4. Atlanta Science Festival — Where I heard the sound of joy this week.
5. Prayer of St. Francis, Sarah McLachan — A prayer for Holy Week.