The migrating birds are out in force today, great clouds of winged bodies perched high in the basswoods, using their voices to sing into the gray morning. The sound is nearly deafening, coating the land and sky with hopeful expectation and exuberance. They remind me that despite its gray and grieving state, a beauty lingers in the world–a beauty that remains despite the mourning, the violence, the calls for ceasefire that go unheeded, the wars that seem to seep into one another in a never ending quest to profit from suffering, the everyday ways people bring one another down, the everyday ways we beat ourselves up. A beauty that lingers despite the constant quest for advancement or bettering or optimization1.
To generalize, we could say that not much feels good right now, especially if you look at the news for more than five minutes. That it feels like the world is searching for something–something that will fill that aching pit of whatever it is that’s missing.
Thinking about this idea of naming the ache, or figuring out what might soothe it, reminded me of a letter I wrote once, years ago, to someone dear to me who was struggling. I’m not going to share the original letter, but I am going to share the version of it that I eventually adapted to speak to a broader collective. Parts of it found their way into the preface of Collisions of Earth and Sky, and parts of it I need to re-read myself on the harder days. As the birds sing their migration chorus, I’ll share it with you, too, today.
There are many people that I have known, and many that I still know, who are searching for something – that thing that is going to make them happy, that idea that will tip the scales in the direction of abundance, that person who makes them feel like they matter. I have been this person, too, though over the past several years I’ve been able to come to a place inside myself that allows me to see more clearly that I once did. Most of the time, anyway. Not always. What follows is a letter written to anyone and all of us – it’s for you, for me, for your friend, for your neighbor, for your child, for your spouse, for your dental hygienist, for your cashier, for your bank teller – it’s for those of us who have found ourselves seeking and wondering if this is all there is.
This is a letter to you – you who are struggling to find the good in life, you who are lost in despair, you who forgot how to practice self compassion. You know who you are. Maybe you are reading these words through tears, or maybe you are putting on a strong face to get through the days. Maybe you are floating, unsure. Maybe you are newly single. Maybe you are grappling with the unexpected loss of someone dear to you. Maybe you left something behind. Maybe you are surrounded by people who love you but you can’t seem to like yourself enough to let their love in fully. Maybe you are feeling small in the wilds of the world and can’t find a place to call your own. Maybe you are unsure of your life’s purpose. Maybe you feel like you will never measure up. Maybe you feel stuck in a system that’s not set up to support you. Maybe you are lonely. Maybe life has dealt you a hand that even the best poker face can’t deny in its hardship.
I don’t know what’s happening in that mind of yours, in your heart, deep in your soul. Only you, or maybe God, whatever your version of God is, can understand the depth of what is happening, or not happening, inside you. What I do know is that many of us, maybe you, too, are searching for something – even if you don’t always know exactly what you seek.
I hope that you find whatever it is – and though I wish the search could be done painlessly, in my bones I know that pain often can’t be avoided. Struggle punctuates so much of the human experience, no matter what era you’re alive within. Change can feel impossible after years of wanting things to be different. In a world with a dominant culture that holds very specific and often unattainable ways of being as ideal – especially when it comes to beauty and wealth – it can be easy to slip into the “I’m not enough’s” or the “I’ll be better when’s”. It’s tough to value yourself as you are right now in today's media influenced environment, but it can be done. You can acknowledge your value, even if it doesn’t feel true at first. Doing so doesn’t mean you have to suddenly love your body or experience deep gratitude for what you already have—rather, it’s a simple invitation to see your worth. You are a valuable, complete, imperfect human (as we all are) – no matter what the scale says, no matter the state of your bank account, no matter how many responsibilities you take on, no matter what country you live in or religion you claim. You are enough. Period.
I hope the rhythms of this human life have a chance to heal what needs to be healed and help you see that you are whole already.
Use your strengths as you seek–because, yes, you do have strengths: Your appreciation of music, your ability to talk to anyone and make them feel welcome, the way you study things before taking action, your knack for remembering where the keys are, your soft-spoken nature, your commitment to a cause, your determination, your modesty, your humility, your enthusiasm, your outspoken-ness, the way you lead, how you discern who is right for you to follow, your creativity, your analytical mind, your compassion, the way you always notice the sunset. I could go on. Use your authentic way of being to live in the world in a way that matters to you. It matters to me, too. And to others.
Remember that you can find that place of self worth – so often a big part of what we’re all seeking – within yourself anywhere. You can seek from any location, from any point on the globe, from any apartment, from any taxi cab, from any gully, and from any mountaintop. That’s the hopeful part of all of this – perhaps it’s not something that you can see right now. I know that. And that’s okay, I wouldn’t expect you to, especially if you are deep in a really hard thing. (I won’t pretend to have wise counsel on how to do this while living in conditions that are unsafe–I’m writing this from a house in the woods, far from open conflict.) In the times that you are feeling alone or struggling, or when your purpose or path is unclear, remember that your home is the love that lives deep within, and you can always return to it. You can go home again. The love that is you is a light that will not go out.
I have a small stone from a time that I spent on the island of Malta years ago. A wise woman there told me of a type of stone that washes up on the rocky shores sometimes. They are covered in little holes, and they’ve been tossed around and beaten up, made smooth, and cracked open again. They’ve been changed due to their journey, and their journey has left marks. She referred to these stones as “goddess stones” and told me that they always wash up where they are supposed to, more beautiful, more filled with life and lighter than before. Their holes give them room to grow. Their holes give them the space they need to evolve and to remember the wholeness that they have always had.
The Wildest Kind of Love
Maybe you're lost
far from home
unsure if home even exists
afraid that home is no longer there.
Many are disoriented.
Routes are long and hard.
Uncertainty abounds.
What felt stable and safe can vanish
in a blink of an eye
as a stiff wind gusts from the west
in a year that is already
beating you down.
Sorrow and fear are real
in a year like this.
Anxiety and anger are real
in a year like this.
It's normal to long to return
to what feels like home
especially when what you knew as home
might not be where you left it.
It's not easy to remember home
is with you always—a wildness
etched in your bones,
coursing through your veins,
an ancient agreement of shadow and light
a raw embodiment of love
capable of weathering
any firestorm.
But it is.
Even in a year like this.2
A while later, all at once the birds lift as one, a giant murmuration of sound soaring over still waters into the horizon beyond, silence stretching out in their absence, leaving me longing for a world where people are like birds, rising in a murmuration coalescing only for peace, within and expanding over all, guns laid down on a gray November day, coating the land with goodness and grace, creating new soft places to land.
May you find your own goddess stone, your own soft place to land, whether your search for it keeps you close to home or takes you deep into dark and shadowy places that aren’t on the map. No matter where you go, remember that it has been with you always.
Whatever the state of things
what role can you take
that brings peace?
Say what you will about war (outside yourself and within)–
where are the cracks in fighting
that illuminate other ways?
Find the calm blue flame
in a sea of fiery red. 3
optimization may be one of my least favorite words
–after Rumi
You just keep putting out beautiful things into the world.
Thank you.