Who Would've Thunk It?

I’ve learned to let the beauty of the world and the bravery of other people pull me up and out of the despair.” — Kate DiCamillo

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This blog launched on February 11, 2024. So, with this, the 55th post, happy birthday, “One Good Thing. . .” A whole year! Who would’ve thunk it?

I cannot recall the specific incident that spurred me on that day, but I do remember the tide of troubles sweeping through the world. At the time, I could not have predicted whether or not writing would have meant anything to me or anyone else. And I certainly could not have imagined I would have held forth for an entire year and still feel the energy to continue. All I knew was that it would do me good to consider some positive messages to counterbalance the negative ones I was regularly hearing. There is only so much pummeling my human heart can take, after all. I guessed the same might be true for others. I knew I liked to write and could usually manage to put forth a coherent message. And so, a year ago today, “One Good Thing. . .” was born. I included the ellipses in the title, because I believe one good thing leads to another. The ellipses are meant to leave space for whatever new good things might emerge.

I dedicate this blog post to you, who read my words. I am so grateful to you. Just to remind you how special you are, I want to repeat the poem I used to open my very first post a year ago. “People of Light” is a poem I absolutely love, written by a poet I also absolutely love.

A year ago, I copied “People of Light” by Helene McGlauflin from Read to Me Some Poem, (Maryli Tiemann and Alice Persons, eds., 2023. Moon Pie Press). If you enjoy poetry anthologies, I highly recommend this one. Since then, Helene has had a book of her own poems published, and “People of Light” is in it: Solstice, by Helene McGlauflin, 2024. (Georgetown, Kentucky: Finishing Line Press.) I highly recommend Helene’s book, too.

In a way, I took up my torch by starting this blog. But, every day I witness others taking up their torches, too. Writing postcards, joining phone banks, going door-to-door during the election. Making post-inauguration phone calls daily to elected representatives to protest the many ways the new administration is assaulting democracy. Protesting in body and letter and call.

But also volunteering at the local Red Cross blood bank, gleaning food from local farms who give a portion of their crops to food banks, tutoring asylum seekers who are learning to speak English, serving on local Conservation Commissions and School Committees, volunteering as chaplains at local hospitals or prisons.

Teaching. Is there a more honorable calling than teaching?

And also, organizing groups of friends to simply be together — to commiserate, to laugh, to support, to encourage. Joining together in communities of song, in drumming circles, in quilting parties, in coffee klatches, in bird watches. Making art and sharing it with others. Bringing therapy dogs to the senior center. Leading the churches, synagogues, and mosques. Reaching out, hand to hand, heart to heart.

That is what it means to me to take up the torch: to reach out, hand to hand, heart to heart. There are myriad ways to do that.

Just yesterday, Margaret Renkl’s editorial, “Tenderness as an Act of Resistence,” in the New York Times pierced my heart. (Opinion | Tenderness as an Act of Resistance - The New York Times.) Renkl was describing a conversation with Kate DiCamillo, author of Despereax, who claimed it was her job to stay heartbroken when the news of the world was, well, heartbreaking. I recommend the entire editorial, and I especially recommend the book, Despereaux, if you haven’t read it. At the end of the editorial, Renkl offers this quote from an email exchange with DiCamillo:

“I fall into the mineshaft of despair over and over again, and over and over again something (the moon, an eagle, the snow) or someone (a kid who tells me that Despereaux makes them feel brave, a stranger who looks me in the eye and smiles, a grandparent who tells me about reading aloud to their grandchild) will reach down to pull me out,” she wrote. “I’ve learned to not resist these hand-holds. I’ve learned to let the beauty of the world and the bravery of other people pull me up and out of the despair.”

A year into this blogging enterprise and I no longer personally know everyone who has subscribed to “One Good Thing. . .” But I am pretty sure, in your own ways, you, too, have taken up the torch in your own communities. You, too, are supplying hand-holds to pull others up and out of despair when you can. You are no doubt willing “to join the search for those whose flame, diminished, may need just a breath to rekindle.”

To nurture your own tender, beating hearts, I hope you, too, have learned how not to resist the hand-holds that materialize for you in the form of beauty and people’s bravery in the face of seemingly impossible odds. My hope is that this humble blog can offer one such hand-hold for you from time to time.

More than anything, I hope you, you People of Light, recognize your gifts and offer them to the world that so badly needs them.

You know who you are. . .

Thank you for being you. Thank you for reading.

Love,

Sylvia