11 things on the first of December and Kislev

Quieter and softer

1. Sometimes I think about how much I used to write and share on Facebook and I can’t believe it. Not in a self-judgment kind of way, but more in a way like, wow, did I really have that many things to say? That much insight? That much energy to offer seemingly all the time?

2. It comes and goes, of course, and that was even true in the past. Probably what has changed is less about my “output” and more about my ease with the quieter stretches. These are filled with life, of course.

3. Every weekend, M.J. and I have taken to doing Tarot readings for the coming week. It has become a nice way to connect and a grounding exercise. Usually my “question” has to do with what I need to be aware of, pay attention to, or something along those lines. Week after week, my readings are variations on a theme. They show confidence, completion, new beginnings, purpose, abundance, domestic and family happiness, radiance, and basically a whole lot of blessings. They also caution against impulsivity, holding onto the past, and basically keeping myself up at night by worrying about things that are either immaterial or simply out of my control.

4. I found a new therapist last spring and worked with her pretty intensively for several months. If I had to sum up the focus of this work, it would pretty much be all of #3. Sometimes the mind and body need a reboot, and it can help to have a guide. The old saying “let go or be dragged” also comes to mind.

5. The remaining hostages are on my mind every day. I wonder how many of them are still alive. I wonder whether they will survive even if they are rescued and brought home, God willing. I wonder about their physical and mental deterioration. Starvation, sexual assault, lack of sunlight. We know what lack of proper nutrition does to the body and brain; it can be impossible to come back from. I think all the time about how silent so much of the world has been. And it makes me so sad and angry that so many people seem to believe they have to choose who is worthy of true compassion, as if caring about starvation in Gaza means you can’t or don’t care about hostages starving and dying, and vice versa.

6. I hardly mention it in my writing these days. I have mixed feelings about this. I honestly don’t know what I can say that will contribute anything but awareness. And then I remember that awareness matters, and also since when did I only write if I felt certain it would have some kind of positive or productive outcome?

7. I saw a photo on Instagram of Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo and I cringed. They are both so thin. Ariana Grande looks skeletal, Barbie-like. Cynthia Erivo has more muscle definition but in the way a ballerina might, with no body fat. These are the models for children and adults, good witches and bad witches. Frankly, they look like they are starving. I know it’s never ok to comment on other people’s bodies and I know you never actually know what’s going on with a person. But it is hard to ignore.

8. Children in Gaza are starving. Hostages in fucking tunnels are starving. They are dying. I hate to be a downer, but it makes me want to have nothing to do with Wicked or anything else that presents this as an image of beauty or fame or success, even though I’ve heard great things about it as a film.

9. Not long after we moved into our new house, I began to see one woman in particular running every morning. Her bony frame reminded me of images of Holocaust survivors or famine victims. I imagined she would push herself to run further or faster if she’d eaten an extra strawberry. It hurt to see her. Of course, there was nothing I could do. And of course, I didn’t actually know anything about her. I was fully aware that I was imagining a whole story about her that might or might not have any grounding in reality. But what I could say for sure was, this woman had no business running. She looked like she needed help.

10. And what I could say was, I saw something of myself in her. Something I told my therapist about not long into our sessions together. I saw a woman who drove herself so hard, who believed she had to be punished, who didn’t or couldn’t see her own beauty, wholeness, fullness, worthiness when she stopped. Who withheld pleasure and rest and nourishment and softness from herself, always needing to prove herself in a never-ending cycle of not-enoughness. I began to send her compassion every time she passed in front of my living room. And I began to heal an old, which is to say young, part of me, a part that thought maybe I could take it all on myself – other people’s pain, the unchangeable past, the children, the hostages, the weight of the world.

11. Now, I have gained weight and wisdom alike. Soft belly and arms, more comfort sitting out the many online discussions and debates, less clamoring to insert myself and make sure I am an important voice in the conversation. In some ways, I’ve grown quieter. In other ways, more incisive. My hope is that I’ve also grown more compassionate, patient, and present to the people closest to me, starting with myself.

Wishing you a week and a month of being kind to yourself and those around you. Shavua tov. Chodesh tov.

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