Friday Dispatch: The Little Free Library and the Dismantling of Democracy

Always returning to what matters most

Friday greetings,

Here’s a hyperlocal (or, as we used to say, local) story for you.

Two days ago, I posted the following on Facebook:

This morning, our sweet Little Free Library was fully stocked with a wonderful array of books, many that we'd placed there and some from passersby. Just now, I went outside with Chalupa and was shocked to find that it was empty. Completely wiped out. Somebody came and took all of the books at once. That is not how Little Free Libraries work. My heart sank. I posted in a couple of local groups asking for help in replenishing our stock. And I admit that it occurred to me that someone didn't like the kinds of books that were in there. How could this not occur to me right now? I hope it fills back up quickly. It's such a small, simple source of joy and connection, things I'm holding onto with all my heart right now, not to mention symbolic of so much of what we're fighting to safeguard and protect.

What happened next was unexpected.

Dozens of people commented or sent me private messages saying they would drop off some books. One person even offered to mail books from North Carolina. The responses also offered windows into people’s psyches. Some saw this as proof of societal erosion. Others offered a range of scenarios for what would prompt a person to take all the books in one fell swoop like that, many of which exuded more empathy than my original post had mustered. Still others jumped to action; a few people came by within the hour.

By the late afternoon, our pink Little Free Library was full again, as was my heart.

I felt more connected to our local community than before someone took all the books. Another thing that felt so sweet was how many people said they loved driving or walking by our pink library. One woman said it was a bright spot on her way home from work each day. If this hadn’t happened, I might never have known that.

* * *

In 1985, Hurricane Gloria blew up the Eastern seaboard. I was 11 years old and in seventh grade, but on that day, school was closed. I remember venturing outside into the eye of the storm, standing at the top of Lessey Street and looking down the hill towards town. The air was eerily still and had a greenish hue.

I’m not sure I understood what “the eye” really was. Knowing me and my Amelia-Bedelia tendencies, I probably imagined an actual eye, as if the storm had come in to take a closer look at its wreckage.

I’m not sure I understand it now, either. But I do have a sense that something about this experience on Wednesday was an eye of sorts.

* * *

Here we are in the storm, a storm many predicted, a storm whose blueprint was readily available and variously celebrated, downplayed, or ignored.

Here we are, witnessing gusts of Christo-fascist, billionaire, White nationalist, and crypto fantasies writ large, sweeping away all the books in the library at once, one illegal act at a time—and so many at once that many of us are spinning. Chaos and confusion are the point, as these keep us from thinking straight, strategically, and acting deliberately.

This week, I went outside and stood in the eye.

Life seemed to be going on as usual, a surreal thing to behold. I imagine the outpouring of kindness, care, and connection was bipartisan. This alone gives me much to contemplate, and any rush for meaning will be shallow, so I won’t offer any pat, feel-good takeaways here. I do, however, want to ponder the implications of this for us now – us here in my neighborhood and us here in the country.

* * *

As an aside, but not really an aside since everything is so interconnected: Even as I write these words, AI is telling me how to phrase things better, how to revise my thoughts, how to be more succinct. I will not acquiesce to this. This tiny act of resistance will not bring back 9,710 USAID jobs or allow transgender student-athletes to compete in girls’ and women’s sports or restore words like “female,” “gender,” “status,” “racial,” “advocate,” “biased,” and “political” to web pages at the CDC (related – here’s a full alphabetical list of forbidden words at the National Science Foundation). But rejecting AI gives me some momentary sense of agency, and that’s worth something.

* * *

For all I know, some of the people who are restocking our Little Free Library don’t see what’s happening in our country as an emergency.

So where does this leave me? I wish I knew.

In the eye. In the storm. In my home office, the dog snoring, the same as last Friday. In a moment in time so outlandish it’s hard to believe it’s real, and how that, in turn, is bringing to the fore what matters most.

I almost started to write, “In times like these…” but even with historical references, we have never been on this precipice before. It’s easy to freak out. There is good reason to freak out and if you are freaking out, I feel you and I wish for you to find ways today to regulate your nervous system, feel the anchor of a loved one’s voice or touch. Literally hug a tree if you can. I’m not kidding. Don’t hate me. Or hate me, but seriously, hug a tree.

* * *

The Little Free Library, I see now, is an expression of a social contract I still believe, naively or not, most of us hold dear.

Patti Digh

articulates this beautifully:

“Culture relies on social contracts, those shared understandings about how things are done. What are we to do in a lawless world where those contracts are breaking? We must rely on our own moral compass in times like these, and our shared understandings. It is this we must return to.” [read the whole post]

I also keep thinking about these words from

Adam Sher

:

“We are living inside an exhausted myth—of progress, of certainty, of the idea that history is a ladder and not a field of tangled roots.

Moral compasses. Shared understandings. Tangled roots.

Writing my way through it all is what I do.

Speaking of writing through it, hearing from people who’ve ordered and received Fierce Encouragement is among the things keeping my spirit aloft this week.

Below are some photos and stories – plus, of course, a link where you can buy your copy (or copies!).

I am also honored and humbled to have a new poem, Full Stop, published in Certain Age Magazine. (Note that there is also an audio recording of me reading the poem on the website, complete with Chalupa snoring in the background.) The editors made this beautiful reel – click to have a look:

certain_age

A post shared by @certain_age

Finally, scroll down to see the art I made this week.

Shabbat Shalom and love,

Jena

p.s. Just as I was about to publish this, we heard a knock on the door. It was a woman from the other side of town with a bag full of books.

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Book Love

✨ One person told me that she is very busy with work and feels comforted and encouraged just having the book nearby.

✨ Another told me they’re going to start using it with a few friends to get a small writing circle off the ground.

✨ Someone else is going to take a more methodical approach and write her way through all 201 prompts over time.

✨ A fellow coach is going to integrate some prompts and writing into a workshop series she is creating.

My dream is for this book to do all of these and more— comfort you, encourage you, bring you closer to yourself, connect you with others, and, of course, practice.

I’m also loving the spontaneous conversations and collaborations that are cropping up—like the Instagram “live” I’ll be doing in March with a client whose social media platform reaches thousands of doctors and medical students (we’ll discuss writing as a self-care practice and way of processing) and the rabbi who is bringing me to work with her community in preparation for Passover this year.

Amidst so much pain, confusion, and destruction, may this book foster healing, clarity, and regeneration. Thank you to everyone who has celebrated this with me, purchased a copy, and helped spread the word. Let’s keep it going.

Order here: https://store.bookbaby.com/book/fierce-encouragement

Hop over to Amazon to give it a rating: https://a.co/d/dthmuOR

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“Have You Made Art About It Yet?”

Growing up, this is the question Rabbi Adina Allen’s mother, Pat Allen, would ask her when she was working through something. Adina is co-founder and creative director of Jewish Studio Project, where I am a Creative Facilitation Fellow.

Since embarking on this training, the question has become a core part of my personal practice and creative process. Here is what came through me this week when I “made art about it.”

tonight's art practice
gray rote pattern
infinite mazes
impersonal world
streets, buildings
walls, lonelinesses
separation, blocks
distance
blockchain
new world order
expressionless faces
paper people flat
one-dimensional
souls screaming
soundless
vacuum
absorbing song color
sorrow
lost connection
tender soft
belly life
plunder men
taking over
erasing names
stealing freedoms
toppling empire
house cards
dominoes
Jenga country
weeping land
my tears tell me
I am human
may I let them
fall

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