Fire, Pestilence, and Despair: Finding Hope when Chaos Reigns

 As I write this, fires rage in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. That refuge where so many people travel to find some quiet, a space of reflection, and an escape from the busy, chaotic world. The BWCA is a huge wilderness expanse, with many areas accessible only by portage (carrying your own canoe) and hiking. Now that beautiful wilderness burns. 

While we cough and wheeze in the smoke-filled haze, a parasite, Cyclospora, is the pestilence of the season, infecting people and causing vomiting, dehydration, and explosive diarrhea. Physically and metaphorically, shit everywhere. 

In this same week, two more hardworking men in the prime of their lives, seeking their own American dream of prosperity, were shot and killed by ICE officers. Then the public is told that in both cases, these men were not even the people ICE was seeking to find. 

It seems everywhere you look, it's chaos, madness, and destruction of what we hold dear; fresh air, good health, and productive lives just vanish. It's enough to make a sane person want to get away from it all, maybe camp in the wilderness, find a space with no WIFI or cell service...but that's not available, since it's currently on fire. 

In some ways, I suppose these types of apocalyptic events have always occurred throughout time. There have been natural disasters before, along with plagues and pandemics. Through it all, we as humans seem to always fall back on fighting, grabbing, hoarding, violence, or simply doing whatever we think we must do to lay claim to our fair share. When we do, Mother Nature will always show us who's boss. We are brought to our knees again and again via tsunami, fire, hurricane and tornado. We are brought low and zapped of our energy via a bug or parasite we cannot see, but that has the capacity to stop us in our tracks and keep us stuck in the bathroom. We witness senseless violence committed in front of toddlers and stand in disbelief and shock. What really is the point? 

The lessons actually seem pretty clear when you step back just a bit, and I guess events need to be dramatic enough to shock us and get us to listen up and pay attention. Our natural world is important, and this is the reminder. When we cease to be good stewards of the land and the magnificent creation we call Earth, all hell breaks loose. We get a swift kick in the pants and a reminder that none of us will survive without the basics of clean air, plentiful water, and food grown in healthy soil. 

Not much else matters beyond our personal health, and a mysterious parasite makes that plain. The adage "if you don't have your health, you don't have anything" certainly rings true. All that we take for granted, all the ways our bodies carry us through our days, suddenly come to a halt when we are ill. Our own good health is critical, and it's easy to forget that until it's gone. 

The parasite we cannot see interrupts our days and zaps our strength. The violence on our streets erupts without warning. Reckless ICE agents, ramming the cars of suspicious brown people, shooting them, and then lying about the circumstances. When we witness people being killed on their way to work or in front of neighbors and family members, our moral compass and sense of safety is shaken. Aren't we all a part of one human family? 

So where do we go from here? What's to be done when events around us challenge our very way of being? 

For me, it is simply this: do not turn away. While it might feel safer and more comfortable to run, to ignore, to hide, or to give up and explain it all away so we can feel that there's nothing to be done, that has never been the answer. Throughout history, what have people done? How have they responded to storms, plague, or war? 

The short answer is they start again. They rebuild. They share what they have and help their neighbors; they nurse those who are ill, and they comfort the grieving and stay present with them. 

These are the tasks of the day. It's tempting to shut it all out, but to do so is to close off a part of what makes us human. Decide today that you will care, even if it's hard. Take some small action to heal the natural world: plant a garden, pick up garbage, conserve, and use only the water you truly need. Take very good care of your personal health. We will all succumb to illness occasionally, but our bodies are the vehicles we need to carry us through our day. Focus on eating well, sleeping well, moving, bending, and breathing as though your life depends on it, because it does. Care for your neighbors. Choose to believe in the goodness of people. Live your life with honesty and care. Do not get hooked by the lies or inflammatory language that is designed to get you to point your finger or blame someone else. We live in community. We are hard wired to be social creatures that cherish and protect life. To lose this element of our nature will leave us hollow and eventually full of shame and regret. 

Live with a sense of abundance, share with others, and care about what happens to your neighbor. These are the behaviors that will sustain and uplift us. We are stronger together. Even in the worst circumstances, the beauty of our lives can be found in the small comforting caring actions of those around us. 

Quit hiding or looking away. Get out there and connect with people. Protect the things we all need in order to grow and thrive: nature, our own health, and a safe space to meet our brother and sister in solidarity and love. 

 

One Thing After Another

 Years ago, when I worked in a special education program for students on the Autism Spectrum, we spent a great deal of time helping them move through transitions. Shifting from one activity to the next, particularly if it meant moving from a high interest to a less favored activity, was a struggle for our students. Things went far more smoothly if we could predict what was next and remind students that it would soon be time to change classes or activities. Helping students shift their focus and manage changes to routine made me realize my own issues with disruption and transitions. As a working mom with young children and a long commute, I remember how helpful it was for me to pull into the driveway, turn off the car, and just sit and be still for a few moments before heading through the door. I loved my kids and their energy, but I also instinctively knew I needed a moment to collect myself and switch gears from work to home life.  

For some people, transitions and unpredictability don’t seem to bother them, but I continue to struggle to make big shifts quickly. As I get older, I’m recognizing that I still need that processing time to move from one activity or place to another. I like to know what’s coming next, and I get irritated and defensive if people start questioning me, making demands of my time, or expecting me to respond immediately upon arrival. 

Something about the pace of our lives, the rate that changes are happening, and the not-so-subtle messaging to hurry up and master new skills or get left behind, simply leaves me feeling off balance and resistant. Whether it is the speed of technology or the fast-paced emergence of AI, the focus is constantly about getting more done and doing it all more efficiently. I have to actively step back and remind myself that most things simply are not emergencies and not all that urgent. Certainly, a few seconds to breathe and be a bit more thoughtful about responding should be normal! I know all of this. I try to pause and breathe and respond rather than react. Yet time and again, I find myself moving at a pace that feels exhausting; rushing about, making mistakes, and just being forgetful and clumsy in my efforts to hurry. When I am rushing or trying to juggle activities and multi-task, the typical result is I start dropping things, misplacing things, or even end up physically bumping into walls as I scurry around! It’s ridiculous.  

On a daily basis, I need to stop. To set it all down. To simply slow my breath and my pace. I have to laugh at myself, as all the words I share with my yoga students about finding stillness, taking time, and being focused and aware of the present moment are the same words and lessons I need on a constant basis. I have admitted to my students that the themes I choose for yoga classes are often ones that need attention in my own life, yet I wonder if they realize that I struggle mightily with the demands and pressures of the day, just as they do. 

I guess both yoga and life are full of surprises, transitions, and change. We’ll never completely master it all, and we’ll never be perfect. There will always be more to do and more to learn and experience. Practicing the art of the pause and allowing myself to simply do one thing at a time without having to anticipate what comes next becomes a gift I give to myself. My shoulders drop, some tension releases, my focus improves, and I can move through the day and all it requires with a more deliberate sense of purpose and clarity.  

Change is constant. Time moves quickly. Those things are true. Yet the beauty of life is in the details: in the tiny, everyday moments that delight me or surprise me. I can slow down, take my own advice, and make decisions from a place that feels calm and clear, so I don’t end up rushing past the good stuff.  Life is truly one thing after another. My job is to simply ride it all out.

When A Teacher Dies

 An old high school friend of mine sent a note out this week about a favorite high school teacher’s death. As I started down memory lane and began reflecting on what it was that made this particular teacher so loved by so many, I was struck by what I recalled so clearly: his own love of learning, and the delight and joy he seemed to find in teaching and just being with his students.  

I would never want to go back and re-live my high school days, as I remember them as being a rollercoaster of emotions: full of tons of fun and laughter with friends, along with plenty of cringe-worthy behavior that was at times wildly out of control and full of my own self-doubt. As a high school student, I moved through awkward phases of pimples, trying to find a place to fit in with friends, getting a driver's license (after puking twice before my road test), and riding a wave of mood swings and general adolescent angst. 

Through it all, a few beloved high school teachers were a relaxed, calm, and quiet presence. My favorite teachers all seemed perfectly at home with my weirdness and attention seeking behavior. Looking back, some memories make me uncomfortable as I know I was occasionally rude, loud, and at times just generally a pain in the ass during those years. Somehow, I always knew certain teachers had high standards related to academic work, but they also seemed to care about me with a soft grace, even when I was not always at my best. 

I’m guessing that most people can recall one or two favorite teachers from their youth. Teachers who taught us both important academic lessons alongside lessons about how to be good humans. Being out of the high school classroom now for more years than I care to admit, I don’t remember much algebra or mythology or the grades I received. But I do remember how certain teachers made me feel. They were able to inspire, challenge, and accept me without judgment. Maybe they knew on some level how much self-doubt was already there inside me and recognized that even a high achieving kid needed some quiet acceptance and encouragement that would eventually help me settle down and thrive. 

I did send a note to Mr. Melchoir (the favorite teacher who passed this week) a few years back, and I know some of my classmates visited and kept in touch with him. He knew he was loved and that his work had an impact. I hope he wasn’t the exception to the rule, and that other teachers out there have heard words of thanks and praise from former students.  

Education is a tough business to be in these days. What if the takeaway at the end of another school year is this simple message: that we always have the choice to share our thanks and take a moment to appreciate what our teachers have meant to us.  

Can you imagine the wave of goodwill that would occur if we all took 5 minutes this week to send a text, a card, or called one of our former teachers simply to tell them thank you?  

Let’s make it our homework assignment this week. Say thank you to your kid’s teacher on the last day of school. Tell your neighbor who is a schoolteacher that you appreciate their efforts. Find a former teacher of yours and share a simple ‘thank you for being my teacher’ or whatever words of appreciation feel most appropriate. 

Finally, the next time you hear someone complaining about or disparaging the work of teachers, shake your head, softly disagree, and tell them about your favorite teacher: who likely saved you when you felt lost, and made a true difference in your life.