Gratitude Trees, Billy Joel, and Small Acts of Resistance
In the midst of a difficult time, when the political climate seems desolate, when the wind and snow and cold came much too early and already feel relentless, when people we love are dying or getting sick all around us, when the future is so uncertain for so many we care about, we made a tree trunk and branches out of grocery store paper bags and taped it to our wall.
Gratitude tree. Every night, we each write one thing we're grateful for on a colored leaf and tape it to one of the branches. "Let's just skip to snowflakes," S said, but I wouldn't allow it--no winter or holiday decorations until after Thanksgiving, at least. Still, taping up those colored leaves in the midst of both the intense winter weather and the intense suffering around us feels either ridiculous or like a powerful act of resistance, depending on my mood.
The leaf-message has to be specific--names rather than "family and friends," short narratives of moments cherished rather than "good memories," acts of kindness we've witnessed rather than "the love around us."
Here's what we have so far:
--The fact that my hair is growing out and I'll soon be able to donate it, which is one small thing I can do for people with cancer.
--the Keystone Pipeline voted down, after so many years of resistance.
--[Names of people who live in our house], who challenge and bless me.
--This new, much more spacious home.
--How it feels to read a good book.
--Paul Rogat Loeb's book _The Impossible Will Take a Little While_.
--Obama's executive order that will allow Dreamers to access the resources they need and stop living in fear.
It is hard right now to be optimistic about politics. Our local representative, who had bravely voted in favor of marriage equality, education funding, anti-bullying laws, an increased minimum wage, and the ability for home health care workers to unionize--as well as dozens of other important issues--and for whom we campaigned tirelessly--was voted out of office. He was replaced by a man who vowed to overturn marriage equality in his first term, to always vote "pro-life and pro-family." Of course, on a national level, the Senate and House will soon be Obama-hating machines, doing everything in their power to fight him on anything that he calls out as important.
And yet, the Keystone pipeline was voted down. And Obama opened the way for Dreamers and their parents to come out of the shadows. Small signs that social justice will not die out just because our elected leaders want to halt progress.
Suicides and cancer diagnoses remind us we are vulnerable, and so very dependent on the love of others to see us through. Today, besides donating our hair, we thought of other small ways to show our love for those recently diagnosed, and those mourning the loss of their mother, a suicide.
Yesterday, S and I went shopping for cat food at our local Shopko, which I don't visit very often. We spent some time wandering around, and I was shocked to see that the store's shelves held Cabbage Patch dolls and aquanet hairspray. I was just contemplating how I felt as if I had stepped back in time when Billy Joel's "Scenes from an Italian Restaurant," an old favorite from college that I hadn't heard in years, was suddenly playing very loudly over the loudspeaker. I pulled my phone out of my purse and posted about this on facebook, tagging two old friends with whom I have not talked in many years. Soon other friends from that time were liking the post. My friends responded with lines from the song we used to belt out together, including this one: "Nobody knew you could want more than that out of life."
Than what? The song is about a couple of old friends who meet over a bottle of wine and reminisce about the good old days. They end up talking about a couple of high schoolers who end up married too young, and unhappy soon after the wedding. Who knows why we loved the song so much, but I can remember belting it out together over drinks at somebody's apartment, and also at the bar.
Those lyrics were, maybe, prophetic: I left a long-term partner to adopt a child, and one of the friends I tagged is divorced. But, we both (and the third friend, from what I can tell on facebook) have found second loves in close-to-middle age. And, we're all involved in social justice work in one way or another (again, sadly, I know these things from facebook, and not because I am actually in close touch with them).
Like I said, who knows why we loved the song then. But now, that line, to me, seems to be a challenge rather than a reflection on unfulfilled dreams. Nobody knew, then, how our lives would turn out. And, to be honest, unlike the characters Brenda and Eddie in that Billy Joel song, what I imagined was not nearly as wonderful as what I actually have now. I wanted, then, to meet the love of my life, to write great works of art that would change people's lives, to have a family, and to do work that would change the world. Of course, I couldn't imagine what any of that would look like. I also didn't know what it might take. But most of all, I didn't know how amazing the journey toward these goals would turn out to be--even with the recent cancer diagnoses, suicides, and political disappointments--and even with all the other things that have "gone wrong" in earlier parts of the journey.
Sometimes, the best act of resistance is taking the long view--looking back and forward with vision and hope. Sometimes the best act of resistance is reconnecting with old friends, however briefly, and remembering what we wanted then and how small it seems in comparison to what we have now. Sometimes the best act of resistance is simply being grateful in the face of loss and fear and suffering--putting up a gratitude tree and filling it with colored construction paper leaves.
Gratitude tree. Every night, we each write one thing we're grateful for on a colored leaf and tape it to one of the branches. "Let's just skip to snowflakes," S said, but I wouldn't allow it--no winter or holiday decorations until after Thanksgiving, at least. Still, taping up those colored leaves in the midst of both the intense winter weather and the intense suffering around us feels either ridiculous or like a powerful act of resistance, depending on my mood.
The leaf-message has to be specific--names rather than "family and friends," short narratives of moments cherished rather than "good memories," acts of kindness we've witnessed rather than "the love around us."
Here's what we have so far:
--The fact that my hair is growing out and I'll soon be able to donate it, which is one small thing I can do for people with cancer.
--the Keystone Pipeline voted down, after so many years of resistance.
--[Names of people who live in our house], who challenge and bless me.
--This new, much more spacious home.
--How it feels to read a good book.
--Paul Rogat Loeb's book _The Impossible Will Take a Little While_.
--Obama's executive order that will allow Dreamers to access the resources they need and stop living in fear.
It is hard right now to be optimistic about politics. Our local representative, who had bravely voted in favor of marriage equality, education funding, anti-bullying laws, an increased minimum wage, and the ability for home health care workers to unionize--as well as dozens of other important issues--and for whom we campaigned tirelessly--was voted out of office. He was replaced by a man who vowed to overturn marriage equality in his first term, to always vote "pro-life and pro-family." Of course, on a national level, the Senate and House will soon be Obama-hating machines, doing everything in their power to fight him on anything that he calls out as important.
And yet, the Keystone pipeline was voted down. And Obama opened the way for Dreamers and their parents to come out of the shadows. Small signs that social justice will not die out just because our elected leaders want to halt progress.
Suicides and cancer diagnoses remind us we are vulnerable, and so very dependent on the love of others to see us through. Today, besides donating our hair, we thought of other small ways to show our love for those recently diagnosed, and those mourning the loss of their mother, a suicide.
Yesterday, S and I went shopping for cat food at our local Shopko, which I don't visit very often. We spent some time wandering around, and I was shocked to see that the store's shelves held Cabbage Patch dolls and aquanet hairspray. I was just contemplating how I felt as if I had stepped back in time when Billy Joel's "Scenes from an Italian Restaurant," an old favorite from college that I hadn't heard in years, was suddenly playing very loudly over the loudspeaker. I pulled my phone out of my purse and posted about this on facebook, tagging two old friends with whom I have not talked in many years. Soon other friends from that time were liking the post. My friends responded with lines from the song we used to belt out together, including this one: "Nobody knew you could want more than that out of life."
Than what? The song is about a couple of old friends who meet over a bottle of wine and reminisce about the good old days. They end up talking about a couple of high schoolers who end up married too young, and unhappy soon after the wedding. Who knows why we loved the song so much, but I can remember belting it out together over drinks at somebody's apartment, and also at the bar.
Those lyrics were, maybe, prophetic: I left a long-term partner to adopt a child, and one of the friends I tagged is divorced. But, we both (and the third friend, from what I can tell on facebook) have found second loves in close-to-middle age. And, we're all involved in social justice work in one way or another (again, sadly, I know these things from facebook, and not because I am actually in close touch with them).
Like I said, who knows why we loved the song then. But now, that line, to me, seems to be a challenge rather than a reflection on unfulfilled dreams. Nobody knew, then, how our lives would turn out. And, to be honest, unlike the characters Brenda and Eddie in that Billy Joel song, what I imagined was not nearly as wonderful as what I actually have now. I wanted, then, to meet the love of my life, to write great works of art that would change people's lives, to have a family, and to do work that would change the world. Of course, I couldn't imagine what any of that would look like. I also didn't know what it might take. But most of all, I didn't know how amazing the journey toward these goals would turn out to be--even with the recent cancer diagnoses, suicides, and political disappointments--and even with all the other things that have "gone wrong" in earlier parts of the journey.
Sometimes, the best act of resistance is taking the long view--looking back and forward with vision and hope. Sometimes the best act of resistance is reconnecting with old friends, however briefly, and remembering what we wanted then and how small it seems in comparison to what we have now. Sometimes the best act of resistance is simply being grateful in the face of loss and fear and suffering--putting up a gratitude tree and filling it with colored construction paper leaves.
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