Another World Is Probable

I read a letter on Facebook the other day from E.B. White (the author of Charlotte’s Web and Stuart Little) to a man who wrote to him in despair over the bleakness of the human race. I loved the letter and wanted to share it here.Also, here's the BBC article I reference.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about fairness, or rather its opposite. How it’s not fair that people we love die. Or that fascist leaders are calling the shots. Or that the world literally and figuratively burns so a few companies can increase their profits. It’s not fair. More in this week's post.

When I ride the bus, it exposes me to people and situations I might not otherwise encounter. On Wednesday, I rode the bus and felt like crying hearing the stories around me. As tears started to leak from my eyes, a woman walked on the bus and sat in front of me. Her shirt said “love” down both sleeves. In that moment, I cried even harder because it struck me that love is the container for all things. More in this week's post.

This is the most unusual post I’ve written in the 17 years of this blog because instead of discussing spirituality or a lesson I’m learning, I want to tell you about my new favorite TV show.

It’s been truly strange around my neighborhood for the last few days, and I’m not reacting the way I thought I’d react – or the way other people are predicting I’d react. On Thursday, my friend Michael was standing in the doorway and said, “Do you know that guy?” A young man was hopping the fence that separates my apartment complex from my neighbors. I didn’t know him. More in this week's post.

I’m currently in Denmark at an economic conference so it seems only fitting to share this post I wrote in 2009. Many things are different – I no longer work for a magazine full-time or live in San Francisco – but my dreams remain the same. Enjoy.This morning, I had a nightmare the magazine I work for folded. That created a ripple effect whereby I couldn’t pay my rent because I have pretty much zero savings.

I’m currently traveling and never have I identified more with the Charles Dickens line, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” The lows are low (no clean clothes for 48 hours! Diverted plane! An unexpected six-hour bus ride!) but the highs are also high. More in this week's post. (Oh and the rainbow in question is the picture with this post.)

Many years ago, I had a conversation with one of my closest friends about enlightenment. We compared our approaches – how I live in idealism, fantasy, and move toward the light. He told me his approach is more like crawling down the back of a scaly beast until he comes full circle at its snout. More in this week's post.

As we’re approaching the July 4th holiday, a time that supposedly celebrates freedom and independence, I'm wondering, what does it mean to be free? More in this week's post.

So often when I hear or see depictions of marriage, it’s about finding a companion to build a life with, someone you’ll love forever, your best friend, the person you’ll turn to in times of joy and sorrow. However, what I don’t often hear discussed is how marriage can enhance spiritual growth. More in this week's post.

I’m editing a fascinating book about judgment. I can’t quote from it because, hi, it’s unpublished and also not my writing, but I can talk about the general ideas and also quote from others. My client makes the case that when we judge other people, it’s often because we aren’t tending to the vulnerable parts of ourselves. The parts that need to be met with love and care. For instance, if I say, “He’s so lazy,” it’s likely there’s a part of me that’s sad because I long to rest. But instead of holding that grief – that I desire to rest and feel unable to do so – I’m projecting and calling that man lazy. And judgment of any kind, toward others or the self, breaks connection with our own heart, to paraphrase Tara Brach. More in this week's post.

I’ve had an interesting experience over the past month or so. People whom I thought I’d never see or talk to again have been resurfacing. Not one or two people, either – five. Folks that I haven’t seen, talked to, or thought of in one year, two years, three years, five years have been popping up in unexpected ways and places. More in this week's post.

There’s a Post-it taped to my bathroom mirror that says, “Remember: Life can be surprising and delightful.” I need this reminder because one of my trauma responses is hypervigilance. I’m constantly scanning for threats and waiting for the next terrible thing to happen. It’s a survival strategy, but not a particularly fun one. Saturday was a sweet reminder that life can be surprising and delightful. More in this week's post.

I keep thinking about fantasy, delusion, and reality. A spiritual teacher I like was convinced Kamala Harris would become the next president. When Trump won on election night, she said, “Kamala won’t concede! She’ll ask that the election be investigated!” What interests me is not the content – people believe wacky things all the time – it’s that she kept saying her intuition told her all of this was true.

We are every age we’ve ever been. That means there’s still a 22-year-old, a 12-year-old, a 2-year-old, an infant inside us. Just because we physically age doesn’t mean those younger parts disappear. They live within and they need the same things now that they needed then. My inner infant still needs to be held. My 5-year-old still wants to play. And all of my parts still need to be mothered. More in this week's post.

Lately, I’m noticing how the universe is conspiring on our behalf. The right people are showing up at the right time to help my friends. The things that seemed impossible are suddenly possible. And in my own life, this happened in a big way with my novel. More in this week's post.

My therapist told me, “Some things don’t make sense, and sometimes suffering happens.” Ouch. Can that not be true? Thanks. It’s interesting to notice how much I don’t accept this perspective. I want a reason for everything. I want to know why.

In these times where I know we are the “magic wands,” that change happens because we make it happen, my desire to contribute is immense. It feels like if I’m not doing something, I’m letting the fascists win. But, well, my body needs a break. More in this week's post.

A friend sent a PowerPoint presentation about a professor holding a cup. The story goes like this: A professor walked into class one day and held up a cup of water for all to see. The professor asked, “How much do you think this cup weighs?” The students answered, “50g! 100g! 125g!”“I really don’t know unless I weigh it,” the professor said. “But my question is, what would happen if I held the cup like this for a few minutes?” More in this week's post.

I didn’t attend any of the rallies on April 5th because I panic in crowds. And while I know it’s important to take care of myself – and I would have been a liability rather than an asset in that situation – it’s bringing up a lot of feelings. Because I care so much about society, I feel like a bad person. What am I doing to fight fascism?!? Do I make a difference in this world even if I can’t participate in the way I’d like? More in this week's post.