There are days when I write because I have something to say. A story to tell, or start telling, or finish telling.
There are days when the writing comes because something must get done, and maybe nothing else got done that day, and maybe this was the one thing for which I had bandwidth.
Then there are days when the writing is its own means to no end. It is the only path on the only road and it’s leading somewhere, probably, but where. And why.
What more is there to be said about these daily devastations—the atrocities on the border, in our government, in our bodies. The vitriol. The deaths and hatred and—almost more dangerous because of its invisibility—the quiet contempt toward the Others. The slow degradation, that gentle slope into moral decay.
2020 has been a test of our moral fortitude, but it’s not limited to this year. We’re just a few months away from 2021, after all, and these things aren’t going to clear themselves up. The racism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, misogyny that we’re all inundated with each day will calcify and become permanent if we’re not careful. So careful. No, more careful than that, even.
A humble suggestion: wherever you are, look for the art. Theatre is streaming everywhere, on every device. (Locally, this one and this one have a limited window, so check them out while you can.)
Visual art is equally ubiquitous. Like this one and this one, both here in Dallas.
Art is inherently hopeful. A lighthouse in dark waters.
I’m gonna watch, too. I’m gonna keep writing and turning my face toward the sun—the literal sun, actually. In fact, I’m gonna finish this and go outside. Everybody needs to focus on serotonin production right now.
A few weeks ago, I had a vivid dream. Well, all of my dreams have been vivid lately, but this one gave me a clear message. In it, I figured out that all my problems would dissolve if I slept more. My relationships, my work, my head space—it would all clearer, cleaner, my subconscious said, if I would just let myself rest.
So here I am, advocating for that, not only for you, but for myself, too. Naps are a ministry. Art is medicine. If you’re not in a place to hug somebody, take long walk, then a hot bath. Eat the cookie. Drink your water.
And it should be said, there is a way out of a lot of this darkness, but you have to start here, if you haven’t already.