Two Great Divides

Good morning,

This past week, I had two (in my humble opinion) worthy-of-sharing experiences, each involving a great divide.

1. I had multiple conversations about politics with someone close to me who sees the state of the world differently than I do. It is difficult not to take each other's opinions personally and it's hard to get your point across when emotions are involved. I brought all of my good intentions and counseling tools to the conversations, but they still ended up feeling like me versus they, voices escalated, and I hung up feeling sad and at a loss.

In the same breath, neither of us hung up on each other (well, they did at one point, but called me back after cooling down), we agreed to disagree, and we ended both conversations with "I love yous." I even listened to a podcast this person asked me to listen to--they said the podcast could articulate their feelings and beliefs clearly. I took an hour to listen and I felt good about that. I wanted my loved one to know that I value their opinions and want to understand where they're coming from. I wanted to try on their shoes (easier said than done). I have a friend who calls this "courageous listening."

I urge us all to pause, gather ourselves, and try someone else's shoes on. How else are we going to swim across this divide to find each other again? The way I see it, it's our only option. Radical Empathy. Courageous Listening. There is common ground and solidarity to be found if we can hone in on these human qualities in ourselves and teach them to our children.

Extreme views, views that are rigid and have no space for compromise, evolution or collaboration are born out of fear. Our political landscape is a direct result of fear being the driving force in so many of our lives. How rigid are your views, beliefs, and actions? What are you afraid of? How can you ease the fear- ours and theirs?

2. Last Sunday, January 10, was the birthday of another person I love. This person passed away almost five years ago. I miss this person all the time, but especially on their birthday, a day we would always connect when they were alive. On the first January 10 after they died I was assured that our connection would continue regardless of inhabiting our physical bodies.

In the wake of this person's passing, I wrote a poem. The poem just came--it felt like it dropped out of the sky through my pen onto the paper. I shared it with my family and they asked if I would read it at the funeral. Getting through the poem in the chapel that day was hard, really hard. After the reading, person after person encouraged me to submit the poem to be published. At first, I smiled, and said thank you. And then a few weeks later, after some more people said it to me, I said OK. With no expectations, and on what felt like a whim, I submitted the poem in early June (timing matters here) to the New Yorker. They said I would be contacted within 5 business days if my poem was selected for publication. 5 days went by. I never heard anything. I was just proud of myself for going out on a whim with no expectations.

Fast forward 6 months to January 10, I was cooking dinner with Roo in our kitchen. We had put Pip and Phoebe to bed. Our plan was to have a quiet dinner together to toast our absent loved one on their birthday when my phone pinged. Always nearby, I reached for it, and opened my email. There was an email from Paul Muldoon, the Poetry Editor at the New Yorker. 6 months after I submitted the poem, Mr. Muldoon emailed me on my loved one's birthday at 6:07pm. He sent his condolences and informed me that the New Yorker was not going to publish my poem. He sincerely encouraged me to keep writing.

So here I am, writing, thanks to Mr. Muldoon, and to my loved one who found a way to communicate with me from beyond.

Fast forward to January 10 last week when I pay extra attention. On Thursday, it came, in the form of a text from a good friend. She asked me if I would be willing to speak with her friend who was suffering in a relationship with someone who battles addiction. "Yes, absolutely!" I responded in seconds. The opportunity to support someone in this very difficult, complicated, and confusing shared experience is a gift, a striking of a match and lighting of a candle in a dark room. Another birthday gift from beyond.

To all the folks out there in the throws of addiction, and all the folks trying to navigate COVID-19, our political landscape, AND stay sober: I am thinking of you, sending love and prayers. AND to all of you who love these folks as dearly as I do: I hear you, I feel you. You are not alone. There are those among us who understand. The most effective means of battling the disease, no matter what side you're on, is to throw aside shame and ask for help; don't go at it alone; help is available, everywhere, in the most surprising, unexpected places.

With love,
Georgia

As always, thank you for reading.