#232: One day at a time
Hello dear reader,
I skipped on last week’s newsletter because some weeks, it’s harder than others to show up for myself (or you, for that matter). I’d like to say I’m sorry but I know you’ll understand.
My therapist told me that I must get out of my head. No more overthinking and clutter of the mind. I must reframe the narrative. To move from constantly tired to exhausted with happiness. I shall try.
One day at a time, I remind myself.
Poetry Corner
This week, I walk bravely into your inbox with a bouquet of sunflowers in my hand, and some poems that brought sunshine into my life. Much awe. 🌻🌻🌻
1. The Happiest Day by Linda Pastan
It was early May, I think
a moment of lilac or dogwood
when so many promises are made
it hardly matters if a few are broken.
My mother and father still hovered
in the background, part of the scenery
like the houses I had grown up in,
and if they would be torn down later
that was something I knew
but didn’t believe. Our children were asleep
or playing, the youngest as new
as the new smell of the lilacs,
and how could I have guessed
their roots were shallow
and would be easily transplanted.
I didn’t even guess that I was happy.
The small irritations that are like salt
on melon were what I dwelt on,
though in truth they simply
made the fruit taste sweeter.
So we sat on the porch
in the cool morning, sipping
hot coffee. Behind the news of the day—
strikes and small wars, a fire somewhere—
I could see the top of your dark head
and thought not of public conflagrations
but of how it would feel on my bare shoulder.
If someone could stop the camera then…
if someone could only stop the camera
and ask me: are you happy?
Perhaps I would have noticed
how the morning shone in the reflected
color of lilac. Yes, I might have said
and offered a steaming cup of coffee.
2. Sometimes by Sheenagh Pugh
Sometimes things don’t go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don’t fail.
Sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.
A people sometimes will step back from war,
elect an honest man, decide they care
enough, that they can’t leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.
Sometimes our best intentions do not go
amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen; may it happen for you.
3. Security by William Stafford
Tomorrow will have an island. Before night
I always find it. Then on to the next island.
These places hidden in the day separate
and come forward if you beckon.
But you have to know they are there before they exist.
Some time there will be a tomorrow without any island.
So far, I haven’t let that happen, but after
I’m gone others may become faithless and careless.
Before them will tumble the wide unbroken sea,
and without any hope they will stare at the horizon.
So to you, Friend, I confide my secret:
to be a discoverer you hold close whatever
you find, and after a while you decide
what it is. Then, secure in where you have been,
you turn to the open sea and let go.
4. Gratefulness by Dale Biron
Each day the engine of my gratefulness
must be coaxed and primed into action.
Of course like any old clunker,
it would just as soon stay put.
For even after the labored start beats the inertia,
and the plume of white smoke struggles upward,
the same hills always appear,
soaring daily—tall and ominous as before.
There is the long slow hill of “aging”
so gradual and smooth at first.
And then that steep grade called “the news.”
Yes, and always some mountain of a war
looming out there, never too far in the distance.
Even an old idea or a feeling long abandoned
might conspire to halt this fragile progress –
valves sputtering, tires flattening, clutch slipping.
But the old “potato, potato, potato” sound
of the engine, and all its mysterious fuel,
for which I am truly grateful
somehow
keeps stumbling along.
5. Grief will come to you by Gregory Orr (Excerpt)
Grief will come to you.
Grip and cling all you want,
It makes no difference.
Catastrophe? It's just waiting to happen.
Loss? You can be certain of it.
Flow and swirl of the world.
Carried along as if by a dark current.
All you can do is keep swimming;
All you can do is keep singing.
6. Prayer for Werewolves by Stephanie Burt
Someone will probably love you for who you are.
If not, you’ll still find friends,
friends who, given time, or given warning,
will probably gather around you, hold your hands,
and wrap you in soft coats and blankets till the violence
inside your body ends.
Someone will probably love you for who you are,
not just for who you labor to be.
Maybe you’re lost in your skin today. Maybe you’re burning
and wish you could tear it all off. Please don’t. You are variously
a marvel, an athlete, a wilderness, a source of warmth
and a way to learn from fear.
When you have claws, your claws are yours, your ears
bristle and are yours; your irises
are citrine, pure, and yours. They let you see
through smog and pine thickets and into the future, where
you need no chains to feel secure,
and someone will probably love you for who you are:
then you will know each other’s scents
and nuzzle or lope together. But for
now, you have friends,
who are not going anywhere. Please
stay here.
Recommended Listening
The May playlist is here! Happy listening, y’all.
Links of the Week
I’ve not been consuming much on the Internet. Still, a few gems I chanced upon.
“Judge me for how good my good ideas are, not how bad my bad ideas are.”
- Matt Damon (Thanks for sharing this Jeev. HBD)Don’t Think Too Much: Maira Kalman
Also, a few good shows I saw recently and highly recommend:
1. Jubilee
2. Beef3. Shrinking
That’s all for now, lovelies. Stay hydrated, k?
Sending love and poetry,
Rohini :)
If you like this newsletter, here are some ways you can support me:
Rohini - next time your therapist tells you to reframe your narrative, take a well-earned break and have your therapist do your post. Your postings bring such delight, happiness, color, depth and richness to me and I suspect so many others. Can’t that be enough? Your sorrows as well as your joys are their origins.
Really enjoyed reading this round-up! So thoughtful! Also, Sometimes by Sheenagh Pugh, struck me to my core! I felt all of it!