I wanted her to see that the only life worth living is a life full of love; that loss is always part of the equation; that love and loss conjoined are the best opportunity we get to live fully, to be our strongest, our most compassionate, our most graceful selves.
~ Pam Houston
Greg leaves this Sunday for twelve days in Israel. Perhaps not coincidentally, his Desert Ride, Sacred Journey comes during a time of great transition.
One of the changes is that this is the first week of my new full-time job at Jvillage Network.
Gratitude does not describe how I feel about having landed in this awesome start-up right here in Burlington, where among other things, I get to peruse blogs about Disruptive Spiritual Innovation and laughter and Kabbalah, then come up with creative ways for synagogues to use these as membership engagement tools on their websites.
It was an emotional day, the first day of the rest of my life, as it were (as if there were any other kind really). So many moments when I could succumb to doubting myself as a parent or panicking about the future or feeling overwhelmed by things that are either long gone or not even here yet. Then I remember, or at least try, to pause, count my breaths from one to ten and over again, step out into the rain or the sun, from pavement to grass, from screen to sky.
And so you return to beginner’s mind. You laugh until you cry, you cry until you laugh. You buy yourself a cute new skirt, love and loss two facets on the same jewel. And you feel it then, as you listen and look at these gorgeous faces from around the world singing together: It’s all one life. It’s all one love. Anything else is projection, illusion, fear, or fantasy.
And I just realized something. I must end this post with a request: please, if you are reading this, please reach out to someone today, tomorrow, this week, whenever. A loved one or a stranger, intimate or estranged. A hand on a forearm, an uncalled-for hug, a text, a phone call, an email, a quarter for a stranger. Buy a coffee for the person behind you in line. Look up and smile. Wave the pedestrian to walk when you could keep driving. Today, at the library – which I’d forgotten was closed – a woman offered to hold our big bag of books while I hoisted Pearl up on my knee so that she, Pearl that is, could place each one in the slot. It was a team effort.
“It takes a village,” the woman said, the woman whose name we’ll never know. It could be Jvillage, A, B, or Cvillage. No matter, whatever your letter: Be kind. It matters. It’s all that matters.
And please, leave a comment sharing just such a moment with the rest of us. Remember? THIS IS NOT SOMETHING YOU DO ALONE. I need to hear from you – and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one.