The last couple of years, I have been obsessed with excess and detritus, the things we need to get rid of but can’t or don’t—clutter in its many forms. The last few weeks, I’ve noticed a turn in my thoughts toward something that feels new only because it’s been so long since I felt hopeful enough to contemplate it: what matters enough to save.
I realized this week that my list of things worth saving, one of the lists I carry around in my head, has sprung to life again. It includes all manner of items small and large: tiny scraps of ideas, beneficial insects that overwinter in leaf litter (why not leave the leaves?), a damaged wooden table I turned into a sideboard for our patio-slash-old-garage-slab, American democracy, the planet. On and on it grows, this list in my head, no longer a set of rearguard actions but a sense of possibilities that point in new directions.
This optimism, if I’m brave enough to call it that in this of all years, surely has something to do with the election. I don’t talk a lot about politics in this space, but it’s often on my mind. How could it not be, these past four awful years?
The ongoing trauma of the Trump years motivated me to get more involved this time around. I’m not much of a phone-banker (talking to strangers on the phone? Hello, anxiety spiral!). Instead I wrote 105 get-out-the-vote letters to voters in Florida and Pennsylvania under the auspices of Vote Forward—a wonderful and well-run organization—and 50 postcards to voters in Wisconsin.
I loved writing these letters and cards, because I felt I was doing something that might be useful, and because to put pen to paper feels inherently like an act of connection. Ink connects to paper, words connect with readers, and the Postal Service connects a letter-writer in disenfranchised Washington, D.C. with people she will never meet in faraway towns she will never visit.
Writing to these strangers felt to me like a hopeful act, not unlike publishing a book—the hope being that the work and care put into it will make some kind of difference to somebody out there. If this sounds corny, well, it’s been a long and punishing four years for so many reasons, and I’ve given myself permission to try on a little hope and see how it feels.
It feels … good? Risky? Maybe, given how much needs fixing in this world. Here’s a photo of my living-room ceiling as a metaphor for the state of the country the last few years:
Fear not, America! We are in the midst of a full roof replacement, which will take care of the leak that caused all this damage, which will need to be repaired, which will not be cheap or easy. First things first: Stop what caused the damage.
I hope (there’s hope again) that you find time this week to do more than just contain the damage. That you save a little space for joy, carve out a little time for appreciation or just a tiny bit of relief, even if gratitude looks and feels different this year, even if you can’t share it as you normally would with the people you love. There’s a lot to fix, and a lot to save and savor.
Holiday housekeeping: Your local indie bookstore would really love to get some of your gift-buying business this season. Help them out and buy a book (or two, or three….)
Buying books directly from small and independent publishers is also a great thing to do. (My book is currently on sale at Belt, hint hint.)
And if you buy a copy of CLUTTER and want me to personalize it for the recipient, I will happily put a signed bookplate in the mail to you. Just drop me a line.
Thanks for reading, be well, stay safe!
Cheers,
Jen