There are no new stories, just those being told and retold.
What Willa Cather, the stunningly talented Western author, actually wrote was, “There are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before.”
Last night, as I crawled into bed long before midnight, I thought about the two or three human stories born from a year that feels like a sci-fi script, outlandish and impossible. At first, because I have this unfortunate negativity bias, I thought of the shared despair and worry. I thought of this day last year, the losses we hadn’t yet begun to feel. And when they came, they felt so personal, so unique, so collective.
First story: we sink or swim together. It felt like a year of treading water, nearly going under, swimming against the current -- all of which are true for anyone who longs for a better world. And as much as I have trash-talked cable news commentators, ideologues, and people who leave their dogs out in the cold, I truly believe that every human longs for a better world. For a world that is safer, easier to be in, more just, without so many sharp edges. As the human species evolved, we thrived because of community, because we depended on each other, helped each other, and sacrificed for each other.
Second story: just because we can do something doesn’t mean we should. Just being here, being human is the point. Being exceptional is beside the point, and it distracts from the actual point. We’ve worked so hard, fellow humans. We’ve invested the hours, punched the clock, invented things like wheels and iPhones and vaccines. Airplanes, backpacks, bathrobes. Computers, saddles, baby joggers. Some of these things are amazing. Some of our “progress” harms the planet, degrades our ability to stay connected, focused. My friend Dave and I laugh at our shared memories working with our dads or grandparents, getting the same instruction yelled over the cacophony of the day: “Don’t just sit there, DO something!” I loved discovering a twist on that phrase several years ago, inviting me to slow down and pay attention: “Don’t just do something, sit there.” And after a lot of “sitting there,” I conclude that far less of what we call progress is actually sustainable and that much conflict or gridlock or even dissatisfaction comes from the unexamined priorities of more, bigger, best. Our stunning landscape doesn’t start the day deciding to compete for the most adulation. And yet.
Third, there really is no point to anything but love. Duh. It’s been written innumerable times, and yet here is our reckoning, our reminder. All in all, I was one of the lucky ones this year, with work kicking into high gear through both my consulting firm and Becoming Jackson Whole’s accidental timing. The other day, after finishing a big chunk of work, payday came. I made it a point to notice what I felt, going to the bank. It was certainly better than the feeling I had in late March, wondering if I would have any work at all in the face of the shutdown. But the feeling didn’t compete with the rest of that day in my one, ordinary, amazing life…my kids came home and…hugged me. My dogs treated me like I was the best person alive…just for taking them on a walk. Fellow humans did the most remarkable things, taking extra shifts, building online everything, waving me through the intersection, sending a note that said something encouraging. Small acts. Big impacts.
The real currency of this life is spending time and attention just loving each other and the precious joys that make up every day. (Which is ironic, because I have been shushing my son for 20 full minutes as I write about paying attention to him. So I’m signing off now.)
I don’t have unique wisdom that will tie up 2020 in a neat package. But you don’t need it. Because I see you out there, hoping for a better world. I see you asking the right questions (“WTF?” is a perfectly understandable question). I see you being brave and deciding to return, after a deep breath or two, to loving your neighbors and helping your family and directing compassion every which way, including, I hope, at yourself.
Another thing Cather wrote, which I’ve remembered since developing my rather unhealthy obsession with her character, Thea, in Song of the Lark: "Nothing is far and nothing is near if one desires. The world is little, human life is little, and people are little. There is only one big thing... desire.”
Let 2021 unfold with this desire: that we pay attention to the true riches we have, and work to enrich the lives of those around us with true wealth. Warmth, laughter. Safety, kindness. Food, joy, shelter for body and spirit. Enough.
With much love and care,
Sara and the Becoming Jackson Whole team