Signs

Signs

Luci Shaw

In time of drought, let us be

thankful for this very gentle rain,

a gift not to be disdained

though it is little and brief,

reaching no great depth, barely

kissing the leaves' lips. Think of it as

mercy. Other minor blessings may

show up—tweezers for splinters,

change for the parking meter,

a green light at the intersection,

a cool wind that lifts away summer's

suffocating heat. An apology after

a harsh comment. A word that opens

an unfinished poem like a key in a lock.

Humans are constantly looking for signs, reading the tea leaves of life for assurance or change or an end in sight.

• Signs of spring
• Signs of a change in weather
• Signs of approval
• Signs he really likes me
• Signs I made the right decision
• Signs I am in labor
• Signs I have lost some weight
• Signs my kids are alright
• Signs you made it, of success
• Signs a friend might need help
• Signs she is telling the truth
• Signs the chemo is working
• Signs things will get better, have turned the corner
• Signs this too shall pass
• Signs I haven’t lost my mind
• Signs of aging
• Signs from the universe, from God
• Signs things are under control

Signs might let us know which path to choose when we find ourselves at a fork in the road. Or, signs might reinforce a sense of control in knowing that a higher power has a plan and a purpose for things a mere mortal cannot manage. These days the talk revolves around signs the virus has plateaued, signs the economy can reopen, signs we can slowly but surely put this pandemic behind us.

I look for signs when I have a difficult decision to make. I try to begin with a solid foundation of as much information and data as I can personally collect, because simply trusting my gut tends to mean my decision will be emotional. Not that emotions don’t have their place – I am human after all. Rather, balancing my intuitive decision-making tendencies with deliberate analytical decision making seems the best process for getting it right more often than not. And, processing the decision, what I know and how I feel about it, with a trusted friend insures I see things I might be missing in the larger picture.

I might still get to the fork in the road and find myself filled with unease and uncertainty. I so want it to be black and white, for there to be a right and a wrong so I can plow ahead already. At this tipping point, I might look for a sign such that my emotions and the easiest path at hand are definitely winning. I need to take a deep breath and remember my graduate school advisor saying that maybe some choices aren’t either right or wrong but simply different. We arrive at the fork in the road with all the available information and we could go left or right with different outcomes but no ultimate moral judgment at stake. Either choice could be a good choice. Why not?

 

Five miles or five months or five successive turns in the road might reinforce the “wisdom” of our decision or upon reflection might reveal the true potential of choosing differently in hindsight. No matter: the fork in the road is where all the learning can happen, where we grow as individuals, where our character is tested, where we let go and roll with it, because as we know the most flexible people tend to be the most capable of dealing with whatever life throws their way.

I know the officials who are leading us through this pandemic find themselves at a new fork in the road on a daily basis. I don’t envy their position one bit. The life and death decisions at hand are complicated and fraught with ambiguity. However, I know that I want them to begin with analytical data with a broad lay of the land in their sights. I want them to be other focused and have compassion but to rely on experts rather than their own emotions. No fortune tellers or tarot cards or gurus or signs ought to come into the picture. When at the forks in the road, I hope they make their decisions with humility and mercy and a learning orientation. Moving decisively from this vantage point might ultimately be the only real sign we need that we can beat this virus and eventually emerge changed but whole.

Longing

The Washington Post and The Library of Congress have put together a new series called The Poetry of Home. Could anything in this time of stay-at-home mandates be more timely? Listen to Robert Pinsky elaborate on and read his poem House Hour here.

House Hour

(City Elegies, Part 3 of 6)

Robert Pinsky

Now the pale honey of a kitchen light

Burns at an upstairs window, the sash a cross.  

Milky daylight moon,

Sky scored by phone lines. Houses in rows  

Patient as cows.

Dormers and gables of an immigrant street  

In a small city, the wind-worn afternoon  

Shading into night.

Hundreds of times before

I have felt it in some district

Of shingle and downspout at just this hour.  

The renter walking home from the bus  

Carrying a crisp bag. Maybe a store

Visible at the corner, neon at dusk.

Macaroni mist fogging the glass.

Unwilled, seductive as music, brief  

As dusk itself, the forgotten mirror  

Brushed for dozens of years

By the same gray light, the same shadows  

Of soffit and beam end, a reef  

Of old snow glowing along the walk.

If I am hollow, or if I am heavy with longing, the same:  

The ponderous houses of siding,

Fir framing, horsehair plaster, fired bricks

In a certain light, changing nothing, but touching  

Those separate hours of the past

And now at this one time

Of day touching this one, last spokes

Of light silvering the attic dust.

 

 Every now and again these days, I find myself sitting at my desk, staring out the window, and feeling unsettled, the heart heavy with longing. Some of my most beloved treasures are within grasp – my husband and daughters, my welcoming home and garden, my ever-pleasing dog and entertaining cat, my spaces for creating and nurturing and peace. Yet, I recognize an undeniable surge of longing as I stay at home, knowing some of the simplest things have been lost. Alone they may be of no consequence but collectively the hole left behind is obviously gaping.

Feeling the same? Here is a simple exercise to flush it out. Take ten minutes to jot down as quickly as possible a list of all the things you miss under lock down. Don’t self-censor or question. Let yourself be led by your inner voice which may shout out some things and need encouragement to describe others. After you finish your list, you might like to see mine:

• The breeze from an open car window on a warm day
• Wandering the aisles of the farm stand with only the produce and its potential on my mind
• A friend stopping by unexpectedly
• Volunteering to help comrades in arms
• Petting the approaching owner’s dog on a neighborhood walk
• Conversing informally with colleagues any time I walk the halls at work
• Eaves dropping on conversations at the coffee shop
• Making small talk with the store clerk
• An empty house
• House guests
• Travel planning
• Writing circle
• A salon appointment
• Cooking for a crowd
• The efficiency demanded by a full schedule
• A crowded movie theater
• Running out for a quick bite to eat
• Coffee klatches, lunch appointments, dinner dates
• The novelty of thrift store finds
• Toasting, cheering, clapping, snapping photos, or otherwise collectively emoting and commemorating at a public gathering
• Letting go of my daughter as she heads out the door, forges a new path, sets her sights afar
• Waiting for my husband to arrive for dinner, brimming with news to share from our respective days
• The confidence that comes with sound leadership
• Hugs, handshakes, fist pumps, high fives, leaning in, whispering, walking arm-in-arm, brushing a cheek
• Looking over a student’s shoulder at her work, his computer, their group work
• Walking the streets of a favorite city with no agenda
• Sitting on the downtown mall with a drink on a lazy weekend deep in conversation and people watching

 Robert Pinsky reminds us that the advantage of being heavy with longing is to know what one wants. This may be the greatest gift of our confinement. As a result, we can make this exercise more specific and focus on our jobs, our relationships, our free time, our passions and goals and desires. My husband has been keeping a list on a presentation size post-it note stuck to the wall of all the things he misses in his professional life and those he could do without, examining his commitments and responsibilities pre-Covid-19 as well as in the grasp of the pandemic today. This is a forward-looking, change-oriented exercise to seize the opportunity this crisis affords of rejecting the old normal and envisioning a new path forward. 

Deliberately. Mindfully. Conscientiously. Set longing under the lens, examine contemplatively, find meaning. Move forward, your soul centered and your purpose clear.