I'm feeling like I don't have the right words to respond to this, maybe because it's not your words that I want to respond to (beautiful though they are, as always) but the experiences that you're describing. I am so moved by what you are moving in the world, by what is changing for you, around you and because of you. I am so grateful for the technology that allows me to follow your journey and for us to be in some degree of dialogue, but sometimes really feel the limitations of that. I think I don't feel like I have the right response because the right response would probably be a hug or a slightly tearful exchange. Hearing how your labours and your commitment are bearing the fruit that you hoped for is a truly magical thing 💖
Wow, Laura. Thank you. Perhaps some day I'll get the UK on a book tour or some other morally justifiable service outing and we'll share a meal and a tearful hug. I'm honored by your words. Truly.
Adam, thank you for the beautiful picture of Ginny and her lamb. Does that soft, new life have a name yet?
May your friend Sarah's memory be a blessing forever. It certainly sounds like that will be the case for the many people and animals that she cared for. In death, it seems, she continued to bestow gifts including bringing you to a more peaceful place with your former farm partner.
I relate to your discussion of busy-ness in many ways and appreciate your investigations into language and practice. Years ago I met someone who had just moved to Plattsburgh at our synagogue. We talked briefly. Months later, I saw her at a dinner party and we talked again. It turned out that we both taught at SUNY Plattsburgh. She said, "Oh, yes, I teach in your building and I see you there." Surprised, I said, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know that, I didn't see you, why didn't you say hello?" She responded, "Well, you're always walking so fast down the hall that I assumed you were very (too) busy and I didn't want to disturb you." I didn't say it, but, apparently, I was demonstrating it, busyness. I am still not sure if I was intentionally putting up that barrier or not.... Your words this week brought that experience back to mind--a re-mind, to slow down. Thank you.
Hi Diane, The naming comes to the yearlings who become mothers. Otherwise thirty names are too many to remember. And thanks for this story. I have a hunch that the act of calling someone else busy carries a bit of a pre-emptive emotional protection in it from the dreadful vulnerability of relational courtship.
I will always remember the constant refrain I heard from Kenyans when I stayed there for a week on the coast. "Slowly, slowly" they would always say (and their lives mirrored it). Rarely have I heard such wisdom condensed so succinctly.
They always had time for me, an outsider, and entering into their rhythms of slowness was a gentle delight.
Thanks for sharing that, Hassen. Imagining that as a poster on my wall, and being serious about it like someone might be about AA, terrifies me. And therein, in that realisation of fear, lies a path to healing (and flourishing?); a door slightly ajar as scary as a cupboard door to a 2yo at night
Your stories reach to the heart and your lived example shines bright - I particularly resonated with the phrases about emptiness today, and with the story of Sarah. Thank you for this post today. I loved reading it, and can feel the cherishing in the weave.
Thank you for your kind note, Janie. Emptiness is a tall order in our time--at least that's how it has been for me. The potent medicines tend not to go down easy, it seems. With care, Adam
Your beautiful storytelling is spellbinding, and I got goosebumps reading of your calling to be a support person. It's like you are a seedling that suddenly sprouted a new branch with leaves! This is really taking off, and I love watching you grow!
Goosebumps are so special. It's funny to think that you may have had goosebumps as I was writing the story about jumping into cold water yesterday. Blessings to you, Rebecca.
“And by “yes,” I meant, “This is all I long for, to be deemed trustworthy in this way.”” This al,oat made me cry! Such a beautiful post Adam and so inspiring. Lots to consider how to embed this into ‘busy’ city life.
The metaphor "parting the sea of testosterone" doesn't quite work, given the connection between salt water and tears. But perhaps you know what I mean. Granting others access to tears is one of my highest aspirations. So thank you for reporting on their arrival.
Beautiful, Adam. The bit of reconciliation in there seems holy. I could feel the shimmer in your voice as you told of old walls built by the resource clawing we are forced into falling. I bet something sings in that from here out.
Thank you again, Adam. I've been thinking so much about the idea of gift. And today you have reminded me of the beauty and invitation in not only giving favours, but asking for them too. I've also been mulling over how different it feels to do something from the place of gift, as opposed to transaction. I am aware of my need for an unschooling of my mind.
Hi Carri, Thank you for this. Yes, asking is the more demanding practice. I think of it a practicing dependency--not that we were ever not dependent, except in our societal stories.
Thank you, Andreas. I find myself skeptical of the most oft-suggested antidote to busyness: more leisure. The work/leisure binary, or work/fun, seem to obscure the meaning-rich terrain of service to culture/neighbor/earth.
I could be more specific: the relational terrain in which humans have, until recently, made meaning from the gift of being alive: service to culture/neighbor/earth.
I agree! My wife is doing her PhD in sociology doing fieldwork among people who have chosen to opt out and have less than 25 hrs of paid employment pr week. Her informants say the same thing: That they want to offer a relational contribution of their choosing. Whether it is to their local community, their children or to the earth.
My wife argues that this longing to offer a relational contribution is part of a bigger longing towards a different way of being in the world that is less extractive and transactional and more regenerative and relational. But that often, our imaginary horizons are too rooted in the society that we have grown up in, and that makes it difficult to see how things can be different.
I think I'll have to share a few of your posts with her now. Thank you for helping to expand our imaginary horizons. ❤️
So much good stuff here, Adam. You are absolutely right about the word "busy" being used like a badge of honour. Thanks for pointing out the difference it makes when you respond with the alternative "engaged".
Forwarded. You’ve done it again. Cut through the noise and despair to the open heart of things. Thank you.
Thank you, Sally. Despair starts to fall away pretty quickly once you stop trying to keep the world at arm's length. It's just too darn beautiful.
I'm feeling like I don't have the right words to respond to this, maybe because it's not your words that I want to respond to (beautiful though they are, as always) but the experiences that you're describing. I am so moved by what you are moving in the world, by what is changing for you, around you and because of you. I am so grateful for the technology that allows me to follow your journey and for us to be in some degree of dialogue, but sometimes really feel the limitations of that. I think I don't feel like I have the right response because the right response would probably be a hug or a slightly tearful exchange. Hearing how your labours and your commitment are bearing the fruit that you hoped for is a truly magical thing 💖
Wow, Laura. Thank you. Perhaps some day I'll get the UK on a book tour or some other morally justifiable service outing and we'll share a meal and a tearful hug. I'm honored by your words. Truly.
Yes...words do feel so clumsy at times. Nothing is quite like embodied, standing-in-front-of-someone connection.
Adam, thank you for the beautiful picture of Ginny and her lamb. Does that soft, new life have a name yet?
May your friend Sarah's memory be a blessing forever. It certainly sounds like that will be the case for the many people and animals that she cared for. In death, it seems, she continued to bestow gifts including bringing you to a more peaceful place with your former farm partner.
I relate to your discussion of busy-ness in many ways and appreciate your investigations into language and practice. Years ago I met someone who had just moved to Plattsburgh at our synagogue. We talked briefly. Months later, I saw her at a dinner party and we talked again. It turned out that we both taught at SUNY Plattsburgh. She said, "Oh, yes, I teach in your building and I see you there." Surprised, I said, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know that, I didn't see you, why didn't you say hello?" She responded, "Well, you're always walking so fast down the hall that I assumed you were very (too) busy and I didn't want to disturb you." I didn't say it, but, apparently, I was demonstrating it, busyness. I am still not sure if I was intentionally putting up that barrier or not.... Your words this week brought that experience back to mind--a re-mind, to slow down. Thank you.
Hi Diane, The naming comes to the yearlings who become mothers. Otherwise thirty names are too many to remember. And thanks for this story. I have a hunch that the act of calling someone else busy carries a bit of a pre-emptive emotional protection in it from the dreadful vulnerability of relational courtship.
Thank you Adam. I'm happy to fold that insight into my thinking about that exchange. It had not occurred to me.
I will always remember the constant refrain I heard from Kenyans when I stayed there for a week on the coast. "Slowly, slowly" they would always say (and their lives mirrored it). Rarely have I heard such wisdom condensed so succinctly.
They always had time for me, an outsider, and entering into their rhythms of slowness was a gentle delight.
This is great, Hadden. A first hand account of humans rejecting busyness as a measure of achievement.
Thanks for sharing that, Hassen. Imagining that as a poster on my wall, and being serious about it like someone might be about AA, terrifies me. And therein, in that realisation of fear, lies a path to healing (and flourishing?); a door slightly ajar as scary as a cupboard door to a 2yo at night
Your stories reach to the heart and your lived example shines bright - I particularly resonated with the phrases about emptiness today, and with the story of Sarah. Thank you for this post today. I loved reading it, and can feel the cherishing in the weave.
Thank you for your kind note, Janie. Emptiness is a tall order in our time--at least that's how it has been for me. The potent medicines tend not to go down easy, it seems. With care, Adam
Your beautiful storytelling is spellbinding, and I got goosebumps reading of your calling to be a support person. It's like you are a seedling that suddenly sprouted a new branch with leaves! This is really taking off, and I love watching you grow!
Goosebumps are so special. It's funny to think that you may have had goosebumps as I was writing the story about jumping into cold water yesterday. Blessings to you, Rebecca.
“And by “yes,” I meant, “This is all I long for, to be deemed trustworthy in this way.”” This al,oat made me cry! Such a beautiful post Adam and so inspiring. Lots to consider how to embed this into ‘busy’ city life.
Thank you, Isabelle.
This one brought me tears. That most cherished of gifts. Blessings to you, friend, may we have the courage to prophesy such returns.
The metaphor "parting the sea of testosterone" doesn't quite work, given the connection between salt water and tears. But perhaps you know what I mean. Granting others access to tears is one of my highest aspirations. So thank you for reporting on their arrival.
Beautiful, Adam. The bit of reconciliation in there seems holy. I could feel the shimmer in your voice as you told of old walls built by the resource clawing we are forced into falling. I bet something sings in that from here out.
You caught it, Andrew. It's a story that can only be told in a sentence here and there, scattered about. Over tea one at a time it goes better.
Thank you again, Adam. I've been thinking so much about the idea of gift. And today you have reminded me of the beauty and invitation in not only giving favours, but asking for them too. I've also been mulling over how different it feels to do something from the place of gift, as opposed to transaction. I am aware of my need for an unschooling of my mind.
Hi Carri, Thank you for this. Yes, asking is the more demanding practice. I think of it a practicing dependency--not that we were ever not dependent, except in our societal stories.
Great piece, thank you. I was reminded me a little of this old Tim Kreider column: https://archive.nytimes.com/opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/06/30/the-busy-trap/
Thank you, Andreas. I find myself skeptical of the most oft-suggested antidote to busyness: more leisure. The work/leisure binary, or work/fun, seem to obscure the meaning-rich terrain of service to culture/neighbor/earth.
I could be more specific: the relational terrain in which humans have, until recently, made meaning from the gift of being alive: service to culture/neighbor/earth.
I agree! My wife is doing her PhD in sociology doing fieldwork among people who have chosen to opt out and have less than 25 hrs of paid employment pr week. Her informants say the same thing: That they want to offer a relational contribution of their choosing. Whether it is to their local community, their children or to the earth.
My wife argues that this longing to offer a relational contribution is part of a bigger longing towards a different way of being in the world that is less extractive and transactional and more regenerative and relational. But that often, our imaginary horizons are too rooted in the society that we have grown up in, and that makes it difficult to see how things can be different.
I think I'll have to share a few of your posts with her now. Thank you for helping to expand our imaginary horizons. ❤️
So much good stuff here, Adam. You are absolutely right about the word "busy" being used like a badge of honour. Thanks for pointing out the difference it makes when you respond with the alternative "engaged".
Or "head over heels in love with the world." That's what engaged means really. Best to you, Leanne.
Thank you for sharing. I find your weekly letters nourishing, even as I write weekly ones of my own.
Thank you very much, Jennifer.