DECEMBER 2014

I notoriously despise winter, but this December I was lucky enough to spend two weeks in warm weather. I visited my father in Delray Beach, Florida, which is always an exercise in getting to know him. I hung out by the pool and we played tennis too. He also took me on my first cruise—to the Bahamas. I listened to him sing out of tune on the boat’s karaoke nights, ate delicious foods, swam in water so clear I could see my toes. I also drove to St. Petersburg and taught poems to some of the brightest minds in this country at Farragut Admiral Academy. Then I came home and brewed up some of that warm Christmastime feeling with people I love.

Sometimes it’s difficult to be a part of this world — with all the murders of black people and trans women and the lack of accountability on the police and other killers. Somedays it’s hard to leave the house, and that’s me, with my immense list of privileges in this world. But I can only hope to move forward into 2015 with more compassion, bigger ears (for listening), more awareness of my privileges and how they can both help and hurt, more willingness to engage in dialogue, and a heart so big it breaks itself open. 

I leave you with a story, December:

Two years ago, in my dad’s development, which is an active retirement community for folks ages 55+, I met a man by the pool. His name was Joe. He was 90 years old and looked great for his age, with all his faculties, and wit to boot. He’d been a pilot in WWII and had seen a lot. He was kind and so gentle, and talked with me by the pool every day. I remember asking him what the best decade to be alive in was. He said “right now.” I was surprised by that answer and I loved it so much. To live in the moment like that! Holy. My father had lent him my first book, After the Witch Hunt, and he told me that he had read it three and a half times. He loved it. Somehow we got into conversation about fiction, and how he did not really think women could write good fiction. I was shocked to hear this because he’d been really rad and liberal up until this point. At the time I had just finished “Wild” by Cheryl Strayed, and I told him to pick it up and read it. I didn’t think he would, really. I kind of said it in passing.

This month I went back to Florida and hung out with Joe again, who looks and seems to feel just as great as ever. We’ve maintained an unlikely friendship over the past couple of years, me at 26 and him at 92, but he’s an old white dude who is not afraid to talk about his privilege, about racism, and he consistently surprises me by being so open to learning, changing, and discussion. In passing he tells me, “You know, I actually read “Wild” after you recommended it. It was so good. And then I picked up another book written by a woman. The New Jim Crow. Both were so wonderful. I can’t believe what I’ve been missing out on my whole life.”

This story inspires me to no end. I hope to never be stuck in my ways like most people who reach 90, or even 52, with their hard hearts, are. Here’s a picture of Joe, who is not related to me by blood, but is sort of like my spiritual grandfather. Here is to hope that we all stay open to learning, reading, and enlightening ourselves, and illuminating this whole dark place to make a more beautiful spot for us all to live in.