Dancing in a Twilight Zone
My friend walked me home at twilight along the familiar canyon road. We had just watched a debate between a bizarre, convicted felon who would intentionally destroy our democracy and who spoke nothing but lies, and a decent, capable leader who could have countered more effectively but he is what he is, not a circus act. Immediately after, the pundits proclaimed that the Dems were in trouble and that Biden should withdraw from the race, with far less mention of his opponent’s outrageous and incessant lies. Is this how it feels to see one’s nation unraveling?
Maybe we would have been better off not watching, but it seemed our civic duty to tune in. And now my friend and I were walking beneath the dusk-blushed sky, with two frisky dogs at our side, feeling sad and scared and angry. The hills began their shift into shadow, and the grandfather oak stood by, steadfast and stolid, having witnessed many other twists and turns in the human procession of folly. We said good night at the cattle guard, and as I latched the fence, I turned and watched my friend, a vision of beauty and absurdity in a twirly white skirt and sneakers, waving to me, then spinning into a spontaneous dance of defiance.
It had been a strange week already. My husband has a painful back injury and we have been caught in the labyrinth of the health care system and trying to get him comfortable. It has been an interesting role reversal, with me stepping up as the functional adult, realizing anew how much work he does, and how many things I now need to learn.
In the meantime, I had been sorting through files as part of our efforts to streamline in preparation for moving. And while my files are stuffed with mundane papers whose relevance expired decades ago, and many letters from my beloved dead that break my heart to read but with which I cannot part, I also discovered unexpected stacks of sweetness in these folders.
Most of the delights were from my teaching days. How wise I was to keep this stuff! One file, entitled “Kid Wisdom,” contained all sorts of tips for living––as offered by my 12-year-old mentors. Here are just a few random examples, which collectively feel a little like a poem:
You’re never too cool to run through sprinklers.
Don’t eat blue food.
Get caught in the rain. Wrestle with your dog. Have a picnic at midnight in a cave.
If the recipe says it serves 12, remember it only serves 6.
Your mom loves to hear, “I love you.”
Never eat chili dogs before going on a roller coaster.
Grow forget-me-nots. And remember that a poem is a friend you never had.
I got my share of fan mail in those days too, and it feels so good, all these years later, to know I was perceived this way:
“Thank you for believing in me to write poems. I have already started some books.”
“All I needed was a little push, and you gave it to me. I know I can be unaware of other people’s feelings at points, but please don’t’ take it personal. I once pointed out that what you did was special to us, and someday we will repay you. Well, this is a small token of what we owe you for being a good teacher. This is my weekend time that I’m putting in to write this letter, so I hope you appreciate that I care so much about you.”
“This is the first history class that I have ever understood.”
“You gave me a keepsake, and now I am giving you this. I have had it for a long time. It’s for you to put little treasures in, like buttons, rings, earrings, and pebbles.”
“Remember when we got our essays back and you said you wrote a lot of comments on them? I like when people do that. I like it a lot when I get to read what people say about my work.”
And I was honored by confidences shared, such as these:
“I couldn’t go to the hik[sic] or to school because I have the period. But please don’t tell nobody, please. I also have a pretty bad stomach egg[sic], and I am very sore.”
”When you were little, were you popular? Did you have many friends that did not dump you? Have you ever been making a friend, but they decided to walk the road of being cool instead of your friend? It feels like the world shadow covering me and there is no way to escape from my sadness. I keep hoping I will find a friend in my class. P.S. I love you.”
“When I was younger, I wrote a poem…”
I realize lately more than ever what an honor it was to be a teacher, to have played a small role in the lives of these long-ago children, now adults on their own far-flung journeys. Because I live in such an unusual rural community, I still run into these young people occasionally, and it’s a wonderful feeling. I’m glad I kept so many of their notes and poems. They make me feel better even now. I especially like having been a guide to help them into writing.
Also among the papers in this “feel good” file were loving letters from friends, too many long gone, but a resolute group still very current in my life. And speaking of friends, many have offered to come by and help us, and they are checking in regularly, and I am grateful beyond words.
Which brings me to community, which I still believe is the heart of it all. I keep saying this, but loving action on a local level is all that most of us can do, but it can be powerful and far-reaching. In the midst of a toxic trend toward meanness and lies, made all too clear by that debate last night, perhaps the answer is to be kinder and more truthful than ever. I wish I had bigger, more tangible ideas, but I know we must work with what we have and stand firm with what we know is right.
There are excellent on-the-ground organizations out there as well, and even small donations to them are helpful. One is GALVANIZE ACTION, which is running a suite of tested and effective persuasion ads about the economy (moderate women’s #1 issue), reproductive freedom (to raise the salience of that issue as a driver of votes), and democracy (to push back against polarization and offer hope and a vision of what we can be). These ads help voters choose the candidate whose positions are consistent with what they truly value. Another organization I recommend is the AIR LIFT FUND, a group that directs all donations into proven grassroots organizations working in battleground regions to bring local people into political action.
We must not let Biden’s failure to dazzle throw us off course. As Galvanize spokesperson Jackie Payne has pointed out, focusing on his performance at the debate is a distraction from “the true horror on that stage: a candidate whose outrageous lies and explicit threats to our democracy and rule of law have become so commonplace that they went almost unremarked upon last night.” Furthermore, we are electing not just an individual, but an administration, one with some remarkable people and sweeping achievements that have not been given the press they deserve
Pundits and panic-mongers aside, the race is far from over. Even calling it a race feels cheap and short-sided. We are engaged in a fundamental quest, an ongoing struggle in which a pivotal turning point is drawing near. As Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”
Let us help where we can even if it feels small. Let’s read poems and make eye contact. Let’s dance defiantly in the twilight zone.