Remember the Light

Some days, I remember.

I awaken in the ambrosia hour before dawn.

I'm early enough to catch the morning sun as it alights in gold and orange in our front windows, bringing fire and warmth to inspire a new day.

On these days, I am hopeful, ready to bring a lightness of being to the world. Even the teapot sounds joyful in these moments, its whistle promising something new.

The cat might even be purring in my lap when the planets align perfectly. All is right with the world. It could be a Monday. Or it could be a Friday. Those mornings just somehow feel light.

But other days, the sky is grey.

It might be five below zero and there was sleet overnight. Robins desperately peck at the front lawn through the crusty snow. The living room just can't get warm—even with the pellet stove at full blast. The weight of a string of meetings ahead feels heavy. It's overcast—in more than one way. The morning news paints the reality of world a shade or two darker than I would like. Systems are crumbling and divisiveness is rampant.

Those days, my heart feels heavy. My focus turns quickly to all of those who are suffering. I give my thoughts over to those who have been marginalized, to family I have lost, to exhausted clients longing for something more, to those without food or shelter, to people of color, to my son and his peers in their 20s whose hearts are weighted and concerned.

On those days, the damn cat is nowhere to be found.

It’s not a 50/50 split. But it’s definitely not 100 percent in the light.

People sometimes ask me, How do you manage to be positive all the time?

Well, let me tell you: I don’t.

There are many days that feel darker, greyer, shorter. Days where I’m longing for more ease. Days I'm wishing for earlier times that seemed more carefree.

They say Mercury is in Capricorn until Valentine’s Day, which means our focus right now is sober and pragmatic. Toward the end of winter, that feels about right. Sober, and pragmatic.

The weight we are carrying is heavy. Holding space for collective exhaustion is not an easy charge.

My colleagues and I in the YMCA world lost a dear friend last week who was only 60, to glioblastoma multiform brain cancer. She was a force to be reckoned with—an amazing leader full of grace. And yet even that force is now hushed. The loss of her presence is reverberating through thousands who knew her.

Yet Mark Nepo says, “Sometimes courage is not defending what we know to be true, but letting in all that is beyond our understanding.”

I sent a meme yesterday to a few female CEO friends: It said, Just because she carries it well doesn’t mean it isn’t heavy.

Nepo says, "When opened enough, it's hard to tell what you carry and what I put down. When opened enough, it's hard to tell where the burden begins to lift and whose it really is."

In these times, we must all be courageous. This is our shared burden. And we may not really know how to fix it.

I’m letting it all in—this juxtaposition that is beyond our understanding. The fact that it can't be 100% light. The fact that this roller coaster we call life is not even close. It's thrilling at times, but at other times, it's downright terrifying.

The cat is sometimes by my side to comfort me.

And in the other times, I'm trying to embrace the not knowing. But I’m remembering to embrace the light too.