Finding Our Feet

I read somewhere that wearing socks to bed can help you sleep better, so I tried it last night.

It worked, as far as I could tell. I fell asleep and stayed there in that glorious REM spot for most of the night, and my dreams were neither vivid nor absent. Now, I’m not a credentialed scientist but I can at least employ some entry-level research methodologies by wearing socks to bed again tonight, and maybe for the next several nights to compare the results, test for consistency, even throw in a few new variables and plot the outcomes (add a footbath and some coconut lotion, nestle in with the kitten, more pillows, less pillows…we’ll see).

Bottom line here is I need a good night’s sleep. Several million of us do after last week’s election outcomes. I know…socks seem a thin comfort in the face of our shock and anger and deep apprehensions. But we start with what we can manage. I can manage socks for now. And a long overdue break from social media is also in order, not scrolling through the headlines looking for any sign of hope. I’m more likely to find her in the grocery store parking lot, stopping a cart from rolling into a fellow shopper’s passenger side door. That fleeting connection is real and simple and ends in two people exchanging smiles and it’s enough. It has to be or all is lost. I feel that in the marrow of my campaign-weary bones. The mandate to love hasn’t changed. It’s only become more urgent. Kindness—the deep kind, not just pretending to be nice—is still the coin of the realm I want to live in. I must remember this when the angry desire to throw rocks and burn effigies snarls to the surface and threatens to lay waste to all the hard work I’ve done trying to re-set my heart.

Last Wednesday morning, the land knew. She was eerily and respectfully quiet, a mourner with her head bowed in reverence to the tidal wave of grief washing over her. In the middle of our drought, she gave us the rain we so desperately needed when we woke up that day, and it began the slow soothe of our frayed, raw nerves. I had an early morning work commitment and couldn’t disappear into our fields and woods like I wanted, so I slipped into the mid-week traffic, driving next to strangers and searching their faces for clues, anything that would offer a narrow path to connection. We took normal care of each other as we usually do in our metal rolling cages, sharing the road, using our turn signals (mostly) and letting folks in front of us who clearly have to be on time for something and are cutting it close. I arrived at my destination with precious little memory of how I got there. I tucked the experience away to unfold on Thursday morning’s walk.

Today’s rains are steady and gentle, and I made it to the small clearing in the woods where I usually pause to sit on the hard wood of a massive black walnut trunk and Figure Things Out. The scent of woodsmoke from nearby houses’ fire pits stirred memories of our first years here with a wood burning stove of our own. We’d shovel out the previous day’s ashes and set split oak and cherry chunks onto the cold bricks, light the kindling and swing the door shut to watch the gathering flames wrap themselves around the wood. Many’s the night we sat together, Patrick and I, in front of that cast-iron stove, our legs outstretched with the soles of our feet warming deliciously inside our socks (again with the socks…). After a time, we’d check the clock and reluctantly close the damper before heading responsibly to bed until it was time to go to work. I don’t recall if our sleep was better for it, but my memories sure are. And in them I find another source of comfort and reassurance in these encroaching dark times.

I have no grand or exact predictions about what’s to come. For me, it’s still early days and I’m trying to catch my breath. Others in my orbit are telling me the same and we’re giving ourselves room to react on our way to response. I think of so many fellow humans in the world who don’t have that luxury, whose lives have been wrenched from their hands and turned upside down and they are pulled forward in a stumbling dead run just to get out of harm’s way. Too many haven’t made it to any sort of safe place. I am lucky to be able to pause and regather my strength. It’s what I must do; I know no other option.

So, dear friends, I will not let a necessary and temporary foray into inertia paralyze me. My feet have been places, seen a lot, collected stories and purpose and soon we’ll be summoned to new places, along with the rest of our very selves—shoulders to bear the weight, arms and hands to carry the weary, voices to speak what matters most.

We’ll all need a good night’s sleep before we head out. Best put on your socks.