Meeting the Moment: Who Am I Now?

How can I meet the ‘what-is-ness’ of this moment?

I find myself in uncharted territory—70 years old, with a fractured arm. I fell while cross-country skiing, the first time I’ve ever broken a limb. This unexpected slowdown has forced me to confronted the fragility of my body while facing the limitations of things that are outside my control. It’s like being a child again, learning everything afresh—getting dressed, preparing food, even keeping up with my daily writing practice as a one-armed bandit.

But perhaps the most difficult challenge is navigating this moment in the world around me.

The politics of the US have never felt more overwhelming. In many ways, I feared this day would come—and it’s part of the reason I left the US in the 1990s. Living in Europe, especially in Norway, feels better and more sensible. The leaders here seem less motivated by greed and insanity. Growing up in New York, I’ve never been fond of Mr. T, but it still shocks me that he has such a huge following. Despite all my efforts to limit exposure to him and his sycophants, he still holds the strings, manipulating the world on a grand scale. It’s a humbling reminder that, no matter how much we try to escape, we are all, to some degree, beholden to the powers that be.

So how do I find balance now?

I want to stay active enough to avoid the regret of silence—that by my silence, terrible things have occurred. Yet, I’m powerless to change the worst of it. All I can do is my little bit—deciding where to spend my money, where to get my news, which petitions to sign, and which NGOs to support. It feels small, but it matters.

And for the rest of my day, I turn to activities that give me meaning and purpose––a greater challenge due to the physical limitations imposed by my broken arm. Boy, do I miss swimming, yoga, and dancing—activities that brought me joy and helped balance the challenges of being alive, more acute now in the dark ages we seem to be living through.

Here in Norway, surrounded by forests, I’m grateful that I can still walk, still be among the trees, away from the crowds. I find support and solace in the trees, in the air, in the wind, and the sun.

I recently heard Joan Baez share that, in her golden years, she engages far less in activism. She still does some, but also steps away to retreat into her own air, her own breath. To reconnect with poetry, writing, and music—I’m playing the piano with one hand now—and staying true to your raison d’être.