A Letter From A Young Woman to Carry Into Winter

Each fall as deep winter approaches, two instincts arise, as predictable as the winds that chill me when I go into the garden to stand among my empty crabs and birches.

The first of these nudges me to retreat from the world’s clamor and commerce: to fade and become as nearly invisible as these trees that huddle against a row of towering evergreens.

The second instincts is related — to gather what soul sustenance I need for an inward season of reflection.  This is the time of year when I ask the perennial question: What am I called to be, to give and to release before I can be released into new life come spring?

Sometimes this process needs needs a day.  Some years, it requires a week – usually the one between Christmas and New Years when the visits, festive meals, gift giving, cards sent and read, evening soirees and holiday concerts are over and the tissue paper, and sparkly lights are ready to be put away.

This year, the need for retreat feels more pressing, and the companions I carry with me more important.  We are all asking how we are to live in this coming season of our common life.  How can we remain grounded and receptive to the needs around us, rather than reactive and continually on edge? How can we fashion boundaried hours in which to write, paint, knit, enjoy the company of friends and loved ones, without “the world” crashing our necessary sanctuaries?  How can we actively resist the impulse to checkout, withdraw, or adopt a tunnel vision that will only isolate us from those we most need to be near?

I plan to reread the journals of Etty Hillesum, the young Dutch Jewish woman who experienced a profound spiritual transformation in the midst of the German occupation of Amsterdam during World War II.  I want to reread Greg Boyle’s Tattoos on the Heart, the story of his restorative work with Los Angeles gangs.

I will certainly reread, many times, a gift I received two days after the Election.  It is a letter written by a 22-year-old American woman I do not know, sent along by a friend, whose family had received it.  The author, who has given me permission to share it, had traveled to Japan in October with this family’s daughter, as a post-graduation trip.  The author decided to prolong her visit for a few weeks after the daughter returned home. This is what she wrote the day after the Election.

“I had more plans for my trip to Hiroshima, but with the combination of the Peace Museum and also the election, I decided to take my second day here very slowly, to process and reflect.

I cried a lot-in the museum, outside of the museum, in my hostel bunk bed. The Peace Museum was hard, but necessary, and in a twisted way it gave me some much needed perspective while watching the news back home.

“The A-Bomb that hit Hiroshima in 1945 wiped the city off the map. They have a panoramic picture of what the area looked like, and it was genuinely all gone.

Vaporized. It was hell, here, for everyone.

“Hiroshima today, 80 years later, is a vibrant city full of life and culture. Kids laughing on school trips, couples walking in the park, a girl my age drawing on a bench with headphones on.

“Amidst my own grief, for both what has already happened and what happened yesterday [Nov. 5], I see such hope for what is to come. We are so used to rapid growth, rapid change. Tragedy can happen in seconds, and rebuilding takes years. I know this lesson better than most.

“Patience and perseverance is key, and I’m especially grateful and privileged to be alive today to maintain grit and keep trying. Rebuilding is much harder than scrapping, but infinitely more meaningful and worthwhile.

“I’m happy I got to come here, especially at this moment in time, to give myself some much needed perspective and belief that things can be changed, and can become better, given time and hard work. I feel inspired and thankful getting to sit on a bench in a beautiful park surrounded by happy and healthy people, knowing that this peace is something they could only dream of 80 years ago.”

Written by DeDe Driscoll

May you find time this winter to go deep, and nurture your soul.