love- hope- strength

“I'm just gonna sing about the things that I need:
A little bit of love, a little bit of hope
A little bit of strength, some fuel for the fire.

To build the ships to set the sails
To cross the sea of fools
To be dealt the cards
To play our hand
To win or else to lose
In this cruel world that kicks a man when he's down.”

~ The Alarm, Deeside.


fearful times

Without venturing into making sociopolitical statements, many agree that we live in upsettingly violent and fearful times. And that is excessively our context. An ordinary person, of dauntingly modest influence, can at least try encouraging others. Being a grain of inspiring leaven must persist with every passing day. Straight through the doldrums, no matter the ignominy. The stewarding of responsibilities is a trail that rarely juxtaposes with pursuits of success. Indeed, I’ve always tenaciously worked for both, but my high-minded idealism remains along a castle courtyard in the sky.

As one recession follows another, I thankfully keep on working. Whether or not it’s satisfying has had to decrease in importance. Scores of skilled workers lose their jobs, and exponentially more lose their homes. What may one dare to presume? The job market is as lifeless as this present culture is impoverished, yet personal defeat cannot be permissible. I must continue fueling my own engines. There are too many things yet to be accomplished; giving up the ship is still not an option. While life frustratingly remains in holding-pattern mode, I continue cultivating and flourishing where I’m planted. Foundering and drifting are undoubtedly worse than slowed movement and tacking. In the process, I can still be helpful to others. Most everyone I know is seeking a better situation for their livelihood. So many are struggling. On top of that, I’m listening to individuals of all ages express their cravings for community. Somewhere between pandemic quarantine life and The Great Resignation, too much of humanity turned inward to itself. The general willingness to gather pieces and create unifying bonds anew has left the popular consciousness. My own efforts continue, but indeed neighbors, colleagues, and kindredships are sum-totals comprising warm-blooded persons. Electronic personae cannot amount to reasonable facsimiles of human compassion and insight. As much as we know this, too many prefer their little pocket devices. Ironically, the bulk of human resources officers that recruit workers largely ignore the humanity exemplified in their conscientious applicants.


searching for positive signs

Grim times and thoughts intertwine to clog the mind as milfoil tangled around a ship’s propeller. Getting on the road does plenty to help my perspective, along with any intentional change-of-air. Occasionally I’ll have some music or radio accompaniment, but almost always some good threads of encapsulating monologue. And healthful silence. A good road trip- especially a scenic one- allows me to hear myself think (or not). Recently, getting outta Dodge was my very long-awaited family visit to Chicago, driving across the northeast, taking in the terrain. Making notes in my journal during a highway stop, I noticed how I had plenty of stamina for the 2200-mile round trip, but little for the sort of creative writing I’ve always loved doing. Exhaustion can be oddly asymmetrical. While listening to music and remembering the recently-departed, longtime favorite Mike Peters, I revisited the album “Strength” for the zillionth time. The Alarm is a prominent part of my life’s soundtrack. Among the songs, one of Peters’ verses, wrapped in refrains about struggling workers in a shuttering Welsh steel mill, affirms I’m just gonna sing about the things that I need, which are Love, Hope, and Strength. Essential, to be sure, and as the song proceeds, fuel for the fire. Enjoying the very short respite of being able to close my eyes while my coffee cooled in an I-90 service plaza, I penciled this in my journal: Sing about the things you need.

urban oasis

Inadvertently, my musing became an intrguing journaling prompt. “Sing about the things that I need,” looked to me like a way to cheer up my writing, and step back from the prevailing grimness. It surprised me that I found it difficult to answer the question with more than survival basics, though less poetic than “Love, Hope, Strength.” Instead, it was more of my quagmired scribbling about better work, quality of life, health of loved ones, stability, and community. Thinking through writing often carries a lot of repetition along, but re-reading thought processes can be fascinating. My ten days away from the grind began with some refreshingly unstructured time, which is always great for writing and reading- things that ordinarily require doses of stolen moments. My sister created a garden in a small space that has taken shape as an astonishing urban oasis. Perching outside was in itself salubrious, beginning with writing about gratitude for my earned-time-off to be able to make the travel, as well as for the welcomes received. Fresh air, good company, and tasty food; more gratitude. Looking up at the city’s trees, then down to my books on the patio table, gave me some Mike Peters-worthy words: Air, Light, Belonging, Writing, and Philosophy. Garden quiet combined with large-city hum, brought to mind choosing the substantial over the artificial. The following day, at a busy downtown café in the Loop, I added more answers in my journal such as “things that attest to the human spirit.”

notice what is good

The Newberry Library

Being a native born-and-bred city kid, I love a great city, and Chicago is a place that attests to the human spirit. As always, it did my soul a lot of good to immerse myself in miles of walking, intricate neighborhoods, grandiose avenues, L trains, and chatting with plenty of people along the way. On this particular sojourn, there was enough time and mild weather to see exhibits and some favorite businesses. The city’s vibrancy helped me replenish, at multiple levels.

Above: The Paper and Pencil, in the Andersonville neighborhood.
Below: Atlas Stationers, in the Loop.

savoury Chicago cheesecake, at The Pittsfield diner

It’s a long, long haul- and notching all those highway tolls, towns, and milemarkers reminded me of that reality, along with the constant need for patience in all things. After returning to Maine, a good friend said to me that “OK is fine,” which is to say that my big aspirations are a lot to expect. This was somewhat reassuring for me to hear, while my efforts continue as always. There are major projects yet to accomplish, and never enough time or influence. Survival always screams loudest and thus gets the majority of my attention. Countless others are likely in similar straits. Speaking for myself, along with my dreams, OK is momentarily fine, but I’ll keep on reaching higher. Modest measures of forward movement are better than nothing. Town-to-town gets me to the bigger destinations. En route, I’ve found it to be wisest to keep on identifying what is good, as much as possible. At work, I’m helping and teaching dozens of people daily, while conserving and offering primary source material. Every single workday attests to the extraordinary value of professional versatility, and how polished and productive I’ve been making this, contrasting how too many recruiters assume an unreality that ascribes one-skill-per-worker. Excelling at many things amounts to a full and focused life, and this should be desirable for any institution- no less in tight economic times. Identifying what is good keeps things interesting. This came to mind as my long-distance navigation wove through fields, vineyards, and along some of the Great Lakes. Despite the job market and all its barriers, like a true Alarm fan, I’m singing about the things that I need: Love, Hope, and Strength.

my favorite Chicago bookstore, The Armadillo's Pillow- in the Rogers Park neighborhood.

“...things that attest to the human spirit.”

Lake Michigan, viewed from the Rogers Park neighborhood.

awakened forces

“Did they tell You stories
‘bout the saints of old?
Stories about their faith?
They say stories like that make a boy grow bold;
Stories like that make a man walk straight.”

~ Rich Mullins, “Boy Like Me / Man Like You.”

winter’s progress

Latter January days are plotted among the depths of winter’s navigational chart. Today’s distance is far enough away to have lost sight of departure’s shore, yet too far still to detect land on the horizon. Along any lengthy voyage, there arrives a point at which the launch becomes too far away for me to reach back. An about-face would be as perilous as the way forward. And simply by virtue of the distance already covered, there follows the additional virtue of perseverance. Mind says to body, “look how far we’ve gone; we can only continue moving forward.” Mind seems to take for granted that it is of no consideration to stand still. There isn’t enough time to be dropping anchor out at sea. But the driving forces to proceed must be close at hand, and such sources must not drop out of sight.

assurance

Of late, my thoughts have been turning to the idea of how we can sense our own forces. We may not always be aware of the strength we have available to us in our personal reserves, but on some occasions we can sense it. We may even articulate our sources of strength. Admittedly, recollections of “fight-or-flight” crisis reactions can provide instances of reaching for our survival forces. In this instance, I refer to something more subtle and yet also more constant. I have known quiet instances of having been surprised by the realization of assuring strength, even when it was not necessary to call forth any special effort.

The memory of a fleeting impression remains with me, during which I had been simply walking across a busy thoroughfare. It was an early afternoon, and I had completed my day’s work. I might have been en route to a café, striding across Monument Square. I was momentarily and entirely at leisure, with neither backpack nor satchel appended to me. Very simply, hands in pockets, I paced across the bricks and looked upward. Sculpted façade-tops opened to seaside skies. Traversing the oldshoe familiar terracotta plaza, I was instantly astonished by an overspreading sense of completion. The old buildings and cobbled streets appeared as softly near as the flannel of my side pockets. I did not stop walking, and did not even slow my steps. But I comprehended that very moment which remains with me, years later.

sensing forces

What brings us to sense our forces? I frequently refer to teaching as a labor of love. Lesson planning and prep often feel like rehearsals toward interactive performances. I’ve been doing this for more than two decades, and the cathartic satisfaction always remains. Amidst helping others make artistic and intellectual discoveries, I momentarily forget my troubles. The ability to connect what we know and love- with professional challenges, or with the needs of others- finds us “in our elements.” A sense of strength can certainly manifest at repose, too. A strong sense of strength can settle in, during times of contemplative silence- even without a specific thought, or at times which might appear to be “inactive.”



The spirit transcends action and place. Reminders of strength can arrive as discreetly as a subtle thought, or solidly as a physical locale: a plain remembrance of my ancestral roots can be as forceful as the view from an ocean crag. I still remember elders telling me to “remember who you are.” Notice how athletes say “playing with confidence” is a decisive factor to their consistency. Still further is an ancient phrase from holy writ, intent to assure humble-hearted listeners they will overcome evil with good, as greater is the Divine that is within you, than that which is in this world.

big shoulders

The holiday season provided an opportunity to return to Chicago. While driving, strolling the Mag Mile, and peering from CTA trains, I thought about the sensing of strength. When do we “feel our forces,” whether they are stored up within us, or reflected through our prism-like selves? Can we call upon needed strength, when exhaustion and discouragement bring us to disorienting ends of our reserves? In Chicago, I saw family and familiar sights, yet was also reminded of the breadth of this world. Driving more than 2200 miles, and appreciating some unexpected kindnesses, I made note of the present as I looked forward.

While in Chicago, I went to an Irish tavern to hear a talented local ceilidh group play traditional Celtic music. Having played in many ensembles myself, I know how music shared among a group can generate cleansing joy. This particular group was really radiating cheer, and true to Chicago form they worked in a few jazz tunes. Toward the end of their energetic set, the whole group sang two hymns, beginning with I’ll Fly Away, and ending with How Can I Keep From Singing. I’d never heard folksinging voices interpret these before, and was struck by the spirited intimacy of the latter’s lyrics:

"No storm can shake my inmost calm,
while to that rock I'm clinging.
Since love is lord of heaven and earth
how can I keep from singing?

My life goes on in endless song
above earth's lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
How can I keep from singing?"

An awareness of strength involves recollection. While listening to the music, I reached for my notebook and jotted, “remembrance and rejuvenation do not always coincide; spiritual and physical- both are ideally necessary.” Indeed, the ability and application of reaching for sources and reserves of strength is a self-discipline.

perspective

Calling forth needed strength occurs to me as a cultivated practice. Now my thoughts turn to occasions of taking charge of situations, and instances of defending undefended individuals. Then I think of less-sentient situations during which I’ve had to create carefully arranged and indexed archives from heaps of barely discernable chaos. And still further, I recall how I’ve been maintaining small measures of constructive calm as a caregiver, by studying philosophy in hospital waiting and recovery rooms. When I could not write, I could find wise words to read and safely inhabit.

With all these things in mind, I considered the subtly strengthening potential of ideas and words. Visiting with a fellow writer provided some insights I might have otherwise overlooked. My friend talked about exercising perspective, and keeping focus upon what is positive. We talked about writing through all sorts of seasons- the rough and the smooth. She described the positive energies immediately at hand, reminding me of the Greek word paraclete, which means the comforter at one’s side. With written words of truths and ideas passed along through the ages, there are assuring words spoken to present-day uncertainties.

I’ve brought this topic to a few more trusted friends. Through what kinds of situations do we feel our forces? Can we call upon our sources of strength, when it is most needed? I asked another esteemed friend, a fellow that leads a raucous rock band that is constant in performing and recording. He correspondingly perseveres with composing and practicing- to the extent that he told me that as he performs to large crowds, he feels that he’s “not really there.” I interpret that to mean he is not excessively self-focused, but rather moving with the immediacy of the pressured moment. He also says that right before a show, he suppresses his analytical thoughts. Being in one’s element is more about confidence and self-possession that about self-consciousness. When it comes to reaching for inner strength, he described going for solitary walks. The topic prompted us to talk about the importance of place. True to our shared Maine colors, he said his most recharging walks are along seashores.

Physical place is more than merely a point of reference; it can also be inherently a source of strength. Ocean perches and beaches, along with mountain trails, are places by which I find my forces. But to say inherent is as subjective as the interpreting individual. Yet it is easy to consider a physical setting as having intrinsic value. Such perspective attests to the solidity of human thought. Landscapes change, as do their connotations for each of us. Yet for our spirits, the most fluid, most elusive and ethereal references are those which produce our profoundest ground.

my type of town

“And each time I leave, Chicago is
Tuggin' my sleeve, Chicago is
The Wrigley Building, Chicago is
The Union Stockyard, Chicago is
One town that won't let you down
It's my kind of town!”

~ Sammy Cahn and Jimmy Van Heusen, My Kind of Town.
























Newberry Library.








Harold Washington Library (Chicago Public Library)
Yes, those are owls up there.











A memorable Fathers Day weekend game.
The Cubs pitcher went 2 for 3, and batted in a run;
so there, "DH rule."








Above: On the Mag Mile. Below: Chicago Public Library Archives.







Above: My favorite Chicago building, the Carbide and Carbon, Michigan Avenue.


Below: Century Pens, on South LaSalle.



















Below: Evening's writing, at the Artists Café,
412 South Michigan Avenue.









The Artists Café








View from the ferris wheel, Navy Pier.






Above: The view from the Art Institute of Chicago.
Below: Interstate 90, northern Indiana.

p o s t s c r i p t u m

Art Institute of Chicago





Nicholas de Largilliere: Self Portrait, 1725.
Notice the "porte-crayon" he's holding.





Above: Detail of painting by Henry Fuseli, from 1794.
Below: Exhibit about writing instruments.








Image above, and two below:
Chicago Cultural Center typography exhibit.












Gifts for sale, Daley Plaza, State Street










My Olympia Splendid holds forth, in the Windy City.