Maybe We’re Living on an Atom in Somebody’s Wallpaper

It's the first week of September ~ a time of seasonal transitions for all of us, and personal transitions for many. Some people love change ~ me, not so much! How about you?

If you feel uneasy about goodbyes, too, you may be experiencing some low-key dread right about now.

The change in seasons already makes this a letting-go time, but then a couple days ago, news came to amplify the uneasiness. Wendell Berry ~ a poet whose work has frequently appeared in this newsletter ~ passed away on Monday, August 31. That loss, combined with Dolly Parton and Tim Curry last week, makes for a poignant time.

For many of us, it was this way when David Bowie passed, and then Prince shortly after. And of course if you've experienced the loss of a loved one, it's like this, too: an adjustment from living in the same world as these unique souls, to living in a world without them.

So, if you're feeling kind of tender-hearted or out of sorts, you're not alone.

Wendell Berry is known for poems that focus on a connection with nature, and the one below does that, even if it isn't exactly typical. There's something about it that felt right for this moment:

Dust
by Wendell Berry

The dust motes float
and swerve in the sunbeam,
as lively as worlds,
and I remember my brother
saying, when we were boys,
“We may be living on an atom
in somebody's wallpaper.”

On the face of it, this poem seems kind of weird: it's about dust. But the main idea here is profound and even freeing. It's a reminder that we don't ever 100% know what's going on: who we are, what our context is.

Often it's scary to confront our fundamental uncertainty ~ that's part of what makes grief and loss so challenging.

At the same time, there's a way that connecting with fundamental uncertainty can be liberating. It can lighten the mood without cheapening it. With all of our human intensity and drama ~ our slings and arrows of outrageous fortune ~ who actually knows what the heck is going on? Maybe we're all just living on an atom in somebody's wallpaper. Wouldn't that be something?!

This poem has that liberating effect on me: it opens up a sense of absurd collective possibility. I hope it gives you that, too.

Accepting (and even befriending) uncertainty is key to practicing the art of self-compassion, but it's not something you hear talked about very often. And it's maybe not something you've given much thought to.

Do you know someone who could use a reminder that they're not alone in facing uncertainty? Feel free to pass this along to them ❤️