What Are We Going to Do?

Preparing my house to withstand the wildfire of the next four years

Last week, I attended a meeting with a group of faith leaders. The Rev. Traci Blackmon offered a reflection to the gathering about hope and resilience in the midst of the current political turmoil and crisis. “Every day,” she said, “I look at a photograph from a house in Los Angeles. Although it was surrounded by complete devastation from the fires, with entire neighborhoods wiped out, this one house remained.”

Focusing on this image — sort of like an icon — strengthened her hope. The house — like the few others that survived — employed fire-resistant technologies and architectural building techniques intended to do exactly what they did — not burn down in such a conflagration.

No one, of course, wanted or fully imagined the Los Angeles fires. But a handful of owners had prepared for the worst. In an interview with The Guardian, Jacob Ruano, a federal firefighter, remarked, “This house was perfect; it was built for this. Not all homes are built like that.”

This house … was built for this.

Rev. Blackmon knows a fitting biblical illustration when she sees one: “A wise man built his house on rock. The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on rock,” said Jesus. “A foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell — and great was its fall!”

This house was built for this.

That’s how we all must think right now, because she insisted, “We are all vulnerable now.”

No one wanted (well, to be truthful, some people did want) the conflagrations of this new administration (who are, sadly, the arsonists). But have we built for this? Is our house ready? What does it take to shore up the walls when the fire has already begun?

Is my house built for this?

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Since January 20, I’ve been asked one question by scores of friends, neighbors, and readers: What are we going to do?

I haven’t known what to say.

But Rev. Blackmon’s remarks sparked the epiphany I’ve needed: We can build for the fire.

As a result, I came up with a list of things to do. I call it the “Ten Ws.” For me. For anyone who is floundering. It isn’t about fixing everything that is being broken. It is about building for the fire.

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HERE ARE MY TEN Ws:

WAKE UP (everyday)
Sleep is important, but hiding under the covers is bad. Get on some sort of schedule for sleeping and waking. And don’t doom scroll before bed.

WELCOME THE DAY (everyday)
With gratitude. Say “thank you” first thing when you wake. The night and day are still doing their thing, no matter what. You may feel defeated or scared. But you are alive. Life is the first and most fleeting gift. Remember Stephen Hawking: “Where there's life, there's hope”

Reread Grateful (or read it for the first time). I wrote it during Trump I. There’s a lot of wisdom in those pages. I’m rereading my own book now.

WALK (everyday)
Get fresh air and exercise. This isn’t a weight loss program or training for a marathon. Walk to feel the ground under your feet and notice all the little things on your street, in your neighborhood, at the park. Feel your body in the world. Move, be attentive to your world, pray or meditate as you go (if you like). Or just put one foot in front of the other — because that’s the only way through the next four years.

(BE) WITH OTHERS (everyday)
Don’t isolate yourself. Reach out or connect with someone every single day. Face-to-face, via text or email, or write a letter. Go to church or synagogue. (I know lots of people who have theological questions who go to church just to be with others.) Volunteer to feed the hungry or read to children at the local library (also: support your local library!). Do good for and with others. Go to conferences. Hang out with people you trust. Start a book group.

WORK (most days, but take Sabbaths too!)
Keep doing your work. Do what you love. Practice your vocation. Don’t try to do everything all the time. Focus on your own gifts and calling. This isn’t just working at a job. Clean your house, rearrange your closets, take up a hobby. You may be challenged in the future to go far beyond your comfort zone. But it is far more likely that the work you do will be your primary arena of acts of assistance, democracy, and justice on behalf of others. Be an everyday hero wherever you are.

WRITE (everyday, weekly, or often)
Keep a journal of these days. Express yourself as fully as you can in its pages. If you don’t like writing, draw or weave or throw pots. Whatever. Have a creative way to work through your fears, losses, or doubts. You may think you don’t want to remember any of this. But one day, you — or someone who comes after you — will be grateful to know your story of now. And writing or art can clarify things for you.

WATCH THE NEWS (as able)
You must stay informed. The arsonists want you ignorant. If you can’t watch the news, read or listen to it. Subscribe to a few news digests that deliver news in smaller, digestible bits (I subscribe to ProPublica, The Guardian, Bloomberg, Heather Cox Richardson’s daily newsletter) along with newsletters you trust. I still get the Washington Post and the New York Times, keeping in mind their recent editorial shifts, etc. Support local journalism. Use the mute button on your remote. Be cautious with sources. You don’t need to know everything, but being aware of at least some things is important.

WIDE-SIGHT (a practice to develop)
Broaden your perspective by looking to the periphery. I wrote about wide-sight in Grateful (pp. 65-67). But I first learned the practice from Parker Palmer in The Courage to Teach (which is still one of my favorite books ever!). Here’s his explanation:

Normally when we are taken by surprise, there is a sudden narrowing of our visual periphery that exacerbates the fight or flight response — an intense, fearful, self-defensive focusing of the “gimlet eye” that is associated with both physical and intellectual combat. But in the Japanese self-defense art of aikido, this visual narrowing is countered by a practice called “soft eyes,” in which one learns to widen one’s periphery, to take in more of the world.

If you introduce a sudden stimulus to an unprepared person, the eyes narrow and the fight or flight syndrome kicks in. But if you train a person to practice soft eyes, then introduce that same stimulus, the reflex is often transcended. This person will turn toward the stimulus, take it in, and then make a more authentic response — such as thinking a new thought.

Don’t get fixated on the direct threats. Instead, remind yourself to look toward the edges of your field of vision. What’s there? What’s not immediately obvious? Is there something on the periphery that is helpful, healing, or hopeful?

WEEP (whenever)
Embrace whatever emotions come up. I’ve cried many days in recent months. But I’ve laughed, too. Don’t judge how you feel on any given day (or at any given hour). Don’t regret the tears and don’t feel guilty about joy — and all the feelings in between the two. If you have someone to talk to about your feelings, share what’s going on.

WONDER (as much as possible)
Go out into nature, spend time at an art museum, listen to your favorite music, read books and poetry, get obsessed with space photos from the Webb telescope — anything that connects you to beauty and deepens your awareness of awe. Researchers have discovered that “awe leads to goodwill, cooperation, and a transformed sense of self as part of a community” (Berkeley professor Dacher Keltner). Embrace mystery. Ask unanswerable questions. Awe is “pro-social” and has been shown to reduce polarization!

Wake up, Welcome the day, Walk, (Be) With others, Work, Write, Watch the news, practice Wide-sight, Weep, and Wonder.

Some are every day practices, some occasional. Some need to be learned; others are intuitive. This isn’t a to do list. It is a map. Mix them up. Borrow what you like or need. Whatever helps. Add your own Ws. Keep it simple.

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That’s what I’m doing. My ten Ws.

I don’t know how to solve many of the big problems and, frankly, I’m as afraid of what is coming as much as you are. But these ten things seem like a good foundation for a fire-proof house. We didn’t want this disaster, but the wildfire is burning and shows no real sign of being contained. The conflagration comes closer. We want to survive, we want to help others survive, and we want to somehow shape a better future from the ashes.

Let’s make sure we can withstand the storm.

Is your house built for this?

I know I have work to do. Now.

Will you join me?

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If you read Jemar Tisby’s newsletter, you probably noticed he talked about Rev. Blackmon’s comments, too. Yes, we were at the same meeting.

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Do you have some other “W” ideas? How can we make the Ws a regular part of support here at The Cottage?

In the bigger scheme of things the universe is not asking us to do something,
the universe is asking us to be something.
And that’s a whole different thing.

— Lucille Clifton

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INSPIRATION

When it’s dry here,
the clay in the soil shrinks,
its particles pulling
more tightly together
until deep cracks form in the earth,
a force so powerful
it can damage foundations.
This makes me wonder
about how we, too,
storied to have come from clay,
can crack in times of drought.
I have felt it, drought of love,
drought of touch, drought of death,
drought of compassion and justice.
And I have known, too, the miracle
of how when the drought is over,
the clay of my soul expands again,
absorbing what it most needs.
Is it strange how much comfort
I take in knowing it’s natural,
that cracking is what we do,
it’s part of the cycle.
Of course, the cracking.
And of course, the healing.
I am awed by its force
and how little it takes,
even a small bit of rain,
for deep healing to begin.
— Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, “How Did I Ever Believe It Would Be Otherwise?”

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Grief and resilience live together.

― Michelle Obama

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