During Tragic Times, Here’s Somewhere Unexpected We Can Start
Posted in: Blog by amy on October 28, 2018
My friend Lizzy stopped by yesterday to drop off a skirt and top she found for me. Those are the best kinds of friends — you tell them you need ideas of what to wear for an upcoming poetry reading, and two hours later they’re at your door with options. We went upstairs to try on the clothes. While in my room, I told her I was feeling this pressing need to lighten up my room, to remove some furniture and to change the energy of the space. As we talked about furniture and clothes, we also couldn’t avoid talking about the real, dark news of the day that was just unfolding: the senseless shooting and murder of several innocent attendees at The Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh.
That morning must have been filled with so much hope as loved ones gathered to pray. Others at that synagogue were there to celebrate a new life full of possibility and greatness. There are so many funerals and visits to hospitals, so much cancer treatment and suffering — there is so much darkness and pain. So when there’s an opportunity for joy and celebration, we embrace that with the entirety of our being. Yet here were these hopeful, innocent people being shot down for no reason. And some crazy, sick man simply hates anyone who steps foot into a Jewish synagogue.
The tragic senselessness overwhelms me. Lizzy and I briefly discuss it as tears fill our eyes. Then, we finish talking about outfits and continue downstairs where I ask her what else I can shed from my home. She points to an armoire, then to a heavy piece in my foyer and finally to some decorative wooden horses. Yes, yes, yes, I tell her. I want to get rid of it all.
Lizzy left my house and for the rest of the afternoon and evening, I packed up items to sell and chose others to donate. I was invited out, but I needed to continue with this project that felt more and more cathartic. I thought I was cleansing — ridding myself of objects from my past, of reminders from former relationships. But as the night progressed and as the news about the shooter and the victims unfolded, I moved at a greater speed. I finally took a break to read Neruda poems, seeking some beauty on a most ugly day. 
I lost myself in an interesting book that Lena Dunham had recommended (I wish she had personally told me to read it as I think we would be fast friends) but she had suggested it to her Instagram followers. Still impactful. The book, “Too Much and Not the Mood” by Durga Chew-Bose helped me to focus on words, on a writer’s ability to so creatively and beautifully and eccentrically express herself. It was just what I needed. And with piles of old books now removed from my nightstand and dresser, I had more space in my room to absorb the gift of reading a talented writer’s captivating words.
Can we all start with something that simple? With disposing of the items that weigh us down, that overwhelm us, that interfere with our clean streams of flowing, peaceful thoughts? Can we not allow ourselves to focus so much on that which we acquire and instead focus more on loving each other? On not judging each other? On not arguing meanly on Facebook about political parties? Can we see one another as humans? We all struggle through the days, get bad news, worry about our friends and their battles, deal with our own internal chaos. Yet we all do the best we can do. We all seek joy and comfort and acceptance and love.
Everyone has been pleading for more love. I am, too. But maybe we start somewhere simpler. With something more obtainable. This love and kindness thing clearly isn’t enough on its own.
So let’s start by donating bags of clothes, by consigning our armoires, by setting ourselves up in a space in which clear, well-intentioned, focused, nonjudgemental energy can flow.
Let’s start there.
If you’d like to support the Anti-Defamation League and their pursuit to end all hate and anti-Semitism: ADL Donate.
If you are looking for somewhere to donate clothes or furniture in the Chicago area, then consider The Ark Chicago.
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