When I was a kid in the 1960s, my family had a Bongo Board. It was a simple contraption, a wooden deck balanced on top of a rubber roller, constantly shifting beneath your feet. Designed to test balance and agility, it demanded full attention and quick reflexes to avoid a tumble.
In retrospect, it was more than just a game—it was a lesson in how to navigate life’s constant shifts without collapsing. I find myself thinking of that lesson often these days.
I’m feeling wobbly right now, whipsawed by disbelief, anger, frustration, and despondency. The political climate, wildfires, and the broader social crises feel like they’re all converging at once. Like the Bongo Board, I’m trying not to resist the movement but to adapt. Maybe leaning into the wobble will help?
Diana Butler Bass, who writes The Cottage, recently wrote she’s focusing on “ten Ws” each day: Wake up, Welcome the day, Walk, (Be) With others, Work, Write, Watch the news, practice Wide-sight, Weep, and Wonder.
I think this is great advice and I’m actively incorporating it in my routine. I’ve printed the Ws off and posted them above my desk, along with other wisdom and bits of inspiration captured from poems and quotes.
Today’s wonder: the three blue jays that have blessed us with their presence, spanning into seasons and soon a year of residence. They know if they call to me I’ll leap up from my desk or whatever I’m doing to take them peanuts. They now call to me from different locations in the front or back yard. After an initial offering of peanuts this morning in the back - they swooped low over my head to retrieve the food I offered - they called again about an hour later. I found them perched on the basketball hoop that hangs above the front driveway, a relic of Natalie’s three-point shooting days. Being at the beck and call of blue jays seems like a wonderful thing, TBH.
I quietly retired (for the second time) a couple of weeks ago, with a goal of focusing on my own writing. After taking a wonderful week to celebrate with my daughter, I’m slipping into a new intentional routine that provides much more room for focused writing and creative work, time with family and friends, movement, reading, and lots of time to just be. Time like this is a privilege, and I’m trying to use the blessing fully. The slower pace is unaccustomed, but I am finding it delicious. The days are so full of good things, and it’s already hard for me to recall how I ever managed to fit a full-time job in as well.
Last week, Natalie and I took a long, leisurely walk around the Ventura Harbor, one of my favorite places. I spied boats from so many places, and found a boat named for each of us: Bill, Rose, and Natalie. I purchased a small print produced by local artist Tina Obrien. Rendered in soft purples and pinks, it features a mermaid with flowing golden locks, floating amidst flowers and fishes, holding a bright star. It’s claimed a prime spot on my desk and serves as a focal point for me to regain my balance when I’m overcome by anxiety. You can visit Ms. Obrien’s store - Mermaid Gallery - in Ventura’s Harbor Village or online.
Writing in this first full week of focused time is going well. I am interrogating my draft, and leaning into the hard work of uncreation, which is a vital part of recreation. Everything is on the table. My older sister is a talented seamstress, and as a youngster, I sometimes sat with her when she worked, marveling at her skill and patience. Occasionally, she’d hand me a seam ripper to undo sewing that wasn’t just right. This reworking of my novel feels similar—and surprisingly rewarding. As I rip out seams in my novel, I’m learning to trust the process. Sometimes what I thought was a mistake turns out to be a hidden gem. Other times, it’s about letting go of something I loved but no longer serves the larger narrative.
In the national narrative of our political life, I was galvanized by Bishop Budde’s sermon at the National Cathedral. I received oodles of messages from people who knew I was Episcopalian and were equally inspired by her words and the courage she displayed. Her recent book - How We Learn to Be Brave - is sold out nearly everywhere, so I’ve been listening to her read the audio version. It’s moving and there is so much in there to inform this time in our collective life. It would make a marvelous Lenten study, and it’s appropriate for a wide range of ages. The Episcopal Church is really having a moment in all the best ways, and if you’ve ever been curious about what we believe and how we worship, please find a church near you and visit. All are welcome here.
As I reflect on balance—both in life and on the page—I’m curious about how others are adapting to the world’s turbulence. What’s helping you stay upright on your own shifting board?
Love you Rose!
Keep calm, wear pearls…love it! Interesting perspective. Thank you for the W’s!