In the attitude of silence, the soul finds the path in a clearer light, and what is elusive and deceptive resolves itself into crystal clearness. — Mahatma Gandhi
My January Getaway (try a multi-night pack to save $$)
Hello love!
Welcome to February dear.
It’s the last full month of winter in the northern hemisphere.
In December, we welcomed winter with good rest.
In January, we paused instead of promised.
And now in February, we welcome silence, and what we can hear in the absence of sound.
When is the last time you sat in total silence? No construction, no TV, no kids, no Zooms, no honking, no email or text notifications?
Last month, I realized I couldn’t remember, so I took myself to a Getaway cabin outside Shenandoah for two days in the woods.
Fully inspired by this Jia Tolentino article for Bon Appetit that I’ve nearly memorized (a favorite line: “When you’ve spent all day wading through the swamp of your own inadequacies, there’s no absolution like spaghetti dripping in pepper and cheese.”), I rented a cheap car, white-knuckled down route 66, and turned into the little Ikea meets lumberjack commune in Standardsville, VA. My cabin was Agnes, named for one of the staff member’s grandparents like all the cabins are. I bustled around with a flurry, unpacking the mini cooler in record time and hanging up my coat and scarf, satisfied. When I was finally finished - my journals were out, there was nothing else to put away - I finally noticed: I was alone. What’s more: I couldn’t hear a sound.
There were no leaves rustling on the bare trees. The sky was quiet. I laid down to read Margaret Atwood’s Surfacing, slipping into the silence like it was an empty orb, the words dancing in my heart like I could finally hear them. Suddenly, there was a loud scratch at the door and I jumped - terrified, alert - only to discover it was not a deranged neighbor with a machete, but a lone squirrel saying hi and checking for nuts. That night, the only sound was the campfire, crackling under the bright, stoic stars.
Silence is the counterpose to our noisy lives. It’s medicine for the chattering mind, the fried nervous system, all the online and in-person yelling. When we’re silent, we can finally hear our souls speak.
That weekend I was in true solitude, and it felt like good medicine. Really, really good medicine. Necessary medicine.
And all good medicine is love.
In silence, we can hear clearly
I’m know I need to stay in my lane, but it’s awkward. I am not a journalist, and this is not a news source, but this letter does not exist outside of life.
Today marks the beginning of Black History Month.
White supremacy is (still) part of our reality (and it’s everyone’s problem).
You know what happened on January 7th at the U.S. Capitol. The unthinkable happened. There was violence, anger, and fear. A police offer was beat with a flag pole on the Capitol steps. A mob participant was shot and killed. (Don’t take my word for it - Google).
When I first heard what was happening, first from a dear colleague (shoutout #workfam!) and then from my mom, I felt myself shut down. The truth was too painful. My sensitive nervous system couldn’t take any more. The stress would make me sick. I couldn't do it. I didn’t want to listen. I was too afraid.
I went quiet. So quiet I could really hear - hear loud and clear - my inner voice say, “Go on, you can do it. You must.”
This was monumentous and important. It was real. What’s really going on in this country we share. What’s really happened. As much as I truly crave living under a rock, especially in the winter, hiding from experience I have the fortune to ignore just cultivates naiveté. Unchecked, this creates ignorance. Fosters apathy. And maybe that’s how we ended up here in the first place:
So I remembered the pillars of love: truth, care, commitment, knowledge, responsibility, respect. I vowed I would not avoid the truth or new knowledge, no matter how painful reality can be.
And then I stayed quiet some more.
Soon, I remembered my yoga and meditation tools, which is always ultimately a practice of presence. The first thing I did was let myself cry. Next I knew I had to do something helpful with the little help I could offer, and hopped on IG live to teach an impromptu meditation (hi Amy & Kirsten!!). Then I moved my body — pacing, stretching, jumping, child’s-posing — and kept moving during a record 6 hours of news coverage I watched (the first thing my colleague and mom said was “I know you don’t watch the news but….” lol). And I wrote - I wrote the first draft of this love letter, I wrote & published a poem, I wrote down my fears.
I’m including all this because it helped me come back to my WHY.
Why practice yoga & meditation? It has very little to do with how long we can sit or how difficult a pose we can master. It’s not anywhere near perfect nor the same practice each day. Instead, we practice when we can, however we can, so we can meet the moment with openness and integrity. We do it so we can live our lives.
And why do we practice love? Because it is the only good medicine for fear, the root of all our suffering. Love is a salve for hate and anger. A grounded path to healing.
Love is the harder choice, but let’s do it anyway.
But don’t listen to me.
Listen to your own inner wisdom.
Listen to others.
Listen carefully, perhaps, to “the girl, the girl: Amanda.”
Practice
You got options baby. Pick something that feels good for you. You deserve it.
Join me on Instagram Live TV tonight (and each Monday) at sundown for a Poetry Pause. We sit, breathe, and I read some words, because #poetryisgoodmedicine. This month will feature Black poets like Lucille Clifton and Audre Lorde.
Practice a meditation from our growing library (my favorite these days is Breath work in Bed).
Simply close a bedroom door, take a solo bath, or put on some noise-cancelling headphones, and listen. Ask yourself: what do I hear now, in this silence?
Loving Lately
Meet Captain Love aka Cappy!
Cranking out poems with Cappy! Born in 1936, she is the only known remaining military edition of the Hermés Baby travel typewriter (the laptop’s mom), likely made for the British army as they ramped up for the soon-to-be World War 2. In my creative fervor, I forgot she’s 85 years old and wrote so much on Inauguration Day, she already needs a lil tune-up! She’s my very first typewriter; I didn’t know I’d be so in love!
My winter medicine Spotify playlist. It’s random and I love it and you are so welcome to listen too.
This documentary on the ending of Schitt’s Creek, a MUST WATCH (in addition to all six seasons of the show, duh). Also, for all you David fans - watch Vogue’s 73 Questions with Daniel Levy.
The novel Supper Club and this line in particular: “There is nothing more terrifying than a woman who eats and fucks with abandon.” Hell yea
Anywho, that’s it for me (for now)!
I love you, I miss you, I hope you are well.
May we be safe. May we be free. May we know love.
Finding a quiet space,
Colby