Day 19: Praise the mutilated world
Hi! Welcome to new subscribers. This project started 14 days ago, counting down from 33 days of social distancing. (Why 33? Because Michelle Obama once said “You can do anything for 33 days.”)
We’re now down to day 19. Time, against all odds, passes.
Regular reminder: If you have a story or thought to share, hit reply or send it to hi@lauraolin.com.
We’ll start off with part of a note from KC T., who lives in New York, the current epicenter of coronavirus in the U.S.
Living here right now is a bit like living in the future. And just like Italians asked of Americans a few weeks ago, KC asks that non-New Yorkers learn what you can from our mistakes and successes:
Those in areas that have not yet been affected: take note of what we are doing in NYC now so that you can be prepared. A real comfort to those of us who are here is to know that those of you in other places are preparing for this and learning from us here—and physically distancing yourselves now to protect yourself, others, and people you may never know.
I also wanted to start off this week with two notes from Jim B. and Michael W. that felt like they mirrored each other.
Jim sent over one of his favorite fables:
A farmer had only one horse. One day, his horse ran away. His neighbors said, “I’m so sorry. This is such bad news. You must be so upset.” The man just said, “We’ll see.”
A few days later, his horse came back with twenty wild horses following. The man and his son corralled all twenty-one horses. His neighbors said, “Congratulations! This is such good news. You must be so happy!” The man just said, “We’ll see.”
One of the wild horses kicked the man’s only son, breaking both his legs. His neighbors said, “I’m so sorry. This is such bad news. You must be so upset.” The man just said, “We’ll see.”
The country went to war, and every able-bodied young man was drafted to fight. The war was terrible and killed every young man, but the farmer’s son was spared, since his broken legs prevented him from being drafted. His neighbors said, “Congratulations! This is such good news. You must be so happy!" The man just said, “We’ll see.”
Michael W. sent:
We are currently faced with a serious problem about which people can do very little. We are powerless against it, except in the most perfunctory ways. Yet, as a depressed person, my bone deep response to this is, "Yes. And?" I've been dealing with problems that have no easy solution, things that can kill me that I can't do anything about, for 30 years.
Is it a bit comforting to know the world’s always been this uncertain, and we’ve been lucky for so long?
Finally, Sarah D. shared a poem by Adam Zagajewski, translated by Clare Cavanagh:
Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June's long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You've seen the refugees going nowhere,
you've heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth's scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.
Have a story or thought to share? Hit reply or send it to hi@lauraolin.com.
See you on Wednesday, otherwise known as Day 17. 🌸