A Bend
To keep from breaking
Have you seen the “In defense of” series by Kimberly Warner? It’s pretty fantastic.
Perhaps my post today is a tribute to it. Only I’m telling myself. I know I don’t need to convince you. You’re too wise, too kind, too generous.
Something heavy has been lying, curled in a fetal position, on my chest of late. Yes, it’s that. All the things making us go, Is this real? No but really. We’re in some shared nightmare, right? Crossed over to some timeline marked “take this”? Any chance we can wake up? Choose a new timeline?
But it’s something else too. Something personal. Something nudging: IT’S TIME.
For what? I don’t ask. I’m tired. These past couple of years have been a lot. I’m not up for the struggle. I have a deadline to hit. A class to prepare. A client to meet. A post to write. I already know for what.
IT’S TIME.
Sure. No problem. I’ll just switch up everything. I’ll just take back the reins. I’ll just reiterate, again. I’ll just fix what ain’t broke—not exactly. Not yet. Can’t I just sleep?
*
Recently, I climbed a pine-lined road in my big white van. Slowly, I descended the other side, curvy like a salmon thrashing upstream. Me and Vivian and that forest road were just finishing our daily rotation away from the sun, so it sat not above but facing me, just to my left, peeking like dancing fairy lights through thick boughs and, now and again, pouring through openings to take my sight. I’d press on, trusting the road would remain as I’d last seen it.
Did you know salmon find their way from ocean to estuary of their birth by sensing and orienting themselves according to the earth’s magnetic field? Do you think the smell map in their mind fills their sinews with knowledge of what’s coming? The bears and hawks and 12-foot leaps up roaring waterfalls. The days on end without nourishment. The constant flex of muscle. As they press toward the river they’ll climb backward, they change, jaws hooking, sharp teeth forming, new shape, new metabolism responding to the drop in salinity, preparing for what is about to, what, in the end, must come.
After a moment, the trees would thicken, swallowing light. The road would come back to view, charcoal and marble. And I’d find myself still on it, still ready for the next turn.
Every once in a while, a ray would stream like a beam from a cathedral window, spraying a patch of undergrowth ambered by autumn’s chill or a splash of golden larch with hallowed light. I cracked the windows to the cold-fingered caress of fresh air, to let it brighten my cheeks and nose and fill my chest with reminders of who I am.
*
OK, I say. It’s time.
The Rolling Desk is taking some time off to reset. We’ll pause paid subscriptions for the time being, which will extend your paid support by the number of weeks paused.
And if you want to provide support as Holly and Vivian and the Desk forge a new path via a one-time or ongoing contribution—
I will dearly miss meeting you here weekly. AND I’ll be back soon and excited to share what the bends in the road I’m taking have opened up to me, where they’ve landed me.
Thank you for being here. Connecting with you is like forging a new path, like bending instead of breaking.
Please hit the ♥️ or restack (recycle) button: Tell the algorithm this desk is worth discovering! And meet me in the comments, won’t you?
For the comments: What have you seen out your window lately that’s brought you joy or redirection? Have you been experiencing any blind spots lately? What’s your favorite migration story?
And, if you’re inclined to participate in the resistance against the forces disappearing our neighbors and choosing not to feed those most in need, what are you doing? What organizations are you joining or supporting?
And last but not even close to least, a very last chance to join a three-hour intensive on braiding your writing tomorrow—
Sunday, November 9, 9 am- 9-12 pm PT / 12 pm-3 pm ET / 6-9 pm CET / 8-11 pm EAT (yep, those are the time zones in attendance; add yours?).
Braid It! Writing as Weaving is a 3-hour generative intensive that explores using braided strands to write what you “can’t” say and to speak truth to power w/out preaching and gives you time and space to practice weaving in your own voice and style. You’ll leave with braided starts you can’t wait to finish.
Plus check out all of Caravan Writers Collective’s other November/December offerings here.
お疲れ様 (otsukaresama) is a daily but also magical phrase in Japan. It is normally used in the sense of "Thank you for your hard word" but literally means "tired" or "you are tired". I think both senses apply here. お疲れ様 Holly!
I see the affinities with Kimberly's series, yet this lovely post is its own creature (a salmon, of course). See you at the estuary. After pausing paid subscriptions myself recently, maybe I can head off a shock: Stripe records every pause as a cancellation. The upside: every unpause is a subscription.